Monday Mornings Indeed… And The Rest Of The Week Isn’t Looking Much Better!
What the hell is it with Monday mornings, or the day in general? Lately Mondays profoundly suck for me, in more ways than I could ever say. By the time 7:00 a.m. hits I’m usually throwing up, sipping ginger ale, damn near hyper-ventilating, and ready to come out of my skin. These last two weeks it’s been really bad, and even though I know it’s supposed to be to some degree, I never expected this.
Sometimes, but especially when you’re grieving, there’s only so much your body and mind can take. You start blocking things out without even realizing it, but in an instant you can end up in tears. I feel broken. I know I’m not, I know I will push through the darkness and come out a better person, but right now I don’t even care about being that other person. I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired. We’ve all been there, I’m sure.
It’s taken me weeks and weeks to regulate my sleeping schedule, so I’m not going to bed as soon as the sun is up, and then spending the rest of my time writing as the stars and the moon take over where the sun leaves off. It’s all too easy to slip back into this mode of operation, especially when you’re upset, stressed, agitated, etc. I’ve never been great with happiness. I laugh a lot (as people always tell me, “You’re hilarious. You will say anything!”), I smile when I feel it, but the rest of the time I’m a pretty quiet person dealing with her own internal crap.
Over the last few weeks, other than the work on the first novel in the series I am writing, my only other major accomplishment has been with cleaning. Half of my loft space is almost cleaned out. I didn’t have a complete & total nervous breakdown when I found things my Mom had saved. I kept what was important to me, and I wasn’t afraid to throw shit out that no one will ever want, need, or use. A few hours a day and I’ve made a lot of leeway. At this rate, I see the second bedroom being half cleaned out by the time my “new arrivals” join the family.
One of the things I have discovered over the last few weeks is that not having a cat or cats makes me deathly ill. Did you know that owning a cat/cats lowers your blood pressure, boosts your immune system, and raises Serotonin levels? As soon as my little girl was gone, I got sick. I am actually somewhat allergic to cats, but now that there isn’t a cat with me 24/7, my body has damn near gone into shock. I am coughing, sneezing, my skin has reacted in some very unpretty ways (Not stress, I checked with a dermatologist.), and I’ve hit emotional lows that I haven’t had since just prior to the original adoption many, many moons ago. In my entire life, I have only lived without a cat for a short period of time, so when I have cats, I am healthier, but when I don’t, my body is like “What have you done to us?!”
So yes, I am adopting kittens. I said I would, I always knew I would, but this time I am preparing for them as though I am bringing home a newborn. After going over a zillion different things with a lot of the local (and some not-so-local) shelters I have decided to return to where it all began. I am going to take a few small trips first to give myself a bit of a break from my daily life, from routine, and because I’ve had a bad year or so. I am also going to make sure everything they could possibly need is already on-site, and then it will be about going and finding the right little babies. I am armed with a list of potential breeds, but in the end, it comes down to what I sense off of them. I am one of the most intuitive people you’ll ever meet, and I don’t fight that.
So, hopefully by the end of August/early September I will be feeling a LOT better once additional lives have been added into mine. As sick as I am, and as I’ve been, I am starting to think I AM a cat, but hey, I’m cool with coming back as one.