Yesterday was one of those days.
You know, the days when you feel, for the most part, detached from your life and the world, like an outside observer, looking in at an unfamiliar stage production, only to find that you are cast, unwittingly, in a role you have no idea about.
It renders everything meaningless, unintelligible, surreal. It can be panic-inducing, the kind of panic that also creeps up on you upon deep-gaping-hole-gazing.
It comes on quite suddenly. Yesterday, it was while I sat on the floor of one of my boys rooms, readying myself to read to Mr Two. Suddenly and from nowhere, I was looking in on myself and wondering what the point of all of this was - the reading, the sitting, the reorganizing of the bookshelf for the millionth time... and then I was a stranger.
It's quite frightening actually, to be at once consciously removed and physically present. The consciousness feels far more at home when it is synchronized with its physical body. It doesn't like being misaligned. It's very disorienting.
I try to 'snap out of it', grounding myself in the task at hand, distracting myself into lucidity. Usually, it requires a quick reminder to myself of my children's utter dependence and reliance on me; it jolts me into 'you are needed' mode, the only mode that seems to have a strong enough signal to register in these circumstances. It helped, but bedtime couldn't come soon enough.
I'm hoping for a more real day today.
