I'm feeling a bit claustrophobic in my own life. The symptoms are physical in nature--heaviness in my chest, shallow breaths, a deep and mysterious ache that seems to know no boundaries.
I know it's just an overload of everyday responsibilities. One terribly sick dog that's not even my own. Family issues so convoluted and distant I can't even begin to touch on them here. Disappointment in one I love from afar, a difference of opinion, an inability to pick up the once effortless daily conversations. Too many deadlines. The fact that I can't refuse yet more deadlines. A recession that's hit uncomfortably close to home. The edge to The Banker's voice when he calls from work. The suddenly stubborn, obstinate nature of our almost 2-year-old who is trying my patience, my sanity, in increasingly creative ways. Add to these very little private time, a lack of an outlet, and you get a case of claustrophobia. A feeling that life is closing in on all sides providing too little space for your soul.
So I'm hanging on. Holding out. Waiting for an ease in pressure. Listening to music that stirs the emotions in my chest. Escaping to warm showers and good books when I can painstakingly carve out the time. And knowing that this too shall pass. And that we're never given more than we can handle. And dreaming of a vacation, an escape, that while I know won't materialize, provides soothing moments of daydream. One day at a time. Bird by bird. We all move forward.