Thoroughly Disgruntled Debbie

That's a play on the name of the movie "Thoroughly Modern Millie," by the way. Pretty much anything I say that sounds remotely clever is a play on words that are titles, plays, films, cartoons, dialogue. Sorry. Nothing new under the sun. (That's a quote too...)

Like most people of the world today, I am out of sorts. It's not sunny out and it's gone cold again, so no playing in the garden today. That means indoor "activities." But halfway through today's activities, I started understanding my problem.

See...
I LIKE THE IDEA...
...of making protective face masks for my friends, BUT I don't enjoy the process of making them.

I LIKE THE IDEA...
...of eating salads and home-preserved foods, BUT even thinking about the amount of work it takes overwhelms me.

I LIKE THE IDEA...
...of having nice clean clothes to wear, BUT laundry is so boring and hard on my back!

I LIKE THE IDEA...
...of walking the dog, BUT I hate the way my mastiff/fence-jumper pulls my arm out of its socket.

I LIKE THE IDEA...
... of having a nice clean house, but OMG have you SEEN this place????!!!!

I LIKE THE IDEA...
...of calling my friends and family to cheer them up, BUT I suspect I'm not particularly encouraging, funny, or even good company.

I never was a self-starter. Take A, for example. A gets up at five in the morning, whether he wants to or not. He showers, dresses for work in work clothes, gets online in his home office by six a.m.

Whether he wants to or not. He doesn't take personal calls, he doesn't search the internet, he doesn't budge from his home office till his 9 hours are finished.

Whether he wants to or not.

That, ladies and gents, is what I call Self-Discipline.

And it's something I lack entirely. For me, discipline has always had to be applied externally.

As I muddle my way through the Great Confinement, I realize my Grandpa was  like this in his later years, Sleeping till 11, struggling to get through breakfast, just wanting to sit all day. Dreading visitors. Hating to go to bed.

(We all suspected that he had alzheimer's or was depressed, and he actually had both conditions.)

He didn't used to be like that. In his younger years, he was into EVERYTHING. He helped EVERYBODY. He was pleasant and talkative, and everyone loved Grandpa. Jingling the coins in his pocket, tapping out a rhythm on the table, telling silly jokes, teaching the cat to jump through his arms... And puttering constantly, fixing things, making things. He was engaged in life, in his youth.

I seem to remember being engaged in life, too. But for the life of me I can't even conjure up the memory of what that felt like.

I just hope the sun will come out tomorrow.