january

I stay in bed when I should be getting up, getting ready for work.

Ten minutes.
Another fifteen.
An hour in total.

I am, officially, five minutes into the start of my workday before I even push up out of bed. Eventually, I put on my clothes – a casual dress, cardigan, and flats – before brushing out my hair. I don’t bother with makeup because I feel like shit, but I do allow myself a spray of perfume. As though that will magically make it seem like I’ve pulled myself together.

I know I’m lucky to have a job with this kind of flexibility. I remind myself of that fact as I walk into my office and take a seat at my desk. In some ways, it’s an ideal job. But I’ve come to loathe the repetition and monotony. The job is a vestige of a past self, wrapped in a belief system I no longer hold dear. That, perhaps, I never really held at all.

Like almost everything else in my life, this feels like a waiting game.
That doesn’t seem right, does it?

The husband has been home sick all week. I hate that he is sick, but I also hate that this has thrown off my daily routine at a time when I desperately need things to return to normal. This turn of events, coupled with post-holiday recovery, has made me more withdrawn than usual this week, something he makes sure to point out and then read into.

The cold, gray skies that I love in November are now unwanted, having overstayed their welcome. I’d give anything for a little warmth.

I feel unsettled, uncomfortable in my own skin.

This too shall pass.