the despicable emotion

Tonight I did an incredibly rare thing for me.  I expressed my suddenly unbearable internal misery in 15 tweets of self-pity.

I simply could not be either positive or silent any longer, despite using every hard-won technique in my extensive repertoire of mental health management. Go look at them here https://twitter.com/stitchsarah if schadenfreude is your thing. Or maybe you'll just be disgusted.

It wasn't fun or pretty.  Some very kind people contacted me with beautiful messages, for which I am truly grateful, but overall it wasn't a good exercise. I ended up ashamed, disgusted with myself, resolving to try harder to keep those feelings away from public view. I'm well aware that this post is an exercise in ritual self-humiliation in futile expiation of the above-mentioned shame. Along with all the risks of being transparent about imperfection.

Folk wisdom says it's best to be honest, to share your real feelings. But look at what the images for self-pity show. It's an emotion that is mocked and despised. Where's the distinction between so-despicable self-pity, and the honest and necessary acknowledgement that one is desperately unhappy?

Naturally I'm fighting to turn away from this. Yes, I'm practicing gratitude for every scrap of good in my life AND the lessons from the difficult stuff. Of course I'm doing my bloody utmost to be positive. Most of the time it works. But not all.

unpacking, creating order

I returned back to my flat after a beautiful week away housesitting.  That means unpacking the car and bags, and a lot of sorting out.  Creating order. Which is my very favourite thing among many others.

"Homecoming" is easy now - it's the flipside of the speedy packing I wrote about earlier. However, housesitting is really different from a hotel trip - in so many ways. Focusing on just two elements:

I take much more stuff, because I plan to do some nice recreational things, and cook of course. This time I took sheet music (singing practice), sewing machine & fabric (finish a quilt top) and an assortment of edibles to complement the good stuff I knew I'd find in the pantry.

It's bigger, and I use more of the space. I had stuff in two bedrooms, two bathrooms, kitchen, dining room, laundry, lounge, office, garage, bikeshed, deck! Pretty well spread out, what luxury.

You do your best when packing up to leave, but it's inevitable something gets left behind. That's where the orderly unpacking comes in - if I put stuff away in its proper place as soon as I get home, theoretically I'll notice the gaps and realise what's missing. So far, I'll I've missed is the cheese ("Who moved my cheese?") Hopefully the family will recognise it's feta and make a Greek salad.

Hope there's nothing else more significant ...

Solitary no more

I've been house-sitting this week, with the bonus of a tiny wee kitten to care for. She's been just enough company. I've seen a handful of friends - exactly the right people and the right duration - otherwise a most blissful solitude.

Tonight the family returned, late in the evening, after a long drive. They're all in bed now, but it's incredible how the feeling of the house has changed. Solitary no more, a new energy.

The birthday

December 31 is my birthday. It's an odd date, but it's the one that late 60s obstetric practice delivered (yes, that was intentional) and at least there's always fireworks.

There was a lot more than fireworks this year : a beautiful location, a fun challenge, numerous good and kind wishes, some art making, time with friends and a swim in the ocean. And a kitten.

Feeling lucky, blessed and glad to have made it to 45.