Blues of the non-musical sort

Is it possible to be happy about the success of a project and then feel a sort of emptiness as it draws to a close? I'm thinking yes because I'm feeling perilously close to that empty feeling I experienced after my mother died.

There are a lot of loose ends still to be wrapped up. I suppose that is why I'm struggling with the spiritual part of myself that yearns to just break free of work and locale. If I could create a perfect me-world it would be peopled with flowers from my gifted green thumb; art from my heart and from the heart of others; a studio that magically resurrected itself and kitchen cabinets all shabby chic Tuscan and complete.

There is a part of me that wants to skip all the steps of getting there. I've always been like that and it's only been over time that I've been able to develop any discipline and focus. Have you ever felt that you were being pushed in a particular direction and the only reason you are making any progress at all is because life expects progress? Life happens around you when you aren't looking, someone said.

The word rootlessness has been bothering me lately. I am ashamed that I still feel the rootlessness of my childhood considering the goodness in my life - a home, children, a dear husband, expectations and hopes for a creative future.

I find that while I am taking a more active role in what I do with my time, what I feed my mind, I still cannot come to grips with the one thing that completely defeats me and that is my image of myself and my relationship with food. I screamed at myself this morning "How hard is it to just say 'NO'!". I felt like Nancy Reagan was shaking her finger at me so I screamed back at her. I don't remember what it was I screamed but my car's interior is still vibrating, I'm sure.

The disquiet has been sneaking up on me all week. I haven't even written any Good Things notes this week. Three weeks have gone by and now I'm dropping the ball. Three weeks is a sort of real doing barrier for me. I often lose the power to continue projects after about three weeks. I wonder if others feel this start and stop rhythm in their lives.

There are three things I would like to do in the next two weeks - one is very easy. Tonight I pack two more boxes for Frida. Then this weekend I finish one side of the kitchen. And if I could, I would completely gut my studio all of next week and save only that which is most precious. I'm frozen in place and desperate for a thaw. Don has given me a plan but it's up to me to get started. But in the meantime, I must find a way over this latest black hole that is creeping up on me, engulfing me, and trying to convince me that I am somehow less than I really am. Frida calls it Black Dog. Welcome to Black Dog Land, Anne, and now dig under the fence and get the hell OUT of it.