Honestly, I don't know what is going on with me, but I am off. I'm not sure if it is because I've been sick on and off since Labor Day...maybe the cocktail of steroids and antibiotics are rotting out my ability to be normal? Maybe it is the fact that it is dark outside by 6 p.m.? Maybe I've just finally hit that point, you know where on-lookers are saying, "Yup, I called it, she's lost her shit...now give me the 20 bucks you owe me." Whatever the case, something has been looming for too long...and I want to be rid of it.
This time of year, well completely sucks. No matter how you slice it, it is a stale piece of cake no one really wants. Usually I give myself a couple of days and I'm done. But much like the steroid cocktail that I have been on and off, the boost of energy is fantastic-but when the bottom falls out you wish you were hit by a truck. So, tomorrow is another day, and as I am finding out, one of my favorite days to write about in the past- Parent Teacher Conferences.
Luckily this year I only have one, Nora. I am mentally preparing myself for the wild and exhilarating things I will no doubt hear about my only daughter during her off hours of being with me. She has grown so much just since school has started this year. She has discovered the "wonders" of making a sack lunch. While at first she was usually telling me she needed one whilst walking out the door in the morning, now she comes home from school and immediately starts making her lunch for the next day...I like that kind of growth. I am interested to hear what her teacher has to say, but of course mentally preparing myself as well.
My hope is that I can fill my kids with enough creative ideas and a little bit of creative expression that they can use it to help themselves when needed. It used to be when I was down, I would put everyone to bed, come into my room, write and everything would be back to normal. Sometimes, it just isn't that easy anymore. Sometimes I feel like I am complaining about the same thing over and over again. Sometimes I worry that this is the wall, like THE WALL that I have finally hit and maybe there is no way around it. It is scary. No one wants to move backward, not when they can see how far they have come. No one wants to admit that the things that used to come easily to them are now a struggle. No one really understands you, better than you...but what happens when you are the last person you understand? What then?
A woman who works where I work stopped me today and asked me if she could buy my book. I looked at her probably crazy-eyed and said, "What? ...I'll give it to you." I think I was half astonished that she even knew I wrote a book, and for a moment I kind of had forgotten I had too. It seems like a million years ago, when in reality it was like a minute. I thanked her profusely, and thought to myself, "Kate, get your shit together. You have a job to do, and you will get out of this funk." She was the first person I spoke to on my first day of work and probably will never know how grateful I am to her for sort of nudging my psyche.
It wasn't until tonight, the whole creative expression thing sort of hit me where it needed to. I was talking to Atticus before saying good-night to him. He told me that he had an imaginary friend. I asked what his name was, to which he said, "Her name, is Smelma Stinkyfeet." I said, really, is she Slavic with a name like that? He said, "No, she's from Knox, Ind. Smelma's not good with money, so to make ends meet, she has taken in a couple of horses to live with her. Her house isn't very big, but the horses help pay the bills." I dawned on me, funks come and go, but if you are lucky, creativity can stay with you forever...thank you Smelma.
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