I am sort-of recovering from my sickness. I still hack up a fucking lung in the morning... it's gross, but I feel better afterward. Manny is still in the depths of illness, though - poor dude. I don't know what this is (avian flu?) but it's no fun.
It's the first day of December, and the weather around here has finally realized it. It's chilly and blustery and cold precipitation is swirling around in the sky. I am so relieved. I am not a fan of warm weather, especially not when it should be the opposite.
I've been in a bit of an emotional funk lately... which is another part of why I've not been blogging as usual. A lot of the time it's easier to write about random bullshit, take silly surveys, post odd photos, and bitch about the government than it is to actually sit down and focus on what's going on in my head. I don't like confrontation - but most of all, I don't like confrontation with myself. But much like violently couging up my insides in the morning, I feel better after that, too.
Let me preface this by saying that I do, very much, love my life. I'm lucky as hell to have the people around that I do. Manny, by no means, was ever obliged to stick around. We have had our rough patches, and sweet baby jesus were they rough. But we came out of them stronger and better. He is very patient with me and puts up with my craziness and he lets me be myself, even when he doesn't agree with me (like about belts and gypsy music). My kids are great, too - they never cease to blow me away with how incredibly smart they are. What I wouldn't give to look inside their heads and see the world the way they do. They try me, of course, because I have control and patience issues, but all that is forgotten with every sticky kiss and "look what I drew for you: a reindeer/camel/baby alien." I also have the most wonderful best friends in the world. They bring out the best and the worst in me, they compliment my strange sense of humor, they foster my creativity, they carry me around when I'm drunk, they dance with me until my feet are bleeding, they buy me lunch, and they do a pretty good job of trying to understand me.
The people in my life are not the problem. I just feel repressed in some way. I used to make things - music, art, messes with glue guns. I need to start doing these things again. Anymore, I make excuses - I'm too tired, I don't have the time/money/space for a piano. But I can't do that anymore. I can't let those parts of me die.
Someone here in my office is eating an orange. It smells good.