I work with some awesome gnomes — er, people.
It was a good Halloween season. Three awards at office Halloween party, two costumes, one horror theater show, five total trick-or-treaters. Not enough rain or cool weather (but I think that’s on its way — I always get so impatient right around now. It’s the Oregonian in me. By my reckoning, we are at least a month overdue for serious rain), but the garden’s all done, the leaves are turning and falling, and things are going pretty well.
I tried to read The Tommyknockers as my last RIP book, but I have to say… it’s just not getting me. I think I have to call it quits, and move on to my book club book, which is The Art of Fielding. I know nothing about it. Baseball something? I don’t know.
I haven’t been reading much. I guess that’s what happens when your life finally picks up pace a bit. I miss it, but I’ve also been having a hard time finding books that I really love. I guess it’s a combination of being busy and being in a bit of a reading slump. A year-long reading slump? What? It could happen. This has been a long, rough, but ultimately good year. You know it’s crazy when even reading doesn’t happen (or help). But now things are good. I’m coming out the other side. Things are actually far better than I ever imagined they would be for me. The last 5-6 years had been utterly draining, sucking all the life and hope out of me. I have hope again. A life. I find myself spending time thinking about things like, “Hmm. Where would I like to travel to next?” and “I really should see more theater.” Thoughts like these were utterly unimaginable even a year ago. I am almost ashamed of the frivolity of some of the things I spend time thinking about, now.
I always had this feeling that if I just worked hard enough, tried hard enough to have integrity, to do the right thing, to stick with it, to be the person I’d want someone to be for me, it would all pay off at some point. I guess it has, although not in the way I thought. I think back to just shy of a year ago, when everything shattered and I had no idea what was going to happen next. I hoped it would all be okay. I looked forward to the day when I would feel better, when I knew what was going to happen, when the direction of the next chapter of my life seemed more defined.
Now I know:
- I kept the house, and have somehow done it all on my own. This makes me happy and proud. I love my house. I am not crazy about living way out here… but I do love my house very much.
- I finally feel well. It took a good six months to feel normal again, and another 2-3 for my everyday emotions to thaw enough to feel spontaneously happy. I feel pretty darn good, now. I have capacity for joy again.
- And joy has found me, again. I’m not lonely anymore.
- Thomas is feeling better too. His panic attacks have subsided, and he’s bouncy and Tigger-y and generally a joy to be around.
- Work is getting better too. Or, there’s hope on the horizon, anyway.
Better is better. Better is WAY better.