Saturday, November 1, 2008

Dust to Dust

I’ve mentioned my cycles before.

And as much as I’d love to discuss my claim to womanhood, I do not refer to that cycle – I mean the death of contentedness, and rebirth of folly. Over the length of perhaps a year, or less, I go from an antisocial, gloomy constant – who focuses on what she should do rather than what she wants to do – to a severely ADD fanatic who would chose controlled vice and inspired madness over the nunnery that is my reality. It’s not so bad that I become dangerous to myself, or my family, but it tugs at the deep-rooted Catholic guilt I so love to stroke like a long-haired cat, curled up on my breast as I try to sleep. Sometimes there is an overwhelming desire to analyze right and wrong, and others I simply want to wallow in wrong and hide behind my mask of comfortable servitude.

I am currently in the latter stages of distracted ill-humor, and though I wear my happy-mask well – I go from one task to another without really noticing a thing. I work, cook dinner, and wait for the time when the kids are in bed, or watching whatever has replaced MLB, and I slip into bed with my book and my bottle of wine, not knowing which I want to escape to more. (I’ve made that easier lately, on my British Monarch kick, which involves so much debauchery and vice – I feel like I have everything I need and more). I wander though the day, seeming cheerful and energetic to most, even sometimes fooling myself, and then I think of him, or notice where I am – and I run hiding into the closet inside my head.

My God. It’s not really as bad as it seems. I am convinced I can rationalize almost anything, and do so adequately enough that I really am NOT a bad person. And besides, while I love drinking, smoking and having sex – at least I confine myself to only smoking regularly, drinking in spurts, and sex in my head. The way I see it, I could easily be sainted for less in today’s world. I’m like one of Henry VIII’s wives – but without someone to pull my sweatpants on for me or fetch my horse from the stables.

If I don’t make any sense, excuse me please. I am on the third day of a weird high-alcohol, low-sustenance diet – and have found the most expensive bottle of cheap wine for my daily ration.
Maybe I should go to mass in the morning.

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4 comments:

Wow, that was awkward said...

Late night last night. My head is pounding. Would that be just like the sex in your head?

Periodically Consistent said...

I'm not sure, is the room spinning?

Then yes.

Char said...

I have those mood cycles too - and just when I go in the "up" cycle something seems to happen that puts me into the whole "I'm so freaking bored with my life I could scream cycle."

Periodically Consistent said...

DO you ever get the feeling you're more intense, and not as unhappy as people think? :)