Angela Amman

stories of choices and consequences

Updates

blank pages

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I felt proud of myself last week, counting the posts I’ve written this month. Except for a brief stint during August (my birthday month!) I haven’t blogged this consistently since 2021, and I haven’t written consistently since before then. Yet I stayed away from my computer this weekend in regards to writing. I expected to open things up this morning and have a lot to say.

I didn’t.

This weekend I worried I was getting a cold, and something still feels a little off in my sinuses, but I think I’ve avoided getting sicker than I was at the beginning of the weekend. I did my workout this morning. Drank my green juice, just in case I don’t have enough veggies today. (I rarely have enough veggies.) I see sun outside. I should be able to conjure some words about something, but the only thing that comes to mind is how many cars I’ve seen speeding down our side street this morning. And everyone knows those types of complaints belong in an HOA Facebook group, bonus points if you can make it passive aggressive.

I know the old adage about being able to edit a bad page but not a blank page. I’ve internalized it enough to know I can sit here and type, though I won’t edit it, even if it’s a rambling mess, because it’s a blog I don’t even think people read.

The blank pages in Scrivener, though, where my fiction projects live, intimidate me right now. I haven’t managed to figure out how to start my next project, and I haven’t genuinely started editing my last one. It’s so old I’m not even sure if I can. That’s probably an excuse, but it doesn’t make it any less daunting.

March enters the chat at the end of the week, and maybe that will give me the push I need to stop being scared and to start doing the work.

finding my acorns

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We’ve had a few more days of sunshine lately, the promise of spring by look, at least. Some days the temperature climbs and others it sinks, but the extra light always makes it feel warmer outside than it may be. I appreciate the light, as I’m still struggling to find my way this year. That feels self-indulgent to say as March approaches. It’s one thing to let January slip away, but February? Especially during a leap year? 

I take the kids’ phones at night, and I should put mine down more during the day. Minutes stack together quickly: scrolling or solitaire or texts that don’t need to be answered with the urgency I find myself typing. I know what to do, books, poetry, writing, laundry, walking, anything really that keeps me from staring at the little screen cradled in my hand. 

Yesterday I watched a squirrel for a while. Max would have been fascinated, but he was sleeping, as he often is during the day. The squirrel sat just feet from our back door, an acorn clenched in his jaw. I watched as he stood alert. His front paws stayed clasped at his waist as he waited, for what, I’ll never know. I snapped a photo, surprised he didn’t startle at the movement behind the glass. I moved on, spraying down the kitchen island for the fifth time before the kids even got home from school. 

I’m trying to find those moments of quiet appreciation, to keep my eyes on what’s around me instead of only what’s in front of me, what my algorithms know will keep me busy for as long as I want, longer than I want many days. Breaking away from those algorithms feels strange; those short clips and flipping cards stimulate and wreak havoc on nervous systems, but they also numb, the same comforting stimulation over and over. 

I want to find other things, nothing extreme, quiet stimulation that makes me think, that twists around in my brain, burrowing in like the squirrel’s teeth in the acorn he’ll one day turn to for nourishment. I know those things exist, but not in the slim box in my hand. 

lull

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Going back to work after a long weekend, knowing you have a shortened week, should feel simple. Yet, the kids and I were all dragging today, quiet and struggling to stay focused. I paged through my calendar more times than I needed, making sure I wasn’t missing obligations for the day or the coming weekend. Thankfully, our commitments aren’t too great for the next several days.

I texted my mom a list of our upcoming travel plans and commitments, and I realized this quiet few days are a lull before a flurry of activity. Shows and school trips. Travel for dance. Karate demo presentations. Starting a new activity and working in additional hours for things we’re already doing. Family travel. A trip for just Ryan and me. All sorts of things piling together in a jumble of fun and financial whirlwinds and probably exhaustion.

I’m tempted to crash diet and buckle down hard, setting a finish line for something that seems more like punishment than wellness. In the past, I would definitely try that, sometimes succeeding, sometimes failing, always feeling more stressed than I probably needed to feel in the moment. I’m trying to operate with more grace this time. Move more, feel better, eat with the intention of fueling. My shoulders are aching, whether from how I sleep or the giant bag I carry, and I know strength training will help, if I can talk myself into it.

