I've been having a hard time controlling my thoughts as of late. Though there has been no devastating tragedy to usurp the joy in everyday living, it seems that a grumpy little imp has moved into my body like a bad mucus commercial. When I step outside and observe the warm sun beaming down on my face and a soft breeze tickling my legs my new little friend materializes on my shoulder and whispers in my ear, "Isn't this just miserable?" I turn my head to find the source of this absurd thought only to discover I am still alone. No, I think. It is lovely outside. It is fall; leaves are dancing along my path like a ballet and watching them is magical. Things are as they should be.
My imp retaliates. "But that breeze is tickling the stubble on your legs. Is it not itchy?" It is itchy. I notice that now. I take a moment to scratch a days growth on my ankles. Ugg. My legs are dry too. My skin always dries out when it's cold. My optimism fights back because being cold means warm snuggles inside with one of the two beautiful people I live with.
"Yes, but how much snuggle time do either of them give you?"
My imp is right. Paul is very busy and gone a lot, and I'll just put it out there, texting about snuggling is not the same. Andrea. . . she is very busy too. Crawling, cruising, finding hidden pieces of cereal to chew on. . . pooping. The reality of my loneliness starts to sink into my chest like pneumonia. I search for a silver lining and find it just within reach. But I do get snuggles, and they are sweet and precious to me.
It seems the more I search for joy the more this little imp whispers.
Today I watched Andrea stare into a cup and laugh. She makes happiness look so effortless, I thought. My little shoulder devil kindly reminded me that I wasn't blessed with that gift. I looked over to the sound of the voice. No, I thought. I'm in charge of my mind, not you. And with a swift figurative flick of the wrist I sent that little guy flying. Then I metaphorically sprayed him with bug spray. Then I flushed him down the toilet.
I ran over and tickled my daughters little tummy and she laughed harder, and for the first time in a while, there was nothing in the world to be grumpy about.