Projecting

I don’t know about your life stage, but there’s a fair bit of navel gazing taking place during mine.

I am consumed with angst over my life purpose and meaning.

I am also sandwiched between stress and guilt over the health issues of my children and my parents, while stubbornly and inexplicably ignoring my own.

My life continues to feel a bit rudderless. Full-time work follows its regular cycle of bus commutes, media releases and weekly newsletters. I no longer desire promotions, so there are limited avenues there for ambition and plans.

My children were my project, but they are living their independent lives, far away from the mothership. I go through the motions of making dinner for myself, but I am a caring-for-others cook at heart.

Last night’s meal was a pimped-up Coles slow-cooked meatballs in tomato sauce, with added roasted eggplant, olives and baby spinach leaves, served with rigatoni. I ate a serve while tapping away on my laptop. The leftovers are impressively expansive. I will be ploughing through them for days. Sigh.

My usual coping mechanism in unsettled times is obsessive escapism, but I can’t find a satisfactory rabbit hole to disappear into.

I am desperate for a mental distraction that I can pick at like the skin on my fingers

I like to fixate on things and have trouble letting go of my obsessions.

It’s one of the many reasons my marriage ended. My obsession with swimming pools drove my ex-husband to the brink. I could not stop talking about getting one. Designs, site issues, mineral versus saltwater …

All these years later, the last thing I want is a swimming pool … although if I did get one it would be mineral …

My husband and my pool dreams may both be long gone, my obsessive streak still whizzes along, seeking new targets like a heat-seeking missile.

Holidays have always been in my sights, with planning usually commencing a year in advance.

There are a gazilion tabs currently open on my laptop and 90 per cent of them are for potential getaways. Cruises, wilderness stays, city escapes, remote islands …

I literally can’t stop searching and plotting and planning and fixating.

But I don’t know where I want to go or what I want to do. And there is no satisfaction from it.

It’s also exhausting for me and DD and the kids, who are bombarded with new ideas and suggestions on a thrice-daily basis.

DD and I have a holiday booked for later in the year, but all the details have been finalised, so there’s nothing to do other than twiddle my thumbs while I wait.

I yearn to move out of my apartment to give myself something to do. Decorating it was so much fun!

But also, the stairs are getting to me with my failing tendons and accident-prone dogs.

I’ve searched high and low on Domain.com.au and my fantasy of a cute little Champagne beach house on a Prosecco budget does not exist. I even checked what happens when you extend your budget to a fantasy $4million and there was still nothing decent.

Where on earth are people getting the money from? How do they manage $1million+ mortgages?

I don’t need anything new around the house, other than some blinds for the kitchen window, but that’s so BORING that I can’t bring myself to order them.

I have far too many clothes, so there’s no point shopping for those either.

My nights are consumed with writing Drinks Digest stories, which is mildly satisfying when big news breaks, but a bit of a drag otherwise.

I don’t know where contentment lies.

Am I having a midlife crisis? If I am does it mean I’m going to live til I’m 114?

I have no idea what will scratch this itch.

Song of the day: Pink “Just like a pill”