I finished a book I loved (Song of Achilles), making it the second one of the year I’ve really been excited about. The thing with reading comfort books is they don’t come with the thrill of something new and thought-provoking. And sometimes I want the mind-numbing, but after finishing this one, I realized one of my goals for the year (create. anything. just create) doesn’t happen when my mind is numb.

Maybe I’ve been in a longer lull than I thought, and I hope I’m able to climb out of it a few creative moments at a time.

sitting down

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If what matters is sitting down, I have that covered today. We are on our second day off school (and work, for me), the fourth day of a four-day weekend, and I haven’t done very much at all. I went to the doctor’s office with my mom, where I did some listening but mostly sitting. I’ve tried to nap unsuccessfully and written some things in my planner that reminded me of the things I haven’t finished from last week’s lists.

If what matters is sitting down and actually writing, I do not have that covered today. I planned to do at least an outline for a new story, maybe some messy words sprawling across a fresh, white document screen. Instead, I’ve read (but just a little), done laundry (but just a little), ate pizza for lunch (but homemade), organized (but just a little), and basically did all of the things to avoid the thing I need to be doing.

Why is my brain refusing to do something I know I want to do?

If I knew the answer to that, I likely would be writing and not just musing and scratching my head here.

blue

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I painted my nails yesterday, a shade of blue somewhere between navy and royal. I’ll love it until I don’t, and by then, it’s likely it will have stained my nails a bit, even with a strong base coat. I do my nails at home, mostly because of money. Also, I’m not sure when I would have the time to sit and have someone else do them.

I used to think it would be easier to be one of those people who always have the same color manicure. I’ve dabbled with pale neutrals, a gorgeous tomato red I return to again and again, oxblood (still my all-time favorite), almost black, gray, blue, raspberry. I can’t settle on any of them. I realize I don’t need to, but there’s part of me that likes the idea of not having to decide when it’s time to change the polish.

I know decision fatigue is real, but it’s hard to believe I can have that when I’m not in charge or a corporation or many decisions of major consequence.

When I opened the curtains to look into the Sunday morning quiet, I noticed my nails are definitely closer to royal or denim or something that isn’t navy at all. I second-guessed the choice, knowing I want to wear a black sweater today. No one cares what color is on my nails; I know this, yet it feels like I could have chosen better. Silly thoughts about something that will chip, maybe even today, something that will be removed within days, saturated cotton pads pulling the blue away, tossed into the garbage until I consider painting blue again.

tired

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Lately, I’m tired all the time. More tired than normal, I mean, which is pretty tired. For years I’ve been maximizing my awake hours, which meant getting by on 5-6 hours of sleep — on a good night of sleep. I got up as early as I could, worked out, powered through with coffee and Diet Coke and kept going until bedtime.

I can’t do that right now.

I take little cat naps on the couch, tuck shorter workouts into my morning (which isn’t helping my fitness goals), go up to bed by 11:00 even if I don’t fall asleep until a little later. Still, my body craves more sleep.

I don’t think it’s a matter of depression or anything mental. I’m not feeling additional stress or overarching worry or anything like that. Even on days when I’m the happiest, I’m still tired.

My annual physical wasn’t that long ago, and my bloodwork is decent, though I’m always chasing better numbers. I don’t want to think it’s age or perimenopause, but maybe that’s it. I don’t love it. I’ve always enjoyed the feeling of being in control of that aspect of my life. I could function, fairly well I thought, with the amount of sleep I fit into my days and not the other way around. Now I find myself looking at different ways to get the things I want done without waking up long before 5:00 a.m.

I’m not sure why I’m sharing this. It’s self-indulgent, for sure. I never thought I’d miss that heady rush of caffeine powering me through the day, but now it’s just a way to stay warm and a little alert before feeling tired again. Adjusting to this new additional sleep need is tough.

I’ll do better figuring it out after a nap.