It must be spring

The spring weather has been as unpredictable as always.  I just give thanks that I live in the north and not in the South Island which has really been copping it.

I'm at a bit of a loose end.  There's no much I could be doing but I don't want to do any of it, lack the energy and the enthusiasm. 

I'm sort of bored with myself, if that makes sense, vaguely looking for the stimulus to kick start a sense of purpose.  Spring, with it's new life, new beginnings is all around me and I just sit and wait for what happens next.

 

 It's been two whole weeks since I’ve felt like creating anything. That’s something of a drought for me.

I finished all my Christmas present sewing projects and fell into a strange place, a mood that was very unusual for me. I suppose we can all, from time to time, be gripped by moods that are vastly different from our usual mien. A little random gene that manages to fight its way past all the others that dominate, fights its way to the surface and takes command for a time.  I'm confident it will soon be beaten back into the depths by the daily troops. For the moment that little random gene is holding all the others at bay – pretty good going for something that only pops up maybe once or twice a lifetime.

For the past week the only word I can think of to describe my mood is a malaise which is a word I associate with Victorian ladies who fainted and swooned and drifted around the place in a dream. Weren’t they always sinking into a malaise at the drop of a hat? In my malaise I just feel  exhausted, lifeless, zero energy, it's an effort to walk to the kitchen to turn on the kettle let alone feed myself. I don't feel unwell in any way, I just don't feel myself. 

And my mind feels as decrepit as my body, can't concentrate, had to swap books as the one I was reading suddenly became far too difficult to follow. And I even had trouble following the plot in a bodice ripper.

 

I'm confident eventually my daily genes will regain command, I will wake up one morning soon and my old self  will be back. I know my instinct to write about this until I can make sense of it will save me.  It's always been the way for me when something doesn't make sense.