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I'm having one of those days. Hazy. Daydreamy. On the edge of mellow but dipping towards gloomy.
Brooding is about right. Especially in light of something I read recently about broody hens who stop laying eggs because they become intent on their efforts to hatch a batch of unfertilized eggs. Sometimes when I get like this it can be the precursor to a creative breakthrough. Other times it is the vestibule of melancholy.
I'm hoping for the former.
Two days ago I was eagerly anticipating this weekends trip down to Phoenix OR to see my husband and pack up my books, crafts, clothes as he has to vacate by May 15. Now instead of focusing exclusively on how great it will be to see him and spend a couple nights with him, I'm already anticipating next week when I'll be back here at Mom's 500 miles away.
It didn't help that the trip got postponed from Friday to Saturday. Something I learned just before going to bed last night. Nor did it help when I heard today of another woman with visual impairment for whom the process of getting back on disability took over nine months. I had it in my head that it should be faster than the first time not longer and my hopes were pinned on the end of summer at the latest.
My imagination is just refusing to accommodate the concept of this limbo being that prolonged.
It seems like every time I think I'm adjusting to the new realities created by my recent lifequake there is another aftershock to throw everything into a jumble again.
At times like this I feel like a fraud with a name that has to be a cosmic joke.