Falling flat

I was going to write last night. Friday night. I guess it's been one of those weeks that so much is going on that nothing gets processed and just stacks up until I feel saturated and tense with ideas and complaints and frustrations that won't dissipate. But then I thought - every minute I spend writing is one less minute I can sleep, because the events of the day were so tightly packed - squished together with no room in between, like a can of neatly packed sardines. So instead I laid there and blogged in my head until I remembered that I used to call this "thinking".

Today I drove in to the Farmer's Market at the last possible second, six-forty-five am, just as the white-bearded Mennonite man who sells sausage biscuits and bratwurst with his wife and daughter was pulling the gate shut. Most weeks I get there about ten minutes after the gate is shut, which means I have to park illegally in the street with my hazard lights blinking until I can carry all the stuff inside the lot and go park. All the other vendors watch me do this every week. Sometimes they offer to help when I'm waddling in like a pregnant elephant trying to carry in my display table, but mostly they just watch me with wondering expressions. No, it really wouldn't be that hard to get there fifteen minutes earlier. I just don't want to. This morning, however, as I was driving in, a couple of people I've never even talked to before shouted congratulatory remarks to me and everyone gave me approving looks over their coffee mugs and I felt like I had just completed some kind of rehab program.

Tonight I'm antsy and bored with the things that I do. Someone talked about what bands are playing in town tonight, and the thought of sitting in a bar drinking a beer I don't want and trying to yell a conversation over a band I don't like that's trying to make up for its deficiencies with excessive volume made me want to go slam my head in a car door. So instead we sat on the porch at a friend's going away cookout and I tried not to focus on how much my back hurts and how much I'd rather we be somewhere with no houses or streets or music at all, not saying a word over the total quiet. I'm tired of being the person who wishes she was doing something else.

In some ways this is my worst fear fulfilled. My life is completely devoid of adventure and I spend half of my time getting through something until I can get to the next thing until I end up feeling like I'm just swimming all day, fighting through whatever's happening so that I can do something better or go back to bed and get some more insufficient sleep. And who put me in this lifestyle? Well, I did.

I guess I'm just cranky.