For various and sundry reasons, August has always been a difficult month for me.
I am SO OVER summer in the South. I am tired of being hot and sweaty all the time. I am impatient with this transition time between seasons, and I want fall to be here RIGHT NOW, DAMMIT!
I feel ghostly emotional echoes of that weird limbo time between the end of summer vacation and the beginning of school, where you’re mourning the end of the one, and (if you were me at least), impatiently awaiting the beginning of the other.
I am bored of EVERYTHING: my books, my TV shows, my blog, my hobbies, my ideas, my thoughts, my house, my chores, my errands, my lawn, my To Do list, my body, my meal ideas, my clothes, gravity, the need to stop and eat food, and the fact that I am required to breathe air in order to live. Pretty much every single atom that makes up my physical, mental, and emotional existence I declare to be stupid, dumb, boring, yucky, and poopy.
Basically, I just throw a giant temper tantrum.
This one is a bit better than meltdowns I’ve had in the past. I haven’t swept through the house, dramatically declaring that I am a talentless, unoriginal hack who couldn’t write a good sentence if my life depended on it, and who will clearly never have another good story idea, ever again, FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE!, and therefore I have no choice but to erase every trace of my blog off the face of the digital earth.
I haven’t had bad mood swings or manic-depressive episodes, thanks to good medications and recent, healthy changes in my diet.
But I am just pretty much sick of everything.
I was talking about this with Lynne last week during our session, and she said, “So it sounds like you’re just feeling kind of fussy,” and then we were both hit with the realization that, oh, I was obviously suffering from Fucking Fussy August Syndrome, or FFAS, for short. (Clearly, our pioneering discoveries in personal growth research know no bounds.)
Just recognizing that I am weary, and worn-down from pain, and tired of my full-time job of managing a chronic illness, and sick of all the million and one things that we all have to do to keep our daily lives functioning, has brought some relief. As has just letting myself feel fussy (but not so much that it runs me).
So I’ve decided to give myself this month off. I’m not exactly sure what that will look like, but just giving myself permission to let go of things if I need to has quieted some of the inner yelling.
I may or may not feel inspired to write, so in case I don’t I’ve decided to re-run some of the posts from the early years of the blog. I hope you enjoy them.
Here’s to some less fussy times ahead.
Permission to take the month off sounds like a wonderful idea! I’ve had to readjust how I look at things quite a bit. My ToDo list is now my CanDo list (the things I can do if I choose to). Everything is now a choice that I can make. No more feeling guilty for not getting things done, or not checking enough things off my to-do list. It just is what it Fucking Is. No worries. August will be over before you know it.
Today, like every day, I feel awful. Pain that never ends and a feeling of being alone that hurts almost worse than the physical pain. It seems to me that on my worse days, your blog update shows up in my inbox. I am not much into the blog or Internet thing, but your blog makes me feel better. You put into words what I cannot articulate. It makes me feel like somehow I have a voice. Hopefully one day I will feel like I have my own. Until then, please keep writing and keep telling it like it is. I usually end up being a big boober and crying when I read your posts. I don’t have anyone to talk to about the “stuff” but you write about the “stuff”. It is an emotional Band-Aid. It brings hope to my heart when thr0ugh the tears I find myself laughing out loud because of your sense of humor. I didn’t see my life being this way in a million years. But, today I combed my hair and put on a clean pair of jeans. It feels so good but how come it is so darn hard? Anyway, thank you again. I look forward to your next post.