Part of the block in many parts of my life is that at this time, I am not finding much pleasure in anything. Everything (almost everything) seems like a chore, like something I *need* to do (and probably not for me).
I’ve also got a lack of focus problem, and I wonder if that’s part and parcel of just not liking anything right now.
I am simply overwhelmed at work, so the project that I am on that seemed like a challenge at one time, now has my writing brain freeze-locked. It’s just something I’m trying to slog through. I want it to go away. I also want to care about how good it is, but due to the fact that it’s grown from a challenge to an overwhelming, Herculean task, it’s hard to care anymore.
And when I’m not at work — well, we all know the refrain: kids, dinner, homework, soccer, baths, violin, blah blah blah.
I am never signing the girls up for soccer during the same season again. It’s been a nightmare of logistics, and I think the majority of Saturday games, Flora and Kate have been scheduled to play at the exact same time at two different fields. Because of Dan’s schedule, I either plead with my FIL to drive one of the girls or hire the nanny.
Additionally, taking three children to one child’s practice is exhausting. Thank goodness for picnic tables and playgrounds, but I’m constantly running back and forth and up and down between fields and playgrounds.
I’m afraid this lack of pleasure is leading to weight loss. I don’t actually know because I don’t regularly weigh myself. When you don’t have much of an appetite anyway, and nothing tastes good, it is easy to not eat enough. I am eating regularly, just probably not enough.
And reading, while harmless in and of itself, is leading to other problems. Namely, reading has become an escape hatch for me. I’m doing it to turn off my brain, not even for enjoyment anymore! I have to start picking some better stuff, because lately it’s been more about sticking it out to see what actually happens.
Dan and I got into an argument about something recently, and he challenged me: “Are *you* happy?” he asked. And I had to stop and think about it. It’s not that I’m overwhelmingly unhappy. But truth is I don’t have anything enjoyable in my life. I’m getting by with the little things I do have — Black Keys concert, Kentucky trip, dinner with a friend, Flora’s First Holy Communion party, little things my kids do, sex with my husband — but I don’t know that I would classify myself as happy. Overwhelmed, yes. Definitely. I told someone recently that my life is perfectly mundane, just busy. (Very, Very Busy.)
And I’m not really depressed, either. Maybe I have some dysthymia going on? (Although, I have to say, low self esteem is not one of my problems.)
Then again, maybe this is how it goes. Life, I mean. I don’t really have anything to bitch about.
If nothing else, at least I have something else to bring up in therapy.