As another summer speeds by, hurtling into oblivion, I realized something about myself and that is, I’m miserable. Unhappiness is a constant for me these days. Perhaps it has been lurking for years and I’ve avoided confronting this condition that has become chronic. Unwavering. And, so damned cruel.
The worst part is, that I don’t know the exact reason, the trigger, if you will, or what to do about it. I don’t know how to find the “joy,” or even, believe that such a thing exists.
Times are tough. Prices on everything are through the roof and our planet is dying. And the f##king Republicans are doing everything they can to turn women into chattel. Certainly, merely trying to keep our footing in a world gone mad is a challenge in itself. That said, the notion of “happiness” seems somewhat selfish, and unattainable.
Our cats make me happy. We lost our Dooley recently, and the pain of his passing is constant. Thankfully, Conor and Lorna bless me with a level of unconditional love that I can only hope is deserved.
This morning, as I was stripping the bed, the thought hit me that, when they’re gone, I’ll probably be ready for death. I can’t see it any other way.
I’m sharing this because I know…I know, that there is at least one of you who feels as I do. Who can acknowledge that fear of the future is hobbling us in the present?
I’ve been thinking about adopting an older cat. While part of me wants to save a precious life, there’s that little troll perched on my shoulder who whispers in my ear and tells me that this is a bad idea. “Think of the expense!” “What if your two cats won’t accept an interloper?” “What if you die?”
See? I wasn’t kidding. My thoughts are unrelentingly dark. Getting older and facing one’s mortality is akin to the rotting cherry on a mass of bitter icing. You know you’re going to sink and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it.
Our very home is also a source of stress for me. I love it, but it’s become increasingly hard to keep up. Many “things” need doing. And these things cost dearly. Too, because my husband has health issues that make it hard for him to engage in any taxing physical labor, most of the heavy lifting is on me.
Idly and often, I think about moving. But, where would we go? Sometimes I fantasize about living next to water. Any body of water, be it a lake, pond, or stream. I believe it would calm me, soothe my soul, and take away some of the fear that is omnipresent.
Or, maybe that’s just bullshi#t.
Thanks for reading. Sorry to be so dark today, but this newsletter is, after all, “Sherry Raw.”
As always, I look forward to your thoughts about this, as well as the following stories.