I cannot write.
Am I sick?
Am I tired?
Am I bored?
Am I depressed?
Or is it any combination?
I have no idea…but I’ve got 9 papers to write this term and I can’t seem to make anything happen. That’s not good.
I’ve had fleeting ideas for this blog but had trouble developing any of them. Not good either.

All my things are at YBW’s but I’m living out of a bag waiting for July to be over so I can be there where my things are, where he is.
Perhaps this limbo is what’s creating my crippling ennui?

I’ve wondered, in the time since I moved my belongings but not myself, what I was thinking…agreeing to work the entire month for my doctor…interviewing and hiring my replacement, listening to the protests of patients who don’t want me to leave…on one level it’s flattering, on another I feel resentful that my priorities aren’t as important as theirs.

Thing 2 turned 16 on Thursday. It was the perfect Thing 2 kind of day because it was spent as through the world revolved around her…we had facials and lunch, and a trip to see our darling friend who owns our fave comic book store, then pedis (my toes are painted red with tiny white polka dots) and smoothies, finally we went to dinner and for ice cream with her boyfriend and her dad.
That is why I chose to stay here for the month of July, it isn’t about not letting down my doctor, it’s about my selfish desire to spend Birthday Birthday with my baby.

Thing 1 is off adventuring with her boyfriend this summer…like Shrek and Donkey…she’s having a blast and seeing our beautiful country through unique eyes. I’m happy she’s enjoying herself, learning and seeing new places…I can’t help but think, get your ass home and go back to school.
She called me the other night in tears, she was anxious and sad, and said that she “just needed my Mommie”. We talked for a bit until I helped her feel more calm, and then we talked about just regular stuff and she told me she loved me and thanked me for making her feel better. Poor old bear, I just wanted to hold her…turns out my words did.

Ennui is the perfect word to describe the way I’m feeling.
Ennui can kiss my freckly white ass.
Or maybe…just maybe, ennui is simply my temporary home and I’ll come out the other side eventually…will it be soon enough to finish 9 papers before the end of term?
I don’t know.

Hmm…seems I can write a teeny bit…even if it makes no sense.

Categories: me | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

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4 thoughts on “ennui

  1. You write well.

  2. Thank you, I’ve been feeling rather illiterate of late.

  3. I find it oddly fascinating to let my mind trickle back over the sequence of tiny, seemingly random decisions that led me to this blog entry of yours.
    I have been, for the past few days, ruminating over my apparent lack of interest in doing things that I actually enjoy, once I have begun doing them.
    On the face of it, one might call it a lack of initiative… but I seem to be losing, in fits and starts, the lively enthusiasm for which I have come to be known, within the little ponds whose waters I swim.
    I have no term papers which need to be written, though I do have a blog (started at the prompting of a local newswoman who was out recruiting blogging partners for the online edition of a local paper) which I have been alternately ignoring and lamenting, since I have had no real desire to add new posts, even though it is important that I do so (for reasons I shall not list, at present).
    I am a retired industrial electrician. I renew my journeyman’s license with the State of Michigan each year, and attend the National Electric Code update classes every three years, even though I do almost no real electrical work… mostly because it is much easier to keep up with the license requirements than it was to get the thing in the first place.
    I am also an artist, both on paper and with the carving of wood. I have open-ended commissions which I diddle with on occasion and will undoubtedly rush to finish the night before they are due. I should be adding to my stock of carvings and whittled whistles, but I do so only sporadically.
    As a writer, though, I have been pondering over why I am not writing. The tentative conclusion at which I have arrived is that actual writers are compelled to write, whether they think they will do well at it, or not… whereas I am a person who is capable of doing it well, but does not always feel compelled.
    I have a friend, whom I have known literally all my life (I will be 56, come November). He is 83 and staying at a local hospital in recovery from a heart attack, but has been suffering from memory loss due to mild dementia for a few years now.
    I visit him with my mother twice a week and, as I try to revive his interests of old, I find myself pondering the nature of my own.
    I thank you for putting your thoughts where I could find them, as I feel a kinship with you on this and have found my load lightened a bit by reading yours and sharing my own.

    • Curiously, Lee, writing about my lack of interest in anything broke down my mini-wall and I was able to write 3 of my papers since this post as well as a small new post.
      I liked what you said about being compelled to write vs being capable…I find myself compelled to write, all the time, every single day…sometimes I simply cannot because I am too jumbled up inside. What is hurting me right now is not feeling settled, I am a girl of creature comforts and at the moment I have no desk, no chair, none of my things to make me feel as though I belong, I’m not comfy in my surroundings because they’re not mine. Soon I’ll be where my things are in my new home and I’m counting on that making a difference.
      I hear you say you’re an artist. Perhaps your art isn’t writing…perhaps, as you say, you’re capable but not compelled. Does that mean writing isn’t the “true” way your artist expresses himself?
      You wrote, “as I try to revive his interests of old, I find myself pondering the nature of my own.” This hit me straight in the gut! I think we think of ourselves as “this” or “that” we don’t remember that we evolve…as we evolve our interests do also. So you’ve inspired me to really dig deep and do that pondering, because maybe what I would have said 5 years ago or 5 minutes ago isn’t how I would answer now.
      I wonder if you’re feeling it necessary to write, could you write what your friend in hospital talks about? It might jump start your writing because you’d be documenting vs trying to force your artist into writing when he wants to carve. I don’t know, but it sounds like it could almost be an idea.
      I must tell you how reading your words moved me today, I’ve been struggling with all the changes in my world, ready for it to be still for a bit so I can ground myself and feel settled. Your words also ignited a feeling of kinship in me, thank you.
      I hope your ennui becomes interest and that interest fuels your passion.

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