Burning

The temperature reached 99 degrees here today, tying a record high for the day. That's the second time a temperature record has been tied here this month.

Like my beautiful friend here, I did the same thing, indulging in long, loose, flowing clothing and a nap. For the latter, I do feel just a little guilty. I wonder if I'll ever get over the feeling that my waking hours should all be spent in something productive, and that my sleeping hours should be limited to night time only.

For someone whose guilt reflex shifts into gear for lack of productivity, I seem to be getting very little done lately. I work efficiently at my job. I don't waste time, and I look for ways other than my defined work duties to help. My co-workers have kidded me that they never had to order so many dusting supplies before I started working at the boutique. Let me get home though, and the story changes.

I'll look at the mess, think I absolutely have to do something about this and start on a chore. Before I get too far into it, the feeling kicks in that there has to be something more to my life than this. So off I go in search of some inexpensive pleasure -- a book that will divert and not take my emotions to some place I don't want them to go, a dvd that hasn't been viewed too often to wear off its charm, a witty observation from a friend on Facebook. It can be almost anything to keep my mind going to the dark paths it finds so easily. It doesn't help though. My work and my diversions all feel meaningless, and that's what bothers me the most.

I've given up on quite a few dreams in my life. Some were intelligently relinquished because I have learned a thing or two as I aged. Others have been painfully sacrificed, but I've never given up on my life having meaning and making a contribution for the greater good. That leads me to the big question of why I'm not doing more about it. I confess I'm afraid of answering that question.

Do I fear my own lack of competency? Do I fear what I'll have to sacrifice to do something meaningful? Is it just more comfortable to be miserable than to change, and is change really possible? Do I really deserve a life better than this? Do I really have anything to offer? What if I do make the changes, and nothing is better? One question always leads to another, and it's only because I've been back on anti-depressants for about a month that I've even had the guts to ask these questions. The structured, organized part of myself is calling me to create my traditional lists. My more poetic side is yearning for dreams that could contain hints, clues and signs of hope.

I chose today's painting for the suitability of its title for our local weather. I had no clue what direction I'd head when I started writing. I just wanted to post that picture, and I like where it's taking me. Just writing down the questions has made me feel a little more hopeful that the serenity the painting shows is possible for me.

The painting is Flaming June by Lord Frederic Leighton, 1895.