Yesterday I looked around at various piles of mess that had accumulated everywhere and realized with dismay that I didn’t care whether they were cleaned up or not. I didn’t see the point. This happens to me often. Every … oh, I don’t know, thirty days or so? For the last 25-30 years? Sir said you’d think I’d see it coming.
But last night as we were lying in bed, I turned to Sir,
« I feel such a sense of despair. »
« Why do you think that is? » he asks, puzzled.
« Well … » I groped for the words. « It’s like I’m not fulfilling any purpose. I’m not this super creative person, like a writer with crumpled paper all around her bed as she types away furiously. Or a painter with blue paint all over her overalls and some on her nose. Who cares if her house is a mess? She’s painting a masterpiece! I’m not any of those things. I try to be creative, you know, with scrapbooking. And sometimes I think I should sew or something but if I don’t already fill those empty hours with creating, it probably won’t change if I add another hobby.»
« Neither am I simple and methodical, taking pleasure in simply running a home like Danila or Jocelyn. I’m not like that little mouse in the storybooks that wears an apron, sweeps out her little hovel, adjusts the painting on the wall, and sits down to tea and a cheese soufflé, perfectly content. I’m not like you, who with a couple of free hours will build or fix something in the home just to make it a better place to live. »
« Yeah, why is that? » interrupts Sir mischievously.
I ignore him and carry on. « I do the basics, you know – make sure my family is well-clothed and well-fed. I make sure the dishes get done at least every couple of days (I know, I know) and I vacuum up crumbs when I can finally no longer stand walking on them. But I am neither one nor the other – neither a creative source nor an orderly one, and that makes me feel a sense of despair. »
« Hmm. » Sir thinks. « What exactly happens to you each month? I mean, why do you feel such promise at the beginning of it and such despair at the end?»
« Well, » I said laughing a little, « On an esoteric level, at the beginning of each month there’s the possibility of creating a new life, which inspires such hope and promise – such possibilities. And at the end of it the possibility is dashed. »
« And then on a physical level, » I went on, « the hormones … »
« No, no. Let’s go back to the esoteric level, » Sir said excitedly. « I think you were on to something there. You have trouble creating because each month your subconscious works on creating the most important thing – life! Why waste your energy on anything else?
That’s probably why there are more male artists than female. Men can’t produce the most important creation there is so they have to settle for other arts. But they can’t create life itself. Although, I mean, they can assist … »
« With great pleasure, » I add with a grin.
« With great pleasure, » he adds laughing.
And that was the end of the conversation.
Alexandra says
Beautiful.
Break my heart: don’t tell me this gorgeous tete-a-tete is in French? In the dark?
Aaachk! the pain of your lovely life…
Mrs.Mayhem says
I could so relate at the beginning. At the start of every similar conversation in my house, my husband asks if it’s my time of the month. Drives me crazy.
Obviously we don’t have the same sweet ending to these conversations. Usually it has me flouncing away in a huff, miffed at the PMS label.
But your Sir is so gentlemanly! And supportive!
You are a lucky lady.
Alejandra Carvallo says
Really cool, good job. I enjoyed it!
ladyjennie says
Thanks Alejandra!
tulpen says
seriously. i feel the same way. a lot.
sounds like you’ve got a great *ahem* assistant.
tee hee.
Ms. Pearl says
Your husband sounds wonderful. Hormones are a pain, aren’t they?
Kris Dziduch says
oh my…Sir is a rare gem. (Not sure my “sir” would have followed along in my rant-I mean train of thought…and certainly would not have understood the word esoteric.) I am longing to come meet him, and your beautiful children. Then…I want to curl up in a comfy chair-or your garden-and chat with you until the wee hours. I miss you. PS…much of our conversation would be me telling you that you are indeed creative, inspiring, and definitely purpose-filled! I love your writing style and relate to your topics and themes. You manage to take our mundane, our shortcomings, and our triumphs (large and small) and just make them sound so eloquent and even romantic!
ladyjennie says
I wish we could spend some time together too. 🙂
Melissa (Confessions of a Dr.Mom) says
Well I would contend that you are a writer 🙂
Written so well and those darn hormones take a week of my life every month.
dusty earth mother says
Brilliant! I’m tweeting this one, it’s too good to miss.
mep says
Since when are writers not creative types?
Beautifully crafted post. I’ve never stopped to track when I feel hopeful and when hopeless, but I think you’re on to something. I hate how I can be so full of energy and plans and positivity some days and just feel so empty on others. Urgh.
ladyjennie says
Mep, somehow I feel like blogs don’t count. You’re not a writer unless you write a book or newspaper articles. Is that rubbish?
Erin Margolin says
lovely. I can relate to those times of the month, too…..beautifully expressed.
😉
Helena says
Beautiful, and so very relateable. I am in love with your life.
Kate says
Oh, to be creative OR orderly. No. I sit in the middle, with chaos all around and nothing to show for it. 😉