Not the Only Ship on the Ocean

I have been writing this post in my head all day, but words escape me now. I do know I’ve had one of those days where I’ve wanted to step outside of myself. I’ve wanted to get away from myself, my troubles. I’ve wanted to be somebody else.

I’ve never loved you, January. Never.

In the past five days, this house has seen a burst ear drum with four-day long dripping, three sore throats, a urinary tract infection and the stomach virus. On top of the endless laundry and dishes, there’s a funky smell in the kitchen. I haven’t found it yet. But I do admit to cleaning the fridge like a mad woman today on a crazy, sudden whim. Oh, and then I pulled the stove out all by myself to sweep up the dust bunnies in search of the offender. I’ve bleached the trashcan and the counter, twice. If I had it my way, I’d have enough time and energy this very second to be dissecting the mess under the sink, examining the contents of the freezer and prepping the whole kitchen for that beautiful shade of robin’s-egg blue paint. But first, I must find that smell.

Alas, I’m sitting here, struggling to write. Because something has taken my mojo and left a funk instead. I’m feeling it at work, on the volleyball court, on this laptop. I’ve somehow allowed myself to be backed into this corner, where things seem a little more hopeless and out of my control.

But I’m turning a corner. I’m not going to take this lying down. I’m changing my mind right here and right now.

And I’m going to give a shout out to Zac Brown, who crooned to me earlier as I did the dishes for the third time today. He told me, yes me, that I’m not “the only ship out on the ocean.” Furthermore, “Save your strength for things that you can change / Forgive the ones you can’t / You gotta let ’em go.”

I see you, January 24. And I bid you farewell!