So let me get this straight: this week includes daylight savings and the subsequent loss of an hour of the little bit of sleep I actually enjoy, plus a full moon, which surely brought out the skunk that lives under the neighbour’s deck that ceremoniously sprayed something outside my bedroom window right around the time the moon reached its peak.

Then a work week that ends on Friday the 13th.

Are you kidding me?

And if that weren’t enough, there is the increasing hysteria over international germs spreading faster than the germs can actually spread that is becoming the topic of conversation at every location that breeds germs as fast as paranoia. Well, there goes my plan to start licking door handles.

You may think this full moon talk is malarkey, but I am living proof it is not. Ask my husband, the Carpenter. He needs a support group for spouses directly impacted by living with a human barometer of moon cycles.

On Sunday, as a pre-emptive full moon precaution, he kept a safe perimeter from me so as not to enter the force field of mood that radiated around me. I appreciate that he has a healthy respect (read: fear) for my moods when it is clear that whatever is happening to me seems beyond my control. For everyone’s safety, I was sequestered to my home office to work. Deadlines, like self-induced confinement, encourage focus (also, I have a stash of chocolate in there).

This is what comes from being a sensitive soul. I feel things that I cannot articulate (and we all know I live to articulate), and sometimes, it’s quite overwhelming. As my dear friend says, all I can do is ride the wave and do everything in my power to stay on the surf board. Do you realize what a full moon does to the tides when you are an emotional surfer? It’s wavy, baby.

This is all a perfect excuse for why I should be able to hunker down in my house for a good two weeks with potato chips, a vat of chip dip and my dog, to be left to my own devices (meaning removing all devices to prevent me from reading anything on the internet). I’d like to self-quarantine from life’s responsibilities, demands and the expectations of others. Is that too much to ask?

It’s no secret that I struggle with anxiety. It’s also no secret that I bring much of it on myself (says the Carpenter who knows me better than anyone). Thus, true to my own nature, I have bitten off more than I can chew once again in almost every aspect of my life.

I am in the midst of my changing-of-the-seasons shedding of yet another layer of the irrational fears, relationships and obsessive thoughts that no longer serve me, (you know, so I can make room for more, because that’s life.). It will pass. I know this. Yet, in the midst of big waves, I’m not always able to see the shore. Faith is key. I know there is a sandy beach out there somewhere.

So as the moon wanes, the time change subdues and the superstitious calendar flips to the weekend, I will ride out the surf and head to shore with gratitude for a spouse who respects my barometer and says all the wrong things, but with love.

What? He’s not perfect (he is perfect).

WriteOut of Her Mind