I’ve been here before. Not on this sofa or tip toeing around paper mache and styrofoam- but I’ve done this before, trying to invoke some rush of productive hypomania to push away the feeling of loneliness. Who else wakes up on a Saturday morning to drive across town to go to Home Depot to buy six dollars worth of rocks to build a lightbulb terrarium? No matter what Pinterest or Etsy or Instagram sells you, no sane woman does arts and crafts without having a very thinly veiled pit of depression. The more time I spent sitting on the floor waiting for the craft paint to dry, the more I felt silly putty over saturated with newspaper ink slowly losing all elastic properties and sticking into all the fibers in the carpet.
There’s more than twelve chores I could easily hop up and hum into productivity to shake off this slump. My current activity of binging A Girlfriends guide to Divorce fits into no one’s cutesy self care regime. I have to be at least ten years too young to find any of these women relatable but here I am moving four and a half muscles to smile at Lisa Eldestein. There’s probably a half an hour long window before the sun sets that I might be able to salvage the last half of this day for work.
Even my grey Garfield has gotten up to try and drink paint water. Might as well try and clean up.