I've been feeling so monotone lately.
I think I'm going through the change.
That's what my mom calls it. "Going through the change".
I used to think that was something that happened to women in their 50s or possibly even in their 60s .... but ... apparently... I am wrong. Women are becoming peri-menopausal as early as their 20s these days! Not that I'm anywhere near my 20s....
I haven't written nearly as much as i have wanted, because ... to be honest with you ... whenever I sit down to write, I stare blankly at my computer's monitor for seemingly hours without a word to say.
The only thing I seem to accomplish is to breathe in deep and exhale a gust of air and watch my bangs blow upward toward the ceiling as I wait for just the right words to pop into my brain. But the only words that do surface are words like whatcha-macallit and thinga-majig or that doo-hickey.
What happened? My brain was once full. And now.. it's like someone gathered up all my passion and fun and excitement and drive into one large empty grocery bag and then tossed it into the nearest garbage bin.
For a while now, I've been self-reflecting and evaluating my blog, my life, my friends, and pretty much everything else that happens to find it's way across my path. Is this the right path for me? Is there a better one?
Everything that once was, seems to be no longer. The only thing predictable now is the unpredictability. My body is not playing fair anymore, either. I'm not liking it. It's almost as if the simple smell of food seems to be enough to pack on a coupla pounds around my mid-section. It's nothing short of hormonal terrorism.
My life feels like it's passing me by in a galloping pace and I want to jump in and start living in it more. I want to feel excited about things again like I once did not that long ago ... when it's 2 am and I'm super wide awake but who cares, because this is so much fun! And then I wake up early because I can't wait to start doing whatever that is again.
I'm not recognizing me much these days. My stories don't seem to have any rhythm to them. In fact, I don't feel like telling them. Sometimes I begin and then after a paragraph, I fear the story is not interesting enough and I need to stop. I want to show a project I've been working on and even that seems puny and silly to share.
I think, perhaps, my Muse has packed up her bags and bought a one-way ticket out of town.
Hang in there with me. I'll be back sooon. The me that once was.
Isn't that right? Those who have traveled this path before me? We really do come back as ourselves, don't we? Please say yes....