This week has been a real doozy. It’s been emotional and frustrating and exhausting. Today I don’t have much to offer and I sit in front of the computer screen, frowning slightly and wishing I felt brighter. When not blogging, I’ve recently been working on a piece for a contest; the theme being ‘sustainability’. I decided to explore the topic of rebuilding after natural disasters, and my personal experience with the massive earthquake in Christchurch. And these are not fun topics. And now I have enough of an essay, and the deadline is close enough that I don’t want to change topics, but it’s not a fun place to visit; the memories of that treacherous time, the universal idea of disaster and destruction. The world can be such a frightening place, tornadoes are ripping cities apart, soldiers are being hacked to death in the street, Kim Kardashian wore than horrible dress to the Met Gala (yes those are matching gloves and shoes)…nothing makes sense anymore.
My problems are all definably ‘first world’; the immigration process is moving at a glacial pace, my university degree is gathering dust, and I’m not yet living to my potential. I have so much to be grateful for–a loving supportive husband, wonderful friends, and an amazing family. I’ve got a roof over my head, bit of money in my pocket–I live near two different Starbucks, it’s hardly Darfur. I have a solid support system who act as a life raft as I try not to drown in this rushing river of my life. Still, why is it that I feel I can’t catch my breath? That I feel so hopeless that I can’t stand it?
In “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” Holly Golighty describes her mood to Paul Varjack:
Holly Golightly: You know those days when you get the mean reds?
Paul Varjak: The mean reds. You mean like the blues?
Holly Golightly: No. The blues are because you’re getting fat, and maybe it’s been raining too long. You’re just sad, that’s all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you’re afraid, and you don’t know what you’re afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?
All too often Ms Golightly, all too often. Though I don’t have her problems either.
Mickey Rooney isn’t living upstairs pretending to be Asian.
I’m not a thinly veiled prostitute that has to cater to the boozy (and I mean 1960’s boozy) clients for “cab fare” or “powder room” money.
I’m not a former child-bride being stalked by Buddy Ebsen.
But sometimes I feel tired, stripped down, like I’ve been emptied out of hope and good humor.
And I don’t quite know what to do with myself. Holly Golightly reckons that the only thing to do about the mean reds was to “hop into a cab and head down to Tiffany’s”.
Or if that doesn’t work, a hot shower and “Moon River” on the fire escape always does the trick.
But what do you do when you don’t feel fabulous at all? When the happy places won’t do. When it won’t stop raining and you can hardly lift your lips into a smile?
No…seriously, I don’t really have the answer. And I’m not sure Holly Golightly does either; nor do I think she’s an suitable role model for good life choices. I don’t think she has the slightest clue what’s she’s doing with her life, and guess what? Neither do I. She’s just trying to save a bit of cash for when her brother Fred returns home from the army, so he can gorge himself on peanut butter on a ranch in Mexico. I know what I want. I can close my eyes and see the future as I would like to paint it, but when I look around me, I see nothing but obstacles. This whole big world is saying “Don’t Walk”. It’s not the time to make a move; though every fiber of my being is electrified with intent. But there are so few avenues where it seems my purpose has a place.
Sigh–apologies to my darling readers for this lashing of blues and reds on your fabulous Friday. But I thank you for making time in your day, and for giving my thoughts a place to go. Your eyes on my words is my diamond-gazing, little-black-dress wearing, pastry eating and coffee sipping in front of Tiffany’s. And it means so very much.