In a conversation with my cousin about our upcoming wedding anniversaries – hers in October, mine in November – she asked me what year my husband and I were coming up on.
“Seven,” I replied, to which she responded, “Oh boy, the 7-year itch!” I’d never heard that phrase, so she explained that it basically means that happiness in marriages tend to decline around the seventh year. We dissected it because often affairs are associated with the 7-year itch.
I’ve thought a lot lately about my priorities. Besides all the normal ones like my family, my health, my sanity, etc… I’m trying to not only find what is most important to me, but to live by those things and focus on only a few priorities and limit all the other “noise” that litters our information overloaded society. (And my head).
The clock is ticking.
So much to do, so much to catch up on, so many new thoughts flooding my brain.
I’ve been in waiting for the last few weeks. Waiting until I got my kids settled in school. We’re almost there.
That means freeeeeeeeedom for me. At least a little bit.
When I woke up this morning the weather was in the mid-fifties. For the first time in months I reached for a hoody. I didn’t feel the need to turn on the A/C, my sheets weren’t damp with sweat, I felt a light breeze through an open window, and my skin wasn’t sticky.
Fall is coming.
I have mixed feelings.
This morning’s run didn’t take me as far as I wanted it to. In other words, I had to walk part of it. At first this was a huge disappointment, but I soon realized it was better to walk than run through the agony.
When I started out I had a respectable pace, but a clumsy, achy, tired gait. I couldn’t get my groove after a busy weekend full of highs. It didn’t help that I was running along a road less traveled.
Last night before I went to bed I toyed with the idea of making myself an ice cream sundae. I didn’t really need it, but it sounded good. I asked my husband if he wanted to have one with me. He said no. Not that that’s deterred me before, but I just had this feeling that it wasn’t the ice I was craving — it was something else.
Part of my daydreams and thought-processes involve scripts in my head. Movie-type scripts. I am always the central character, though I often mold and change into different personas, usually desirable ones. People in my life are the characters that I converse with and are part of the action. These made-up scripts revolve around me saying all the right things and having the upper-hand and proving a point. These scripts are also do-overs after conversations and social situations that didn’t go well.
The further along I progress on my path to healing and recovery, I wonder — is it normal to cast roles and scripts and have scenarios play out in your brain that always work in your favor? I’ve never really dissected the scripts in my head because “writing” them was commonplace. I guess it’s some sort of coping mechanism. Now that I am aware of it, I decided to write one of the scripts down and tinker with it.