Holiday From My Holiday [ramblings]

Holiday from my holidayMost people sit before the Thanksgiving feast and share waht they’re grateful for. Shares of peace, family, a roof over the head- they’ll be repeated for decades on end. I didn’t sit in that category this year. Yes, I’m truly appreciative of all those listed and more, but I found myself in a slump before Thanksgiving even began.

I had a lot going on, but mostly NaNoWriMO (of which I won as of 11/19, like a B.O.S.S.). I pushed and pushed, even when I didn’t feel the inspiration. During November, he understands my goal, so he assumes all my household responsibilities, except teaching. He’s an admitted, awful teacher. But I honestly found no peace, no fulfillment in my writing. I’d fallen into one of ‘those’ slumps again.

So for eight days, we hid away in a cabin, in the Georgia mountains. An 8-hour drive that I didn’t have to drive one mile. I listened to silence or an audiobook. Then wile there, my hubby did all the cooking and cleaning, telling me to relax and find my inspiration. And I did!

I wrote a short story, where a character with my husband’s name is shot in the throat by the main character. Therapy. Now don’t get me wrong, I love my husband dearly and I’d never really shoot him with the gun described in my book, of which I actually own. He’s a good man and growing father and husband. he just wanted me to write something and feel better so bad, that I used him as my muse. LOL He loved it, but didn’t liek that it was his name. Or that the characer shared many similarties. Hey- and author writes what the soul wants written, yeah?

I walked in the woods, kicked my feet through leaves and jumped at every scurrying sound in the distance. I soaked in the hottub and relaxed in a jetted tub. All of them allowed me to relax, but my mind wouldn’t stop. It was only when the guys would leave that I truly felt peace. This pensive state brought on thoughts of wanting to escape, to flee the ones I love the most. I’ve imagined myself running to another country, trashing my passport and becoming a street urchin. A grown-assed urchin!

What is wrong with me?

I could never abandon the man who’s given me everything and only asked that I remain loyal and faithful to him. And my son- I fought to carry him and his two siblings (my son was a triplet)- how could I leave him when he depends on me for everything, daily? I also have a daughter but she’s grown, but she has two little ones and another on the way. They love me. And yet, I’d leave them if I could. Just for the silence.

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My smile is from love, but I don’t always recognize it. I don’t recognize the female in the photo either. There’s so much wrong with me. Layers upon layers of sadness, misunderstandings, mistakes, regrets, darkened only by the years of unfulfillment are all I see. My dark eyes are the well of wasted tears, never to dry.

Christmas is coming and I have to pretend to be cheerful and lively. I will have to sing in the Christmas program at church- hopefully with no lead for me. I can’t lead; I’d be a sham of the woman I used to be. I keep digging for her to resurface, but she’s elusive. I am hiding. I refuse to leave church, because the house is a house of sinners, looking for a way home. That’s me.

I’m just tired of looking.

So I wa supposed to have shared with you that I’m taking the day off from  writing. I’m going to read and relax before getting back to teaching and housekeeping tomorrow. I’ve said too much… I haven’t said enough.

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