Bend it like Bender

I am sitting outside in the sun, writing what is my first post this month. Since you last heard from me, I have become one of “those people” you see in cafes tapping at their laptop. Today, the sun has drawn me out, crab from shell, and encouraged to send some unsolicited words out into cyberspace. Have I been lazy? Possibly. Distracted? Definitely. Perhaps I was hibernating, like a brown bear. It was the end of a long Winter after all.

No matter the reason, it's a fact that not a lot has sprouted in the usually fertile ground of Mindfield recently. To those of you who rely on me for amusement, thought provocation or the raise of a furry brow, I submit a formal apology.

My silence may have been best for readership. I have not been an easy person to be around this past month, uncharacteristically introverted and moody. Husband can vouch for my lack of social compatibility. Each time we have left the house to confront the world at large I imagine him phoning ahead to warn them; “We’ll need to keep her separate, you know that she doesn't play well with others.” I arrive at places expecting to see a little signpost at my table.

As yet, I have no resolution for my onset of this self-diagnosed inertia. It seems I am momentarily frozen in time. Prophets of common sense would suggest that action could cure me, but there is a sense that the cons of committing on both sides outweigh the pros of making a move in either direction. After years of doggedly pursuing every lead life had to offer, walking through all doors, open and shut, it seems that I have stopped dead, mid-cycle, and not even mid-life.

Was it wisdom that I paused to ask myself where I was running to and why the hurry? Or was it self-destructive? When I stopped to smell the roses, a question mark somehow got sucked up my nose. Now it is zipping around in my head and I feel like until I answer it correctly, I won’t see anything but an endless quandary of questions. I will be literally missing the point. Period.

There are days when I watch myself spin like Alice down the rabbit hole. I have even considered the possibility that I have accidentally wandered into the Bermuda triangle of life. I would describe it as limbo, but limbo could imply there is a sort of goal. A bar that keeps resetting the challenge, that requires you to stretch yourself, even if it’s just for fun.

For now I accept that I have lost my rhythm or at least misplaced it. The familiar tune I was dancing to inexplicably changed from pop to jazz in the bridge. Now, there isn’t even a chorus. It’s unpredictable and disorderly. The symbols clash and I cringe, not sure what to expect next, my beat in complete disarray. Needless to say, I never cared much for jazz.

I will keep walking down this road that only reveals itself in front of me a few metres at a time. I will take my chances. I need the time to gather the bricks and mortar so I can pave my own road... it is a slow process. I walk past other avenues and alleyways, perfectly constructed and inviting. People I know beckon me to walk their way. I wave politely and ignore them.

I figure, if you have to spend time in limbo, you might as well join in. Sing your own tune regardless of what's playing, and bend it (like Bender) for as long as you can. Only time will tell if you will break your back trying.