Putting out the garbage

I like garbage day.

I like getting the garbage out of the house and to the curb.

I like getting the recycling off the back porch.

I like getting the compost out of the tins and freezer and ready for pick-up.

I like cashing in the bottles. Even though it is a ridiculously small amount of money, I like getting those coins put into my hands after sorting and cashing in the wine and pop containers.

I like returning all the stupid plastic grocery bags to the store.

When we are camping I also like the feeling of getting the tanks empty. Getting rid of the shit, so to speak. I always offer to do it. My husband does not understand why I like to do this, but he is glad I do.

I also like doing laundry, and the feeling of folding it and getting it all put away and seeing the empty laundry basket.
(putting it away, in the case of my husband's clothes, is piling it on top of his dresser).

I like (okay, LOVE) doing dishes.

Clearly there is a metaphor here.

For a person who suffers from depression and anxiety cleaning up and sorting out stuff is helpful.

It gives me a sense of control. And accomplishment.

It is like wiping the slate clean.

A new beginning.

Fuck waiting for January 1, which only comes once a year.

Garbage day is every week.

And wiping the slate clean fifty-two times a year makes a lot more sense.

Anxiety comes to stay

It is over. Our son left yesterday. Our daughter left today. There were tears. There are always tears when they go back to their lives.

It was a good visit. We ate well, swam, walked, went to yoga, played music, talked, played board games, napped, shopped.

We had the most lovely Christmas morning. The gifts we exchanged all seemed so perfect.

And then.

And then two days after Christmas my anxiety kicked into high gear and although I would rally from time to time it was always there in the background.

Today, most of which was spent in bed, I was thinking maybe it isn't anxiety. Maybe it is the flu.

Maybe I am not crazy.

Maybe I am just sick.

So that is how I am framing it now. My dear husband has gone out to get me some ginger ale, and tomato juice.

I am not going to let this feeling take away the last seven days.

I couldn't hug them enough, love them enough, spend time with them enough.

We went to bed before midnight so the new year arrived without our help.

Today is not the day for a big dinner, we celebrated our new year's dinner on the 30th (and also our daughter's birthday which is later this month).

Today is the day to nap, and sip ginger ale and maybe start a new knitting project.

Because although it doesn't feel like it right now, I know this feeling will pass. Anxiety is not a welcome guest, and I will do whatever I can to move it out.

And there will be at least 360 more days to revel in what 2015 has to bring.

Right?

Right.