I’m sorry I’ve been AWOL lately. I haven’t been in a good state of mind, and it’s hard to motivate yourself to log on, fight with passwords, and spill your heart when you don’t want to get off the couch. It’s also hard to be inspired to share your life when you’re not pleased with everything. A state of boredom, I suppose.
I’ve been so out-of-sorts lately, when I made the two and a half hour drive to see my best friend last weekend, I took no pictures. None. Not of the Pretty Prairie rodeo, not of us (relevant because we’ve been mentioning since my graduation that there are no pics of us together post-freshman year), not of his nice house or pretty scenery or adorable dogs (an Aussie-Lab and a 6 month old bloodhound that’s all feet and tongue), not of anything we did over the weekend. Well, I took one of the pie I made before I left, to tempt him for the second half of his day at work. Ornery? Yes. He deserves it.
I’m your typical girl. I like clothes, and shoes, and I’m slightly vain — even going to the dirt track races last night, I wanted to look presentable. I fuss over hair and makeup (not that you would know it by looking at me most days) and agonize over how clothes fit and how to make myself look even better. And yet, I avoid pictures. Not a huge self-portrait taker, not willing to give my camera to a stranger to take a full screen shot. I’m a voracious shutterbug, but not of myself… I have dozens of Oklahoma sunsets, the calf crop, the new trucks and combines, of craft projects from around the house, but I think there are maybe two pics of the happy couple on our honeymoon. Is that normal?
I wonder if it’s because I’m in such a frustrated state that I don’t want to remember this time. I’m not happy with how my life is. I don’t know if I made bad choices to wind up where I am, or if I’m just a circumstance of bad luck. I refuse to admit that “it’s out of my control” and therefore feel personally responsible for my state of mind. It’s not my Better Half’s fault, not my boss’s, not my coworkers’. It’s not my family’s, it’s not my friends’, it’s not my hateful mother in law’s fault. The only person who can make sure that I’m happy is me. Even the grace of God is meaningless to my happiness if I choose to refuse it. So here I am. Miserable, and fully responsible.
In a state of confusion. With no pictures to prove it.