Folks, I've been in a slump that started with our move here to the old house and continues unabated, aggravated by the cold weather and approach of winter. I've been pretty sure for a number of years that I suffer from S.A.D. (seasonal affective disorder). In the past, one of the best cures for this was going for a daily walk with Cliff. Thanks to knee pain, there are no more daily walks for me, a fact that accelerates my somber mood.
You won't often see me having a pity party here, so let me just get it off my chest this one time, OK?
A teller at our bank asked the other day, "So, did you get done moving?"
"Yeah, I guess so. I can only hope we find a way to move back to the trailer house within a year."
Both she and the lady next to her expressed amazement. "You'd rather live in the trailer house?"
"Yes," I answered, "but it isn't about the house, it's about the location. Back there, I look out my windows and see nature: trees, wide-open spaces, my cows, an occasional coyote or deer. Living in the old house, we may as well be living in town."
They were speechless.
Everybody is all about their house. Not me. I'd rather live in a one-room cabin (with electricity and Internet, of course) back behind the barn than to live here in this house, right on the edge of the road with neighbors so close I could throw a rock in any of three different directions and hit one of them.
Another problem is that, thanks to my reclusive nature, I don't have a huge network of friends. I have lousy people skills because I have so little in common with other women. I don't care about clothes, shoes, fashion, home decorating, shopping, and all the other feminine pursuits ladies are supposed to have. Thank goodness for all my Internet friends. I don't normally bare my soul to them, but they (you) are my network of friends... mostly invisible, but still.
I was raised the only kid in our home. My sister and brother were gone by the time I was two. We lived in rural areas, so I learned early on to entertain myself. I played with Mother's chickens and the kittens in the barn. When I was enrolled at the one-room school in Iowa, that was probably the first interaction I had with other kids on a day-to-day basis. I can tell you that even then, I was more comfortable with my books and imaginary friends than I ever was with other children.
Sometimes, growing up, other children would chide me for being too loud, or for not quite behaving in ways that were acceptable. I was peculiar.
So by the time I reached adulthood, I had learned it was safer to keep my own company. I'm strange, I'm different, I say things that seem to insult people even though I don't know I'm insulting them at the time. Something deep inside my brain whispers, "If they got to really know you, they wouldn't like you."
I'm disabling comments for this entry because I know there are people who want to try and make me feel better about myself. I'm sharing the link on Facebook but would really prefer it if my friends didn't comment on it. "Like" it if you want. See, the trouble is, everybody thinks they can help by something they say. Everybody wants me to be happy, and I appreciate that. But I'm almost seventy years old, and I don't think my nature is going to change at this late date.
One thing I do know: Along about March, when robins return and I start planning my garden, my attitude will be much brighter.
