Women get weary...

The Commitments / soundtrack









I have started writing today about five times. Each time I write two sentences and delete them. Why? I am ‘waxing poetic.’ By this I mean, I am rambling in a melancholy, nostalgic manner that walks somewhere between contemplative and just annoying. Well, annoying to me anyway. Some of it is probably the season. Some of it is probably the book I’m listening too. Some of it is because I’m tired, don’t feel good and weary.



“Women get weary, wearing the same old dress…”


Of course the weary also comes from the season…but that’s an endless loop. I am also weary because I have that … vergy feeling. Like I almost have an idea but not quite. I want to do something creative, but are not quite up to it. Like if I could just get a good night sleep, have a day off, get some rest, brilliance would come. It’s the feeling of wanting to sit hunched over a bar in a roadhouse, drink beer, listen to blues and feel sorry for oneself.


But I have gotten sleep. Lots of sleep. I took a day off. And sitting in a roadhouse drinking beer I know will not help. I still just have that almost feeling. And sadly, that’s the good feeling. The feeling I have for home, writing, driving in the car.


The at work, about work feelings are not …well, not so nice. I am still tired and weary, but they hold more of a resentful edge. And sitting in a roadhouse drinking beer and listening to blues with this mood is surely how people grow to buy automatic weapons and open fire.


Don’t get me wrong, my work place is really not that bad. There are just a couple of really annoying things right now…


Perhaps with the New Year… inspiration will come. Renewal will come.


“Take me to the river…”


I keep thinking too, that if I stopped, did something meditative, really ‘contemplated’ things – information would come to me. Half of me thinks: if I listen to my body it will tell me the best diet. If I listen to my heart it will tell me what to write. If I listen to my stress it will tell me what to do with work things. Just relax, let the universe talk to you. And I spend much time thinking – is that a sign? Is that trying to tell me something. It’s not coming from the radio, that oracle that I trust.


The other half of me thinks: You’re a fruit cake.


This is the half I listen to.