For a period of time in my late teens, I had a thing for Lord Bryon’s work. I mean, I still like it but I’ve not actively read his poems for fun since I lived in Miami. Anyway, the reason why I’m mentioning my proclivity for Romantic poets at all is because there is a line in Byron’s The Island that seems rather fitting for my mood:
I saw her in the doldrums; for the wind
Was light and baffling
The turn of phrase is elegantly describing the strange malaise I’ve been in lately. I get that grief is a strange process to undertake. And I know that it’s probably pretty normal to feel like this. But it’s unusual for me and I’m not digging this. It sounds really wrong to say, but if I was struggling mightily with the hurricane-force winds of depression or anxiety, I wouldn’t feel as ridiculously inept as I do wrestling with this light and baffling wind that has taken over my mind. I’m finding it really hard to concentrate on anything long term. I feel that I’m worrying excessively over the ongoing seemingly never-ending saga of my condo repairs and my cat’s medical issues – two things that I’m highly aware that I’ve only got limited ability to influence. I’m not really sleeping well. I’m not really exercising. I’m not really doing much of that whole self-care thing. But I’m not becoming a recluse. I do go out and see people. I am still somewhat social. I can even hold a coherent conversation for about five minutes. But lately I’m feeling a very bland shade of blah…
And I need to snap out of this because I’m going back to Ohio next week to help my mom with some stuff. I can’t go to her all mopey and expect her to make me feel better about things. She’s dealing with some major shit of her own. I used to be really good at compartmentalizing; but my dad’s death has blown a hole wide open into whatever brain area that used to be done.