Rut

My creativity and sense of humor have gone into hiding over these last several months. I credit this to several things that have converged in my life:

Stress:

a) money issues − due to a lack of a paying job at present;

b) moving my art studio − out of an approximately 1,200 square foot space into ¼ of our two-car garage (which is like moving all of my stuff into ½ of a car);

c) lack of space − due to (b) above, which is forcing me to go through my hoard of materials/supplies, mementos, collections and decorative stuff – basically, my life over the last 30-plus years − including the accumulated school work of my two children, preschool through twelfth grade;

d) grad school − still lots of reading, writing, and busy work;

e) family − I love them and they are my life, and sometimes we’re all needy, but please, let’s not all be needy at the same time, okay?;

f) and lack of time to deal with the too much above; not to mention

Coke or lack thereof:

I’m trying to limit my Coke habit to only when eating out. Coke, however, is my “go to” when I stress. Lately, I’m constantly stressed. Cocktails of club soda and red wine vinegar are just not cutting it. I’ve tried tea and coffee as well. They are not Coke. And last but not least,

Vyvanse:

This keeps me focused during the day but kills my sense of humor by forcing it and the imp of my mind to hide somewhere within the deep recesses of whatever few gray cells I have left. I’m hoping my humor will re-surface when it’s safe to come back out again if it’s ever safe to come back out again. I suspect that my creativity is hiding in there as well.

While all of the above is overwhelming, the stress of downsizing is by far the worst. I’m suffering through a hellish tedium of my own making. When they say that there comes a time when you have to pay the piper, they are talking about now − at least in terms of my life.

Recently, my daughter told me, “Well, this is your stuff. You did this to yourself.”

I retorted, “And you should be thankful that I’m not leaving all of this for you to deal with when I die!”

Picture for a moment the kazillions of boxes where the Ark of the Covenant was stored in that giant government warehouse at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark. Each box looks the same with only a number stamped on the sides to identify the contents. Yeah, I have about that many boxes, give or take, but without any way to identify what’s inside. Each box is a surprise. Inside I might find long-lost photos or old bank statements from the 1980’s or hospital records from when my children were born.

I look forward to the day when I step out of my rut and my hoard is gone! That’s the day when it’s all going to come together for me! That’s the day when my sense of humor and creativity will come out of hiding! Then the three of us will rejoice and celebrate and get reacquainted by collaborating on funny, original material in marathon writing sessions. Because they know and I know that staying busy − laughing and writing − will be the only way I’ll be able to cope with the searing grief that will just be settling in as it finally hits me how much is gone – the grief of years lived with nary a scrap of paper to show for it.

Until then, though, back to sorting through boxes.