I'm in a peculiar mood today. Not sad, not upset, just...pensive. That's as good a word for it as I can come up with. I went to the library today, got a crapload of books and a few CD's. One of the CD's I got was Alison Krauss - I've been listening to that and the new Daniel Lanois CD, and it just seems to fit my mood.
I've gotten the house moderately presentable (getting it truly, deep-down clean and organized is more work than can be accomplished in a month of weekends!), and that's nice. In a bit I'm going to go read one of the many books I checked out today. But for now, I'm trying to write here, see if anything comes out that makes sense.
One of my online friends lost her mother unexpectedly, much like my mother died. So that's got me thinking about my mom. It's been ten years, and the pain isn't nearly as sharp as it once was. But I do miss her. I wonder what she'd think of what I've done with my life, of how J is growing up, of what's happening with my marriage (although based on what I wrote in my old journals, she'd probably have given me something along the lines of "I tried to tell you" in that regard!).
I watched "About Schmidt" this afternoon. Jack Nicholson plays a man who's just retired when his wife dies suddenly, and throughout the movie he's writing letters to a boy in Tanzania who he's sponsored through one of these child welfare organizations. In one of the letters he's wondering what difference his life has made to anyone, what he's done with his life, and talks about how when he dies and when everyone who knew him dies, then it will be just like he never existed. So that's got me thinking - what difference has *my* life made to anyone? Oh, I know I'm important to J right now, but suppose I'd never had children. Would I have made a difference anywhere along the way? Some days it sure doesn't feel like it.
And the music I've been listening to has got me thinking. When I was about 8 or 9 years old, our family went to Branson. This was back before it was a big tourist trap, when you sat out on the grass and listened to bluegrass and country outside under the stars. At the time, Branson was my idea of hell - I loathed country music, and couldn't think of a worse way to spend a vacation. But this afternoon, I started thinking - that music is who I am. I'm from the country, from a small town. My dad was a farmer who came home with dirt under his nails every night, and my mom retired from teaching to stay home and raise me. I'm nothing fancy, nothing high-maintenance. I'm just a little ol' country girl here on the outskirts of the big city. I like it here, like being close to Dallas and all it has to offer, but I'm never going to be some sophisticated high society type. And I'm OK with that, I like who I am most days, but sometimes I wonder - are there men left out there who appreciate an old-fashioned (if fairly headstrong, above average in terms of intelligence and pretty self-sufficient) girl? Again, some days it doesn't feel like it.
Boy, I'm just wallowing in it tonight, aren't I? I haven't even eaten dinner. (Funny how I can forget to eat at home, but find myself snacking constantly at work - can we say stress-induced eating?!) I think I'd better get off of here, go find something to eat, and take my mind off this depressing train of thought with a good little mystery or sci-fi novel.
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