I have opened this old blog today. I glance through the first old posts listed and realize just how very long it is since I have written. Almost two years have passed – in fact two years minus only a month. I read the trembling feelings I have posted about my husband losing his job. Can it really have been almost two years ago.It feels so close still.
The words are tingling on the tip of my brain, in the tips of my fingers, this need to write – to express feelings that lie just below the surface, feelings that are never to be expressed in polite daily interchange. I have no definite idea of what it is I am trying to write, nor worries of someone reading and judging my writing – that is the beauty of ignonomy, ignominy…see – that is how much I trust that no one reads what is written here. I will even allow myself the lapse of a mispelled word, allow that I don’t even know how to pronounce it although I know its meaning.
The fear is too great and I go to see how to spell ignominy only to realize it doesn’t even mean what I thought it meant. Ignominy is shame, as in, the ignominy of realizing I wasn’t wearing any clothes. And what I meant to convey was a type of anonymity. I pause to wonder how many other words I am using incorrectly – confident that I do know what they mean.
Today I am full to bursting with love for my children. I full to bursting with cansancio. Weary is what I am. And I am no where near the end of what I need to accomplish. I don’t really know how I will maneuver my way through all the responsibilities I have in front of me this month. I feel like so many people are depending on me right now, depending on me to come through for them: students, boss, stoles to be sewn, a birthday to make memorable, a graduate to applaud, a mother’s day to connect…and it all feels like slogging work. Or at least the work feels slogging and I feel like there isn’t enough of me left to make enjoyable that which should be enjoyable.
sigh. This too shall pass.
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