I feel a logjam in my heart...a mass of something overwhelming and strange. And I can't seem to dislodge it.
So I do the next best thing. I try and distract myself, listen to music, sing. Sometimes it even almost works.
What does it mean when you lose interest in almost everything you once loved? I find myself almost viscerally recoiling from books, from words. I practically cross the street when I see a bookstore. My library requests are being returned to the shelves, unread. Today was the first day I have done my morning pages in weeks. They were...not illuminating.
Perhaps it's just worry. TEG ended up extending his stay in India. By the time he gets home, we will have been apart almost a month.
Perhaps it's dislocation. Our lease is up here soon and we need to make a decision on where to move next. A decision we are finding most difficult to make.
Perhaps it's hormones. I finally managed to wean the Madam.
As always, more questions than answers.