Breathing through the Wednesdays

Sometimes you just have to live through a moment.

Just breathe.

All we can do is keep breathing, sings Ingrid.

I'm not a huge fan of this method, but I do preach it on occasion to others, and on more rare occasions, take my own advice.

Tonight I came home from work, fed the nugget, washed a pot, poured frozen veggies in it, cracked open a beer.

Finished an episode of The OA.

Started an episode of the Gilmore Girls reboot (I'm struggling to get into it).

I got up to pee. Went in search of the cat. Found him, under the bed.

Now he's in my lap. So warm and content is he.

I read a bit.

I texted a friend. Told her I feel weird. Bored and upset, maybe.

Told her that I'm telling myself it's fine, and that telling myself is kind of working.

And here I am. Putting my heart on my sleeve once again. I love doing this, but when I put my heart out there too much too often, I think about the people who will send me uncomfortable messages, ask me uncomfortable questions about am I OK?

That's what we all need, of course, is genuine concern so we don't slip away, but it seems to be the people who don't get it who ask questions sometimes. Sometimes the people asking are too harsh in their asking, and it makes the askee want to turn on her heel and run for the exit.

Just me who feels this way?

Of course several people show concern in non-awkward ways. I'm grateful to all for their concern, but I prefer not to feel squirmy.

***

I thought about getting up to take a shower, but Max has me pinned down, and no way am I ending that bliss unless I really have to relieve myself. Until then this body of warmth is staying put on top of his mama!

I turned on some music. That seemed to help. When Sara Bareilles' familiar piano tones started up, I calmed a little.

The cat warmth is truly great. It doesn't change the weird patterns of my moods, but if I focus on it it's like Ahhhhhhhh, the way a bubble bath used to feel -- before sitting in a tub became just another place to let my mind run wild, a place where I want to be but nonetheless have to will myself to stay there, letting more hot water plunge from the tap, warming the pool long enough so I'll soak for five minutes more then inevitably give up on this should-be-relaxing action.

***

The thing is, right now, I'm fine. I really am. I think I'm a little bored, a little restless -- Netflix and my book couldn't really hold my attention. I'd like to be in the mood to clean my room but I'm not.

I'm stressed out because I've put off a freelance assignment. I'm stressed because of my procrastination but I'm too chicken to start right now. Chicken's a strange choice of word, because the job is actually very easy, but still takes leg work. There's this weird feeling of chicken that comes over me a lot, though, when I do a writing project for a third party; it's like I know I'll get it done and that I'll do what it takes to make it right by the time I turn it in, but I still wonder somewhere inside if I'll run out of time, if I'll choke.

Just me?

This coming weekend I'll be out of my regular living space. Sometimes this is fine, but pretty much any time I travel, I balk a little. The homebody, child version of me comes back to remind me she never fully left. I don't like to be away from my cat, and call me a criminal but I like to take my nighttime routine of vegging out for granted.

Wow, am I privileged. Privileged enough to be maybe simply bored and then turn to my blog to dissect whether perhaps it's more than just boredom.

And yet.

I'm not so privileged that I'm not allowed to have feelings, unpleasant ones, unclear ones, and then wonder why.

Because in the wondering, I'm trying to solve the issue. Get at the knot.

It's hard for me to hear things about how part of the reason we have lows is to make the highs more appreciated. But I don't know that I'm ever laughing gleefully with friends at the bar thinking, "Well, I'm sure glad I'm not bored and melancholic and confused in my bedroom right now."

OK I lied, maybe I have made comparisons like that, even in the midst of saloonful glee.

***

So why am I writing this?

Well, to defeat the opaque doldrums, for one.

Two, to journal, and try and figure out what's going on in this head of mine. (I'm not great about writing in paper journals, and there's a cat on me so I'm not able to grab some papyrus besides).

And three, I guess I'm here to tell you that it's OK to have weird, blase moments -- even several of them in a relatively short time -- and just breathe through them.

I mean, heck, I'm not even a great spokesperson for simply breathing, because I had to bring my restless fingers over to this keyboard and tap out my wandering thoughts, so they could catch on a dirty screen instead of just circling and circling and circling through the grooves in my brain.

But the point is something weird happened for me tonight. I didn't text Alex in a rush of sad emoticons, because I'm not particularly sad, not really, not exactly. I didn't feel like I needed to make some grand promise to myself about calling a doctor tomorrow (I did, however, yesterday, schedule a therapy appointment, so brava for that).

I was able to look at myself, 10 years deep into therapy and meds and living and learning and living again, and say,

"Hey, Bailey. Maybe you're just bored."

And it's kind of hysterical in a way, to be honest.

So there ya have it. Maybe I'm bored. Maybe I'm a little down, but not quite exactly for sure, no.

The Gilmore Girls reboot isn't that great, nor is the novel I just started, so it's not like I should fault myself for not feeling like I'm a teenager at an amusement park -- with no parents -- right now.

It's just Wednesday night, and I have a busy day tomorrow and then I have to come home and pack and then be away from my cat and my precious Netflix the day after that.

And perhaps in that last sentence I've just sleuthed my way to the answer to this puzzle inside my troubled insides.

Maybe it's just Wednesday.

It's not always Saturday.

And here's the great thing. After 10 years of therapy and living I can laugh at the fact that it took me a whole blog post to figure out that maybe I'm just bored (and maybe a little sad and that's fine), and I can also recognize that I am healthy and that I successfully stayed in my weight-loss calorie allotment today, and there is STILL A WARM CAT LEANING INTO MY LEGS RIGHT NOW.

Sold. I'll take this Wednesday night. And Thursday? You, with your early morning and big meeting and later suitcase packing? You just send yourself right on over. I'm ready to breathe through your tough moments, too, the moments that make me ask questions and want to think there's something wrong with me and pedal until I feel just great.

Because each day teaches me new lessons. Today's moral? It's OK to be bored. And it's OK to recognize it as a privilege and a struggle, in the same breath.

Breath. I thank God today for breath.

[And warm cats. Well, I thank Him every day for those.]