I have come to this space a few times—once when I was in the sanctuary of the library, surreptitiously sipping tea from my thermos because food and drink are “not allowed at this time.”
Just say what you mean, I thought, bristling at the signs placed here and there throughout the building. If it’s the new rule, okay. If a temporary band-aid to address a specific problem, I’d like to know that too. “At this time.” What does that mean? It’s the ambiguity that chafed, and the rebellious, cranky side of me felt justified in sipping my tea.
I came here again one afternoon when Gerry was in the other room watching the big screen flipping between our grandson’s hockey game and the CFL semi-final on TV. (B.C. Lions vs Saskatchewan Roughriders. He had a friendly wager on the game and lost. The Riders went on to win the Grey Cup. Yay, Saskatchewan.) I know I’ve been here at least once before. I can tell from the partial posts in my drafts folder.
But I just haven’t felt it. Suddenly, everything feels like too much.
We’ve entered the dark months—that’s likely part of it. The in-betweenness of November is wearing. The grandeur of early autumn, with its changing colours, harvest, and fresh routine, hasn’t yet given way to the cozy, hunkering down time that winter brings. November is just blah. And, on top of that, busy. At least, that’s how mine is unfolding.
Every square on my November calendar has something on it. This morning, thinking I had a free day and being reminded that was not so, I called enough. Nope. Not gonna do that thing.
So, here I sit in my woman cave on another gray November morning listening to Einaudi on Amazon Music, splashing paint on paper and tapping out words while Molly sleeps in her bed next to my desk. Regrouping and re-grounding.
Make up your mind, I want to say to Mother Nature. I’m okay with the gray, but can we at least have some winter with it? Or, if not, gobs of bright sunshine to battle the doldrums? Like the sign in the library, it’s the ambiguity and liminality—the dull, grey in-betweenness—that’s grating on me these days.
Anyway, enough of my whining.
Winter will show up soon enough, and I’ll embrace the coziness for a few months until I’m back in this kind of headspace, beyond ready for spring. I try to be content, but I’m not always.