Slump

I am in a slump.

This means that my dogs are not brushed.  Crumbs and fuzz-balls adorn the edges of my kitchen floor.  My refrigerator overflows with Romaine that has passed its freshness date.  A couple of days ago, I threw out about three pounds of raw broccoli that turned yellow and squishy because nobody ever ate it.  The kitchen table is littered with mail, crafts, study materials and small electronics.  None of these are mine, except possibly a few coupons.  Do you know that I actually rejoice when coupons expire so I can throw them away?

I walk into a room.  Look.  Sigh.  Walk away.

Hoodies, dress shirts, baseball caps, sunglasses ooze up in piles from chairs, desks, counters.  Speaking of counters, the countertop in front of the toaster oven is always sticky these days.  I do wipe it down.  I think.  Unless I am only doing it in my imagination.  That's possible.

I need to vacuum.

I did clean the bathrooms the other day.  Then the medicine cabinet fell off the wall.  In the boys' bathroom, that is.  I wonder if I should call someone, or if Shawn will be able to get to it between business trips.  Laura will soon arrive home from college.  She will not be pleased if there is no medicine cabinet (read: no mirror) on the wall over her bathroom sink.

I just feel sad all the time.  I don't even know why, particularly.  Sad and tired with a headache, and slightly sick to my stomach.

My perennials are overtaken with weeds.  And I have zero motivation to do anything about it.  I think I wish someone would come and mow them all under and just plant grass.

There is fungus growing on the handrail of the steps up to the pool.

Our screens are not yet back on the windows.  I should hose them off.  Last week was cold and rainy, so I was unmotivated.  It wasn't weather to open one's windows to, anyway.

For dinner, I usually come up with something, but often it is bad.  I made something the other day that I could barely choke down.  It was vaguely like chili, but watery and tasteless.  One of my boys said, "This tastes like homemade soup when I have it at other people's houses."  I think he was trying to be nice.  I laughed while trying to swallow.  (This is a post I will not be linking to Facebook.)

Mostly I have been cooking chicken with rice, varying the seasonings and vegetables.  The other night I made a version with chicken, rice, broccoli and Parmesan cheese (this was some broccoli that had not yet gone bad before I found it).  It was a big hit, but I couldn't eat it because I am allergic to broccoli.  I had toast.

Each morning, I get up and make Jon's coffee and send him off to school.  Then I go back to bed.  I get back up almost in time for whatever appointments or obligations I have, and I usually arrive late, unless it is Wegman's and there is no set time-frame.  I do some laundry, wash the dishes everyone else has left for me, read a little (I'm back to reading through the Bible, and I am just starting the parts about King Solomon's reign), maybe walk a dog if the weather is decent.  By then Jon is home from school needing snacks and rides to places.  By the time I finish carting him around, there is limited time to throw together some chicken and rice... which gets eaten over a long span of evening as different people come home at different times.  There have been days when I've washed supper dishes three times.

Sometimes I sit on the sofa and watch Star Trek TNG with Shawn, drinking decaf Earl Grey and eating dark chocolate, waiting for the last boy to come home and eat his dinner so I can finish cleaning up.

After the tea and TV have lulled me into a sleepy state, I realize that I need to wash yet a few more pots, cajole Jon into taking his shower, and let the dogs out one last time before bed.  By now it is usually 11, and my final tasks, including my own bedtime routine, always seem to keep me up until midnight.  I get excited for every single minute I achieve before midnight.  Even getting to bed at 11:59 feels like a major victory.  I wonder how I can stay up so late and get so little done.

When my alarm goes off at 6:30, I start all over.  It is easier to drag oneself out of bed when one plans to return shortly.  On days when I have no obligation, I sometimes sleep until 9:30.

I don't care.  I am tired.

I am in a slump.

I never feel good.  But lately I have felt worse.  Does anybody else ever feel this way?

I read on another blog something about, "Today I will transfigure all things into beauty," and I just want to weep.