Mudville After Casey

I awoke to a world dim with filtered dawn. The fog was dense, impenetrable. The mists swirled and broke, shifted and reformed, the distance hidden from view. The air was damp, sounds were muted. Clarity was lost.

Metaphor? My life? Befuddled by fog?

On the way to work, I was in a patch of clear, then into the thick and oppressive fog. A moment of seeing clearly, a moment of dark despair. Definition then ill-defined. Here and tangible, lost and cloaked.

My life is clear and then clearly lost. My sense of joy is vibrating with action, or as dim as Mudville right after Mighty Casey struck out. Clear as mud.

In my inbox this morning was this quote: "A sailor without a destination cannot hope for a favorable wind." by Leon Tec, M.D.

There was a time when I had a purpose. I could define myself with nouns that were awe-inspiring, at least to me. I was healer. I was mother. I was wife. I was useful. I had a destination. I had a way to assess my value in the world.

I am no longer a healer. It was a conscious choice made rationally. I could become a healer again with little effort, but I choose to not take that destination. I am able to make a long and cogent list as to why that path would be incorrect for me now.

I am mother, but to adults. While that doesn't mean my job is complete, it does mean the job description has changed. Negotiations have shifted positions of power. I'm not an authority, but more like a mentor. Not quite a peer, but less authoritarian. And much less needed. My son will respond differently, but that's only because he loves me. He doesn't depend on me for a roof over his head or clothing on his back. Not even for help with his homework.

I remain married to my starter husband. That relationship, if it can even be called that now, is also remarkably changed. I crave interaction, stimulating discussion. I would love to intellectually connect. We have never had this type of connection. He is not a man of words. He cares not for "discussion" preferring to do. He is drained by his job and can only focus on the complaints and ills of the world of work. Dinner discussions are either me trying to entertain someone completely bored with me, or listening to a litany of problems at work. I wish I was able to change this, but I have no idea how. I have more stimulating conversations with people standing in line at the grocery store.

After dinner, I'm back to the computer, he to the television or Xbox. The fifteen minutes spent in the same room while eating can finally be finished. We can retreat into our solitary and aligned lives without interaction, without inter weaving our lives. Two people completely alone in the same house.

I'm lost in my fog. Without direction. My GPS isn't working, the current maps have not been updated. There is no road with my name on it. No course set for me to sail. I've not filed a flight plan. There is no place to go.

So I retreat to my loneliness. Without friends. Without a job. Without a life. Sitting in front of a computer screen with my life dripping by – ever so slowly. The angst of old. Dear Abby and Annie's Mailbox are full of advice for lonely people. Get out and join something. I've joined a few things and been just as alone. Volunteer. I do and I'm appreciated while I'm there and then I go back home to my solitary confinement.

I remember days shared with friends. Filled with job, volunteer work, sports, and family. Kids needing to be here and there. Husband engaged in the family. If the fog lifted, perhaps I could see it again. But … it seems so impossible from here.

I scream in the dark. The fog swallows the sound. I return to my cell. Of my own construction. Hating my life. No, there isn't enough for a life. Hating my existence. Without the will to change it. Without knowing how to change it. Without caring enough to change it.

The fog crept in on little cat feet…