Rushing up to the wall that was the end of 2012, with all the holiday tumult, it was both incredibly easy and very hard to think about the year that had gone by. Reminders were everywhere, intentional and not, and while I tried my best to be all cheery and seasonal, I couldn’t help but feel a certain rote nature to all of it. I was doing it because it was what was done, and because, despite the memories it dragged up, not keeping the season would have been an even bleaker experience.
But now we’re a week removed from the holidays and the malaise lingers. The days are busy, but not quite full. There’s still the slightest hint of going out simply so I don’t sit here staring at the walls, so I don’t wallow. There are times when it would be so easy to come home from work and just deactivate on the couch, but I don’t want to become some bitter recluse, so I push myself out the door. And for the most part, I don’t regret it, and genuinely enjoy myself. But always there’s this empty apartment waiting for me when I get back.
It doesn’t help that any pretense of fitness has gone by the wayside. Every day I tell myself, “Tomorrow, tomorrow is the day we get to work on this.” And tomorrow keeps being every day. My gym closed, but even when it was open, my visits were sporadic. I got into a pretty good groove walking, but my usual impatience kicked in, frustrated at the lack of visible progress, and it just became easier to sleep a little later, to dawdle a little longer, to find some trivial thing I absolutely had to do that left no time for exercise.
And even this blog seems like a chore sometimes. It’s this thing I have to do every day. I know I don’t owe anything to anyone but myself, but should I be so lackadaisical about disappointing myself? I’ve got writing muscles I feel atrophying just as my actual ones are.
And I’m tired of it.
I’m tired of justifications and excuses. I’m tired of second-guessing. I’m tired of holding on to anger and sadness and regret and confusion. I’m tired of halfway solutions and unrealized plans. I’m tired of blaming events for putting me here and not taking control of those events. I’m tired of being tired. I’m. Just. Tired.
But there’s no one that can do a damn thing about it but me. No one is going to come save me. No one is going to make everything all right. Some might help make it easier, but it’s me that has to shoulder the load. I’m ready for it to stop being tomorrow and start being today. I’m not quite sure how, and I have no idea how long it will take. But it’s not going to happen by re-running the last year over and over again in my head, or by hoping some magical solution will come along and present itself. I’m going to have to go out and find it.
I’ve had moments where I thought I’d found it, but it proved fleeting, small islands in a torrent. I was still stuck in the middle of the river, only thinking I’d reached the shore. I need to get these feet back on dry land.
And I’m only going to do that if I get in the water and start swimming.