Feeling all out-of-sorts and kinda woozy. My sinuses have been bugging me this week and so I'm taking sudafed for it, and it gets me high in a weird sort of way. Sometimes just silly and talkative, which I tend to be anyway, but sometimes soulful and wanting to reach out to the people I love--it can accentuate this longing that has been nagging me lately. I feel like an adolescent, like I don't know who I am. I know, typical, boring, utterly predictable sorts of mid-life feelings. I have been pushing myself, growing, but I haven't quite reached a new place, a new sense of self. I just know I'm changing, that this change is something that I've wanted for myself, but I don't feel settled yet. I feel in-between, and irritable, and like I'm not getting what I need. Then, I'm really pissed at myself because there's an opportunity for me to write something on a subject near and dear to me, and submit if for consideration to be included in a book, and I can't do it. It's just one fucking essay and I can't write it. I distract myself with blogging, and with boys, and I pretend I'll write it later, but the deadline is less than two weeks away, and I'm going on a road trip with the kidlet and my mom (yay!) next week, and when the hell am I gonna write this? When I have taken the time to sit down to work on it, why is it that I have nothing to say? Am I only capable of self-indulgent whining and attention whoring on this blog? Can't I even muster the disclipline for a few thousand words that aren't just me blathering on? Am I that addicted to self-sabotage and being stuck where I am? Apparently so. It's good that I will be away from eVil corp. for a week, that I am going to the beach to face the waves and the wind, that I'll be out of the city and in some open space. I'm too caught up inside my head, forever analyzing, going round and round, thinking, thinking, thinking about every damn thing, and I need to get back inside my body, to feel the solid reality of my physical self and my physical surroundings again.