Andre and I talk sometimes about our respective states of mind. I call it depression. He calls it his lows. Today, he said he tried for a number of years to "drown in wine and women" to get out of that state of mind, until he finally woke up one morning and realized that hurting others wasn't going to help him. He needed to sort his mind out first. And so he did that.
I'm curious which side of the bed one has to wake up on to just wake up to a resolution like that.
Anyway.
When we were having this conversation today, he was talking to me between baking stuffed croissants and shallow-frying meat-balls, and nursing his son, who's down with flu.
When we were having this conversation, I was sitting at home, like I do most Sundays, feeling bloated and allowing the weighing machine to make me feel worse about myself.
The only similarity between his state and mine was that we were both home today. Him, taking care of his children. And me, hanging with my dog and my nephew, and my ageing parents...all children in a sense.
I don't know if this is what it means to arrive at middle-age. You fret over your graying hair, the changing measurement of your waist-line and worry about a mind that doesn't seem as hip as the rest of the world on social media does.
Andre always tries to make me feel better when I'm feeling 'low'. He tells me I'm one of the most intelligent and attractive women he's ever met. And I feel like he's merely being generous with his use of adjectives because he feels like I need help. There goes my cynicism!
For me, the core struggle comes from having to face the world. I have no courage. And it takes everything out of me to try everyday. I could only begin to think of who I am, once I've managed to get myself out there.
This has always been my everyday.
I'm curious which side of the bed one has to wake up on to just wake up to a resolution like that.
Anyway.
When we were having this conversation today, he was talking to me between baking stuffed croissants and shallow-frying meat-balls, and nursing his son, who's down with flu.
When we were having this conversation, I was sitting at home, like I do most Sundays, feeling bloated and allowing the weighing machine to make me feel worse about myself.
The only similarity between his state and mine was that we were both home today. Him, taking care of his children. And me, hanging with my dog and my nephew, and my ageing parents...all children in a sense.
I don't know if this is what it means to arrive at middle-age. You fret over your graying hair, the changing measurement of your waist-line and worry about a mind that doesn't seem as hip as the rest of the world on social media does.
Andre always tries to make me feel better when I'm feeling 'low'. He tells me I'm one of the most intelligent and attractive women he's ever met. And I feel like he's merely being generous with his use of adjectives because he feels like I need help. There goes my cynicism!
For me, the core struggle comes from having to face the world. I have no courage. And it takes everything out of me to try everyday. I could only begin to think of who I am, once I've managed to get myself out there.
This has always been my everyday.
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