Vacancy

“I’m feeling a little vacancy.” That’s how Aunt Blanche would sometimes, rather tongue-in-cheek, express hunger. Well, I’ve been feeling a little vacancy, too, these days, but not in my stomach. I have been staring at this blog for months, wanting to reach out with meaningful words; set down some sort of record. At first I blamed my creative deficiency on lack of time, then on lack of interesting activity; after all, one day looks pretty much like the next around here. Yet, there has been something brewing beneath the surface of my psyche that I need to say.

Perhaps the stage of care giving and receiving that Mom and I are in is to blame. Some days the feelings are too deep or too personal to set into print and on others they are too shallow and self-centered; exposing the worst of me at a time when I am trying to exercise the best. Or maybe it’s that my feelings are just too jumbled right now.

All I know is that when I go to write, I am empty.

Void.
Flat.

In fact, my conversations tend to be the same.

I have nothing to add.
Ever.

The natural inclination, of course, is to look for solutions.

Get out more.
Keep busy.
Exercise.
Find things to do together.
Grab some alone time.
But, honestly, I know all that; it’s what we’ve been trying to do. This problem is something else.

I have decided that Mom and I are both just tired right now; tired of ourselves, our complaints, and each other, and each other’s complaints…and demands. We’re trapped; me willingly, her not so much. And frankly, I don’t think there is a specific cure for what I feel right now. It just is what it is. Maybe restlessness is a natural part of this journey and the best thing I can do is acknowledge the emptiness it conjures so that it doesn’t become overwhelming and then continue on with as much tenacity as I can muster. So with this post, here I am, moving forward again with renewed resolve.