All Tomorrow's Tomorrows

Plans. And changes. And never enough time.

These things are the order of the day.

Plans for an eventual relocation are ongoing. Just waiting for the local housing market to keep jogging along, so we can hopefully get a return on our investment in the house we have now. Interestingly enough, the market in our target are seems to have taken a little downturn. The amount of house for the dollar - and the sheer number of houses we could choose from - is definitely an interesting situation.

There have been big management changes at work. And I mean massive. Those who know me well enough to be aware of the work situation will know some this already, although I haven't talked about a lot of it. There are rumors abounding about who I and the rest of the areas I support will report to come July1st. But I'm too busy to think about it all that much, honestly. And all managers are the same in some of the most fundamental ways. I just want to get past this budget year with my sanity intact. I am :this close: to either being just fine or losing my proverbial shit. By the time I'm boarding a plane for Pittsburgh in mid-July I'll know for sure. At this point I'm taking everything day by day.

I realized after I published my most recent mini rant that I have let a lot of things kind of slide. Writing. Art. Social life. Housework. My weight loss attempts. I attribute this general decline to 1) allowing way too much to be on my proverbial plate and 2) being stressed out on multiple levels and becoming increasingly unable to cope. I'm developing a growing sense of not-alrightness. I call this feeling the Great Unease. As if it's an entity I've had to learn to live with. Sort of like Mr. Sweet from that one episode of Doctor Who this season (where I was happy to see the return of Madam Vastra, Jenny and everyone's favorite fightin' potato, Strax...but I digress).

In the case of the Great Unease, however, it's not a physical parasite, but a mental and emotional one.

I always prided myself in my younger adulthood in my ability to fight off the creeping dread of anxiety that I've seen slowly hobble other people around me. I always figured I was well adjusted and stable enough to not fall victim to panic attacks and to fight off most of the both rational and irrational fears that I could always feel lurking around the edges of my self-imposed emotional rigidity. And that's what it was a lot of the time - keeping certain things at arms length. Being guarded. Down playing some of my failures. I saw this as a kind of personal strength. I told myself I would not fall apart. I've experienced short stints of the blahs and times I felt really down, which I suppose could be considered bouts of depression, but those go away. This feeling I have, and have had for longer than I probably realize at this point, is a ball of OMGWTFBBQ at the pit of my stomach.

You know that old saying about beware of getting everything you want? While I'm far from attaining all of my goals, I've found that meeting the mark on some of them has caused a serious spike in those feelings of personal not-alrightness. Concerned about what some of these feelings might have been doing to my innards, I went to the doctor and got a clean bill of health - aside from my venous reflux...my heat/anxiety reactive eczema...and my plantar fasciitis with bonus heel spur, I'm a perfect specimen of middle aged middle class vitality and ennui.

Tomorrow is just around the corner. I guess I can make it until then.