So a week ago I had a list of things I wanted to write about. Both the good and the bad. My mind was composing the start of posts on my head. That's the way my head works in a good time.
Today, when I sit down at the computer feeling a need to write, nothing. Nilch. Nadda. All those ideas gone. Call it bloggers block, if you will. The inability to use logograms to form morphemes, let alone linguistic strings. No act of metafiction to be found. An empty screen power by a silent keyboard.
In other words, I'm stuck.
And when I'm stuck, it usually means one thing... I'm tired.
Physically tired of long days with little down time followed by long nights of little sleep. That - my life - is the definition of sleep deprivation. Look it up in the dictionary - I'm there.
But more so, I'm mentally tired. Tired of trudging through life with this monkey on my back. Grief. Saddness. Call it what you will.
Tired of juggling a multitude of confusing roles - roles I am forced to play but don't really feel as though I qualify for the part. Daughter, friend, mother, employee, manager, patient, client, widow. And a host of others. None of which I feel fully comfortable with. Square pegs for me a round hole. The holes that fit me the best, I can no longer call myself... wife, partner, lover, Chrystal.
I'm no longer me. That's the crux of my issue. And the crux of much of my fatigue. For trying to find out who you are on the inside, while the rest of the world expects you to be... well... you is an exhausting concept. Its like the actor, on play for the entire show. Without an intermission. Or a script. Or even a vague plot summary. With an audience who is not going home. Who expects Academy Award winning quality. And no curtain to be found to end the show....
I just want to go to bed and sleep until Kurt comes to get me. Or until the world makes sense. Whichever comes first.
I never was a good actress.....
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