house of bedlam

In a footnote to some later essay on the degree of my obsessive-compulsive nature, I moved the compost bin that was yesterday’s home improvement project about 12 ft. to the left today. I had only put a little compost in it already. It was part of a yard work whirlwind - now that the weather has changed, the approved method for escaping bad head space.

I grew up under the impression that a woman’s 30’s brought all kinds of benefits like peak sex drive and multiple orgasms. I see now that was some kind of code for rampaging out of control hormone swings, and can just barely remember a time when I was able to maintain a consistent mood through 5 weeks. I have a great deal of retroactive sympathy for a number of my friends that appeared to completely lose their minds several years ago, when I was just an unknowing and uncaring girl in her late 20’s. Sorry, ladies. I had no idea how crazy it is possible to get (please tell me it gets better. And also any information you have about multiple orgasms).

It’s not all bad, though. No longer able to function in joyful obliviousness to basically everything, I am learning some exciting new skills like anger management, sticking around, and handling disappointment. And when I say “learn” I mean it in the sense that I am aware of these things, not that I am good at them. Most days I struggle with the sad realization that I am not very good at virtually everything (I am OK at baking and very good at organizing things like compost piles 12 ft to the left).

Organizing things, especially in combination with manual labor, has terrific head-clearing properties. Putting things in their place has always helped me sort out things internally. So rather than letting my anger and disappointment eat me alive and alienate my loved ones, I sorted out the woodpile and took on some nigh indestructible grape vines. Things in my yard are looking better, and if things in my head are less than perfect, they are somewhat improved.