Lately, I feel like I don’t know who I am anymore.
I used to have a very firm sense of who I am.
It was an amalgam of personal style and the things I did and who I did them with.
Now, I have no personal style.
99.9% of the time, I couldn’t give a shit about what I’m wearing. I certainly don’t bother with my hair or with makeup.
Now, I don’t do much of anything.
Sometimes, I make my Dikke Dame dolls – which I do enjoy, but they are a lot of work and a lot of times I just can’t get motivated.
I work-work. But I have always worked (at least, that’s how it feels). I think of retiring, but then I’d be even less of who I am now.
I hardly ever sing and I don’t pull out my ukulele or my French horn. I very seldom listen to “my” music. My husband almost always has some kind of music going, and that is fine. And I can listen to my own music (that’s why God (TIDBI) made ear buds, right?). I just don’t.
Outside of doing shows, I hardly ever socialized anyhow. And the pandemic has put paid to almost all of the socialization I might do. And social-anxiety takes care of the rest.
We are working toward moving to Michigan. But then I wonder am I creating a delusion about what my life will be like there?
Moving to Michigan is not going to change the person I seem to have become.
I think part of what is going on is that I am not aging gracefully. I’m kind of hating it.
I miss me.
(Not to worry, the meds will kick in eventually and I’ll be fine.)