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1: an indefinite feeling of debility or lack of health often indicative of or accompanying the onset of an illness
2: a vague sense of mental or moral ill-being
Yup, that about nails it. For the past three or four days, that’s what I’ve been feeling. I can’t put my finger on it, it is definitely indefinite.
I can’t even figure out if it’s mental or physical, or a combination of both. I’ve been sleeping like crazy, taking monstrous naps when I can and feeling like I’m sleepwalking when I can’t. I was achy the other night, but nothing else developed, and I was fine the next morning. I’ve gotten a bunch of headaches lately, but they’ve been centered around the back of my neck – stress headaches. Even though I can’t really point to any stress. When you get right down to it, my life is pretty easy.
I’ve just been in a funk, and I can’t seem to shake it for more than a few hours at a time. Dinner with a friend and a play one night, lunch with my husband one afternoon, dinner with my family tonight. All were fun, and I had a good time. But then as soon as they were over…funky town.
I’m turning forty tomorrow. I’ve searched my brain to figure out if that has something to do with it. The Big Four-Oh. But I don’t think so. I’ve never minded birthdays. I like being queen for a day. I like cake.
But could it really just be a coincidence that I’m feeling like this right before such a milestone birthday? I can’t put my finger on anything, except maybe my definite desire not to make a fuss out of it, for once.
A couple months ago my husband offered to throw me a big party. I said great. We picked a date. But every time he tried to get me to sit down with him and make a guest list, I made an excuse. And then finally, I told him I really didn’t want a party after all.
We decided to make it a dinner, with a few other couples only. Low key. But then I nixed that too. Told him I just want to have dinner with him and the kids.
I managed to snag tickets to The Daily Show for my actual birthday, tomorrow, but then I didn’t bother getting a sitter. I made a few feeble attempts today, but was almost relived when they said no. I wouldn’t have to go out, yay.
Today I dropped my daughter off for a workshop, then had 5.5 hours to kill. I didn’t want to go home. I went out for a leisurely breakfast, then to a day spa for a Swedish massage and mani/pedi. Then I just sat there reading trashy magazines until long after my toenails were dry and I could have put my shoes on. Normally I live for experiences like that, but it just felt empty and wasted. And yet, I knew I wouldn’t have had the energy to do anything productive. If I’d gone back home, I guarantee you I would have crawled back into bed. I even caught myself dozing off a couple of times during the massage.
I’m not sure what’s going on. I almost hope that I wake up tomorrow sick with something definite, so that I can look back over the last few days and weeks and say “I was just tired. I was just coming down with something.”
I don’t mind turning forty. I don’t mind getting older. I’m more comfortable in my skin than I’ve ever been. I’m happy. My kids are awesome. My husband’s great. I have a job I love doing and could drop in an instant, since nobody is depending on the income but my laser hair removal lady and the good people at Amazon. I live a charmed life.
I’m hoping that by writing all of this down tonight, I will snap out of it tomorrow. I don’t like this feeling. I’m a happy person. I get into moods, sure, but they go away quickly and I’m back to being my usual happy, snarky, complaining-for-sport, contented self. I miss her! I’m hoping I wake up to her.
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