Melancholy

I’m having one of those days.

It started out well, but then after naptime was over around 2:30, there was nothing planned. Nothing to do, plenty on the “to-do” list. After about 30 minutes of frolicking around the house with Kyle, I sighed and thought to myself, “Now what?”

Even though it’s nearly impossible to do anything while he’s home and awake, I find myself itching to cross things off the to-do list. Then when I think about the to-do list, it seems so 50’s housewife. Laundry. Bills. Dinner. The cushions on the couches must be washed. The air filter needs to be changed and cleaned. The new DVD player needs to be hooked up. (Okay, I guess not so 50’s after all.) But the point is, is that all there is?

Now, clearly, I know that isn’t true. I just had a job interview on Wednesday for a job that is good. As in, the show does good things for the world. Not that I want to be working full time again or anything, but after almost two months of not working full time I am suddenly feeling aimless. Not to mention much more cash-less.

But that’s not the problem either.

Every time I get hit with this wave of melancholy, I always suspect homesickness. After all, I talked to a family member this afternoon, suspiciously just before I started feeling sad. She asked me if we’re still working on our 5-year plan to move back to CT. Of course we are, I said, but are we? We’re no closer to anything besides the decision to do it. And that reminded me that I wanted to take this time while I’m not working full time to further develop my writing. I have this fuzzy image of myself working in a converted old barn on our farm in CT, in a colorful little office, writing something. If I try to get more specific I think that writing for magazines or the web would be perfect, but just from the little I know about that field, it seems very competitive and full of hustle. Look at all the great writers out here in blogworld, for one. At one point today I left Kyle playing in his new box (stay tuned for a picture of THAT) and I came to the web for solace. I checked one of the more famous blogs and felt that old green monster rise up inside me as I read that its author was invited to speak at SXSW in Austin. Whenever I read about such things, my first reaction is not happiness for the other person, it’s “why not ME? Nobody reads my blog. Wah.”

Now, I know that’s not true, and I always console myself by thinking about my own little clique of readers who I read and I love, and my friends and family who read here and support my endeavors and tell me I’m a great writer. I think that praise, “you’re a great writer,” has sustained me at points throughout my whole literate life. And truth be told I am definitely scared by the idea of making a living through my writing because then it would be work, and it would be much less fun.

And then I think, “What am I thinking? I do make a living as a writer!”

Duh.

If you’re still reading and you’re not totally sick of me by now, thanks for hanging around. It is becoming clear to me that this post is the equivalent of me writing in my journal when I was 16, “why doesn’t he LIKE me?!” It’s therapy, and I guess I just need to get over myself. I will NOT blame this on my pregnancy, because I am so sick of people rolling their eyes and saying “Oh well, you know she’s pregnant” when trying to explain the inexplicable actions of a pregnant woman. Because you know what? Sometimes that’s not it.

So anyway. Stewart got home just before 6pm, and at first I thought that would be a good turning point in my day, giving me something to do: make dinner. But he said he wasn’t hungry because he had a late lunch, and to be honest, I don’t feel like making dinner. So I ordered a pizza, and now Stewart is playing with Kyle, and I sit here with my iPod and my Indigo Girls, trying to revive myself. I’m gonna go read some of YOUR stuff, hoping for a good laugh.