New year, new you. That’s the saying that most us hate and many us partake in come the new year. I’ve found that I hate resolutions. I don’t see the point in them. I always feel that I set myself up to fail. I don’t know if it this is because in the past I have set one too many resolutions for myself or not, but the fact of the matter is I don’t like the word resolution. According to the dictionary resolution means the following: a firm decision to do or not do something. The action of solving a problem, dispute, or contentious matter. Granted, the word is nothing particularly horrible because in many ways resolutions help us accomplish goals.
Earlier this year I talked about my funk. I haven’t had the courage to write about part of that depression until now. I’m thirty-four years old and not naive that my days of becoming a mother are more limited the older I become. In fact, when I was in my twenties I made a remark that if I did not have kids by the time I was thirty-five I guess I would not have children at all. Needless to say remembering those words coming out of my mouth this year on my birthday was a hard pill to swallow. Maybe that’s part of why mother’s day was so hard for me this year. I attempted to start writing about why mothers should need shown appreciation, and my other mother, earlier this year and could not bring myself to finish the post. Not on Mother’s Day and not because I don’t believe in such. I did not because when you are faced with a uterus who is constantly angry at you and judging you for the lack of child in your womb it is difficult to do so.
I’m not sure why, but for as long as I can remember when upset there is one artist I tend to listen to. I know that most people will assume that artist is Garth Brooks, but oddly enough no. Yes, every now and then there is a combination of the artist I plan on writing about with Garth and others, but the music I always listen to when upset is Alan Jackson. Why? I have no idea. There’s no rhyme or reason to it, but something I remember my mom realizing and pointing out to me once upon a time. I feel oddly better afterward, typically, and as if all of the sadness I’ve been feeling has been sucked from my body and tossed aside. Hopefully not to someone else, but aside nonetheless. Continue reading “Anxiety is a crippling asshole”
I feel like I’ve gone through lulls in my life. Lulls of sickness. I remember a lovely time period, my twenties, where I got sick maybe once a year if that. Other than the time I got the flu I had a great recovery time. Now, I’m not naive in thinking that we still have that amazing recovery time that we did when we were younger. Continue reading “Germs and depression go away, never come back again another day”