I was reviewing a situation and thought I’d just check my Gmail account for proof of something that happened in 2001. I searched my account and found nothing before 2004. I was immediately horrified and frantic, wondering what happened to my older emails.
I spent a solid half hour, maybe more, trying to figure out the problem.
Well, here’s the problem. Gmail wasn’t launched until April 1, 2004. I started my account on April 24, 2004. So, there were no missing emails.
I can barely remember life before Gmail, so it was a shock to realize that I had no Gmail proof of a situation from 2002.
I spent some time updating a blog post from 2009 that weirdly enough, gets traffic to this day. I don’t really understand that, but I did think it was time to spiff it up a little since it’s still getting visitors. Otherwise, today has been a quiet Sunday, anchored by laundry and coughing. I skipped church so I could cough at home instead of the back row of the sanctuary.
It’s frustrating how often I’ve been sick this year. I had a stretch of two months, give or take a week, without illness, then last Tuesday I was taking a break at work when I realized my throat felt weird. “Am I getting sick?” I thought.
Yes. The answer was yes.
My day off for the week was Wednesday and I literally slept twelve hours Tuesday night, waking up at noon. I walked a paltry 1,400 steps the entire day. Then Thursday I went back to work, still sick but we are so understaffed and busy right now that I just didn’t have the luxury of staying home.
I worked yesterday, too, and have just today off before going back for a five day stretch. We are entering the busiest time of year and it’s been like shoveling in a snowstorm. In a way, it’s fun, like it’s fun to not drown, the adrenaline of survival surging through your body.
Sometimes I think I’m a little depressed here in Minnesota. Is it Minnesota? Or is it me? Have I accomplished everything I will ever accomplish in my life? Is this it? Am I on a downhill slide? Have I become truly invisible and irrelevant? Now, don’t Grandma Moses me. I know, I know. It’s never too late but I am just feeling the blues.
Nothing to look forward to . . . no future goals to accomplish . . . no daydreaming of bigger things to come. I am not going to become anything other than what I am right now. I guess?
I mean, this is where I practice contentment, right? Where I take joy in the small things and express gratitude for the raindrops and the zinnias and the cat curled in my lap . . . but I can’t help but wonder (in silence, God forbid I talk about this out loud like a crazy person) . . . is this it? Am I done? Are the next thirty years just a rehashing of the Good Old Days as those around me roll their eyes?
The biggest question is . . . should I really have let my stylist put in low-lights? I like myself better blonde but maybe it’s time to just accept that the sun will never naturally highlight my hair again. And why is it so incredibly difficult to find a great stylist when you move?
Also, I tried to find a good profile picture and spent way too much time looking at older photographs of myself and why doesn’t anyone ever take flattering photos of me? Or am I just ugly? And if I am, why do I even care? My insides are not ugly. (Or are they?) Have I ever actually liked my hair?
And have I failed? Did I fall short of my potential? Was a horrible mother? Did I let my husband down? And why, oh why, do I have such a weird resume’ and career? Am I going backwards?
What is going on, exactly?
And then I think, oh yeah.
I always feel depressed when I’m sick. Maybe I should just table this soul-search until mucus stops clogging my respiratory system.