My body is feeling somewhat disgruntled.  I want to cuddle, but I don't want to be touched.  I'm tired but the sound of my husband's breathing combined with his smell makes me not want to be near him. 

He's been very kind today, very considerate.  It's not him, it's me.  I've got some sort of weird sensitivity thing going on right now.  I want a cool room, no heat and no bodies, human or canine, near me at all.

I've got my cup of tea, my soft pink bathrobe and the six Merry Murderesses singing in my head- "He had it coming."  This is a bit of a hangover from watching a rerun of Chicago last night.  I've always loved that particular number and the choreography of the films version is quite alluring in it's contrasts of black stark costumes, pale white skin and red scarves displayed as the cause of death is described.

I think I need something to feed my spirit.  And my mind.  The BSN program is not for me, I've come to that conclusion.  I want to do something with writing, I think.   A more formal course.  Then there's the fact that I like the work I'm doing as a nurse- I don't feel the need to do more, although there are times having an advanced practice license would be attractive.  Attractive in that I could prescribe and treat.  Probably more lucrative.  So why am I contemplating English and writing as the area in which to persue a degree?

Because I think I might want to do it just to do it.

Right now I think I'm too foggy  to puzzle out exactly what is missing, but something most definitely is missing.  I'm very clear that it's not the boys.   I've started to create a new place within myself for my role as mother at this age and this time.  I'm not anxious for the boys to create any grandchildren at this time, but I do miss the presence of children in my every day life.  Not in large groups , mind you- that's enough to send me running, screaming into the woods- just one or two special kids to get to know. 

For now, I must get to know myself better.  It occurs to me, shortly after I write this sentence that I have become the woman I always wanted my mother to be.  Kind, compassionate.  Non-hitting.  I've had a very strong opinion over the years about how I wanted her to be- it's taken me a long time to accept her as she is with all her messy human qualities.  I defined myself by how much like her I did not want to be.  This has gotten me through almost forty-seven years of life on this planet, but surely there is more to being me than not being her!  Where does my creativity come in, my spirit, my abilities and talent, my human messiness, the things that make me ME? 

When the boys were first gone off to school- the both of them that first year of Boy Wonder's life at college, I couldn't decide what to have for dinner because I didn't know what I wanted to eat.  Thankfully, that little struggle has, for the most part been resolved.  Now it's moved on to bigger topics.  Like, for instance, I know I want to return to fencing.  A few more pounds and I'll be able to get my jacket on again so I can go to fencing. ( I miss you, Big Watts). 

I like to write.  I need to invite someone in for an extended stay in my imagination so I can have the sheer pleasure of writing.  I don't feel much like rug hooking right now- the right creative impulse isn't there although the temptation to design something, anything is making itself known at the edges of my consciousness.

I guess there's more percolating here than I suspected.

Blessings abound