Just Spinning...

And I hate that. I am not one for fast rides, dizzy heights or things with wheels, blades, wings, or floaties. You get the picture, right? Don't get me wrong. I am not a control freak by any stretch of my imagination or yours. I simply know my limitations and areas of challenge. And although I have balance, I have reduced confidence with things that are strapped to me or my feet. And past experience tells me with real life scars and stories yet to be written that I am best trying to cope with whatever life chucks at me with my own two feet. And while I am here setting the scene, you may as well know that with a head like mine that seems to be becoming more annoyingly crammed full each day, I don't need any additional help with becoming disorientated, I got it covered. And when I get really ramped up, well I become headily-giddy in my own merry way.

So, Just Spinning? Yes. That is how I feel right about now. Like an old fashioned wooden spinning top that seemed to be connected and useful but within seconds is just going round and round in a precarious fashion as others lose interest. Or similarly, a coin that hasn't quite stopped its revolution and is at that awkward stage just before you know it's going to fall flat. And that will be that. No odds. Game over. Sure, I could bump off the sides of experiences like a pinball but I am not. I just seem to be stuck going round and round.

And the reasons? Well, there will be many. And of the many, there will be some that probably make sense to some pseudo-psychy type out there. And quite frankly, I don't really care right now about the why. I am more focused on the what to do about it. Pause. Even I stopped right here as I typed this and had to smile; okay there may have been a little snort. Me looking at an outcome rather than the process? Seriously? I guess when I think of spinning, I consider how long it's going to last and what it will take to interrupt the seemingly unending rotation, without resulting in hollow sounding slaps at the end of it all as I come to some kind of resting point. Am I the only one who feels like this? Just lost and going stir crazy as I consider options and what the hells? Probably not; I am not that special.

I couldn't even bring myself here to Charlotte Sometimes to air and share. I was just too wound up. I guess at some point I've got all grown up and stuff because even I recognised where I was headed. Gee, I even identified it was a case of having a glass of wine at 4pm, heading to bed to hibernate or just throwing myself full pelt out into the lashings of wintery rain. And in no particular order. And I don't know what I want to do about it. Or what I want others to do or to say or even what I want you to know about it. It just feels crap. That's all. And yes - GROAN - I know that it is JUST SPINNING and it will stop eventually but I am over it; whatever it is. I just want to get back to the middle ground, the firmer feel of life familiar and have a sense of purpose that keeps driving me forward. Yep. That's probably it.

Don't get me wrong. I have so much happening that is good. Great, in fact. But there is this great whopping BUT stuck like a bold faced, bare-cheeked thing in my way (hey, maybe it is a BUTT). And I am kinda over it enough to not even want to go round it, through it or over it. I just want it gone. But what that means or what it it looks like, who the hell knows? Not me.

Aimless? Maybe. Pointless or directionless? Possibly. Are they the same? I know at least one person who would be more than happy to have me pinned up against a bar somewhere, challenging me to use them in a sentence and unpick the finer coatings of wordplay, one fondly played fibre at a time. But just spinning? Hey, let's just call it a lexiconical gap and I am happy to receive comment at the end of rambling rumination with better choice words. Challenge set.

Back to it. Right. Well, hibernating is only really a short term thing, wine is not so much fun when you are on your own and the thought of whips and lacerations from icy rain and crazy curling wet hair just didn't resonate somehow. So faff it was. A bit of this and a bit of that. And with that faff was a curious calling to check through months past and see if I had made any similar revelations about feeling a bit on a wonk in my world.
And after some rummaging through reams of words, this is what I found:

I am decidedly in a different headspace. Cannot quite fathom it but it is something akin to a vision that I hold of myself as I wobble madly mid-road on a rusty old bike; not quite steady (serious understatement right there) and likely to veer off in any direction at any given moment, without any warning whatsoever. It could be CABIN FEVER. Ah, that is most likely. It is 11:20pm and I somehow didn’t even get my coat off for 4 hours after coming in from work. I found myself still fiddling around in the office, in all of my usual work-clothey type gear come 8 o’clock. Then I considered a WALK but the rain was still hanging about. So, I am probably - by now - well and truly past my I-really-am-in-the-need-of-fresh-air-and-a-release… Hence, the clearing of the freezer - I have three large plastic bags of food stuffs that look dangerously like meats that have been encapsulated in some weird frozen twisted Disney-esque manner. SUSPICIOUS nonetheless. And now these foreign dead bodies are 10 kilos of -oh-jeez-they-may-defrost-before-Wednesday in my wheelie bin. This cleansing (well, cannot really call it that.. more like ice-pickachipping) of the freezer led me to find frozen bread, that then became toast - and that is where your marmalade came into the frame. I am clad in my first class pyjamas…FUNNY that (this is a reference to a blog that is yet to unfold of Timely Tales of Travels, btw). And who would have thought they would make a cameo role in your second blog?! Nice one. And ready to continue my quest to totally turn the house upside down just so that I can tidy away my office. FRENETIC energy. Now, you could tell me all about that; the whys and wherefores etc etc but all I know is what it feels like. Bloody annoying. So I am using the toast as a distraction and a vehicle to finally get rid of the Bertolli Olive Light Spread that has been kicking around the ‘fridge for far too long. I have been in what was my daughter's old room. Now that I have realised that she ain’t coming back, it is time to reclaim the space. Easier said than done. I have just spent the better part of 34 minutes trying to preserve the blu-tac with which she has lovingly adorned all four YELLOW walls. I have permission to chuck out what I feel I can. All so I can then move my own crap in there so that the PAINTING can commence. Whoop!!  

And I guess it made the spinning silent and secondary just for a fleeting moment. And it sure as hell made me smile as I read my old words that seem fresh and spirited somehow.

I like the thought of me 'wobbling madly mid-road on a rusty old bike…. likely to veer off in any direction at any given moment.' It makes sense to me. It means something to me. I can connect to it. Picture it. Feel it. And there is this utterly undeniable sense of sheer 'what the hell-iness' that makes me want to say 'F'ck it,' this is not where I want to be. And I just want to be ballsy enough to make that decision. To stop the spinning. Shit yeah. I just want to grab that rusty old bike and pedal madly and ungainly down the middle of the boring old road, hair trailing behind me in the wind (well, I don't think I would be that fast actually) with the stupidest grin on my face.

Or second best thing? Take that bloody coin between my own fingers and spin it. Heads or Tails. It is a 50-50 chance. Seriously. How bad could it be?

But I am trepidatious and that leaves me Just Spinning…