Coiled. Tight. Uneasy.
That is how I feel most evenings. A deep-seated unease has taken hold. A discontent that I cannot seem to find the source for. I parse my everyday. I run through the hours trying to figure the catalyst, the instigator, the root of this feeling and I draw a blank each time.
I wonder if it is the self-imposed exile at home. The idea of heading out each day is not appealing. I wonder if it is the fact I have Laddu all day with me yet when the opportunity to go out alone appears, I reach out for the little one’s hand. I wonder if it is the fact that I am not earning, then I realize it is a stumble but not quite the thing that has me antsy.
I am not even sure what it is I am looking for. Is it change? What kind of change? Is it people? Is it a place?
I find myself typing up tweets and discarding them. I have half written drafts that indicate this malaise goes deeper than I think it does.
I covet the easy peace Saathi seems to carry with him.
For now, I am placing blame on this weather. The incessant wet, dreary, cold that envelops me. It chills me down to my bone literally and metaphorically. I long for longer days, warmer nights, ample sunlight. I long for this restlessness to go, leaving in its place a liquid joy, contentment that seeps from my being.