Maybe it’s the surge of hormones, maybe it’s the combination of so many things happening to me lately, maybe it’s just the lack of sleep, but I feel a need to change. I have this urge to shake things up, to move furniture, people, and perceptions around.
At work I’m in a state of inertia, waiting for my files to come back from translations (9 languages), wasting the hours away surfing the net and fiddling with my mp3s. Yesterday, I skipped off to watch a particularly awful, mind-numbing movie, loaded with hot buttered popcorn and a cold cola. On a Monday. After the movie, I didn’t go back to the office, I spent the rest of the afternoon shopping for baby clothes and browsing for cribs. At home I dumped groceries on the table and lazed around with J, who was at least happy to see me. I called a friend I’ve been out of touch with for months and wasted minutes chatting about inconsequential things. Upstairs, in the closet I knew there were things to work on—a baby blanket that needed hemming, J ’s flannel pajamas that needed buttons. I chose to leave them for another day.
Last night, after putting J to sleep, I lay there contemplating all that’s about to come. I know a change is in the offing, and not just because this new baby is due soon. I feel a warp in my universe and the pull of my cells tells me I am standing on the edge, about to fall in. This feeling lines my days with a little sliver of fear, a hint of excitement, a sense of becoming. Becoming what, I do not know. But the possibility of something new happening is certainly welcome. I have been in a sleepy stasis for some time now, lulled by a false sense of security that I am loath to trust.
Yes, change is more than welcome, whatever else it might bring along.