I get this way sometimes. Lack of enthusiasm, lack of appetite, lack of insight. It’s not depression, because I already suffer from chronic depression. It’s like I’m floating down the river of life, encountering all the flotsam and debris, appreciating the lovely riverbanks and the far mountains, enjoying the calm waters and the wild rapids, and talking to the other travelers who are floating on the same river. Then…whoops! I’m caught in an eddy, a whirlpool, a vortex of water where I sit and spin for days on end until it decides to spit me out.
And while I sit and spin, I think about all the things I could be doing: the hundreds of books I have but don’t feel like reading, the hundreds of jewelry projects I have lined up but don’t feel like making, the tons of supplies I need to sort and put away but don’t feel like touching, the food in the refrigerator that is turning into Iowakian dwarf toes and Martian tidbits that I don’t feel like eating, the hundreds of movies in my Netflix queue that I can’t bear to watch, the clothes that need washing, the floor that needs vacuuming, the driveway that needs pressure-cleaning, the fence that is falling down, the hole something is chewing in the fascia at the highest pinnacle of the roof in the back of the house, the grass that is dying in the front yard, the weeds and small trees that are growing in the gutters, the water damage on the ceiling that needs to be fixed from the roof leak last year, and the second layer of my sunburn is now peeling.
What really has me in a slump, I think, is the horribly slow sales in my on-line boutique. With only 3 sales each in December, January and February, and then only one sale each in March and April, all the effort I’m putting into my creations feels meaningless and useless. The ideas and the desire to create keep coming, and I’ve already spent the money for most of the supplies needed to turn them into reality, but are my skills not up to the challenge? There are still things I need to learn and things I need to do better, but there are times when I am sorely tempted to just sell the supplies and quit. My house would be a hell of a lot cleaner if I did.
I know I’m in the grips of Charybdis when giving myself my Cinryze infusion feels like a chore and I can’t muster up that “can’t wait another second” happiness my dogs and the dogs on the commercials for Begging Strips have: “Bacon! Bacon! Where’s the bacon? I smell bacon! Bacon! Bacon! Gotta be bacon, only one thing smells like bacon, and that’s bacon! Bacon, bacon, bacon, bacon, bacon, there’s bacon, there, in that bag, whatzit say? Oh, I can’t read! Please, please, gimme what’s in the bag! Chewy, yummy, smokey BACON! It’s BACON!”
Cinryze is my bacon and Charybdis has eaten it all. Ppllttthhh!