The Tempest

I think I am depressed. My stress load has launched into atmospheric levels and there is not enough wine on the planet to bring it back down. Each morning I watch as my husband slips out of bed, heading off to work earlier and earlier to battle the huge project list he has. And I lay there, having already been up for hours thinking about all the issues at hand; fighting with the rental car company that charged us $3000 extra, remembering that I haven't staffed a big event coming up, wondering what to pack for my upcoming trip to Berlin, worrying that my kiddo may be taking on too much as he enters high school with additional college classes... I could get up and start tackling said issues, but a melancholy malaise has drifted over me. Instead I lay in the dark room and try to stretch the debilitating cramp that has setup camp in my neck and shoulder.

I finally pull myself from the covers and try to motivate, the constant ding of my phone downloading emails and texts can no longer be ignored. I slunk to the bathroom and see my reflection in the mirror, it mimics my emotions. I'm trying to grow out my hair so at this stage it stands straight up in a wild Troll Doll of my youth style, having been too lazy to remove my makeup the night before, I now have black circles under my eyes... not that the bags under my eyes would look any better had I washed it off. I'm getting older and my face shows it. My favorite sleep shirt, a thin blue and white striped baggy thing has ripped down the sleeve in the night, clearly it could not sustain the tension as I heaved my lard ass over in bed. What a bummer.

My husband has made coffee and cleaned up the kitchen before he left for work, man I love that guy. I sit on the sofa and sip my lukewarm coffee, I'm too lazy to even heat it, and start looking over work messages. There is nothing that is an emergency so I allow myself a few moments to consider working out. Maybe a run? OK too out of shape for that, but I could walk? Too hot already, but I could work on the tap routine from the tap class I haven't managed to make it to in far too long, or at least stretch, I really need to stretch. None of that happens though. Instead my phone spastically dings, rings and chimes as it tries to notify me of all the ways people are needing to get a hold of me all at once. I guess you could say I was literally saved by the bell from working out.

The day slips into evening and my teenager emerges from his room, only the 3rd time I've glimpsed him today, and he clearly doesn't want to chat. I watch him disappear back into his lair, which looks more like a library than a bedroom at this point and I think how lovely it must be to simply read books and take naps all day, I love that he gets to indulge in this kind of luxury this summer. I can't help but wish I could keep him safe in a protected parallel universe where that's all he would ever have to think about.

My husband arrives home beat from the long day and I haven't even managed to shower yet, my hair still a crazed mess and my ripped shirt still on. He seems to understand where I'm at and pours us both a glass of wine. I reluctantly put away my computer, the never ending list of projects still beckoning, and stretch my legs over his lap. He asks about my day and I give updates on all the varied projects, the hold ups and the catastrophes. Then I ask about his day, he tells me funny stories from podcasts he heard while they continued building the new winery storage room or the gossip from around town as he and the guys swapped stories while bottling a new wine. It is soothing and the wine eases my shoulders to relax.

I finally shower and throw my shirt away. My husband has fallen asleep on the sofa as the golden setting sun slips behind the mountain. I feel a deep loneliness as I let the dark waters of my emotional tempest rise. It has been a very difficult 2 years, really 4, too many horrific challenges, changes and losses to name, but sitting in the now darkened room the sinister thoughts come in.

My husband startles awake and catches me by surprise, "what's wrong?" he asks, evidently my eyes told my thoughts. 'Nothing' I reply, how do you rehash all the details of the demons scratching at the door when we are both so exhausted? Instead I curl into the crook of his arm, he knows all my struggles. He kisses my head and gives me a understanding squeeze, pulling me closer. "Would you like some more wine?" yes, he knows me well.

*this blog is brought to you by yes-I-have-a-therapist and no-I'm-not-suicidal