Robustly Insane

That's how I feel today: robustly insane. I am currently working my way through an entire package of Trader Joe's Multigrain Savory Thins (hey, they're multigrain: that counts for something, right?), and I am just unable to get satisfied by anything. Nothing I do, nothing I eat, nothing I watch or log on to is doing it. I feel ravenously hungry, and achingly achingly lonely. Oh, I do hate being self-employed when Monday rolls around.

I've become addicted to connectivity lately. My friends finally forced me to join Facebook (yeah, yeah, friend me if I haven't gotten to you yet), and it is the compulsive nightmare I always imagined it would be for me. I can't stop logging on, checking everyone's status, updating my own. (OK, the Savory Thins are gone: what can I chew through next) I incessantly check my cellphone for voicemails and texts; I can't wait to run and check my e-mail when I've been away for as long as it takes to do the breakfast dishes. I am desperately waiting for the message, the news, that will fill the empty in me. It doesn't feel good. It is part and parcel of the train running inside my chest feeling.

I don't know what it is about.

And, ofcourse, I also know exactly what it is about.

We are unfinished, incomplete, and it is just so hard to keep going for so long in the in between. Sometimes, by mid-morning, I just can't wait to go to bed, so we can be through with another day in which we don't have children, and be that much closer to some day when we will. This isn't how I want to spend my days, but sometimes I just can't help it. Other days it is much easier to stay in the now.

And so I feel brightly, robustly insane. Not wanly stuck in my head, but out there, shouting to the world crazy. Writing it out, texting it out, calling it out. Looking to my circle for the satisfaction that, right now, I can't find in myself.