And now for something completely different

...or maybe not.

I've been so busy, I didn't even find the time for myself to catch up with what the hell I have been doing to be so exhausted.

Got the notice of the termination of my work contract after eleven years late in October, effective end of February. First, I didn't really care because I thought, heck, I may eventually have time for myself then. It ain't easy to find a part-time job within a quite small radius from home for a person over fourty; you know, bosses want 18-year-old people with a university degree and some years of business practice abroad who undersign that they won't have any children and don't expect any salary increase for the next 20 years, even without a recession going on. But now, I'm just plain angry and demotivated. I am expected to work motivated for a company that got me sacked for another two months (or maybe just one, because I have worked enough overtime to stay at home for a month!). And, on the other hand, I am expected to try and find a job where there are few to find, and many people beside me who are searching for a job. I'm so peeved at this situation, and I'm not sure how to motivate myself.

Then, my dear son broke his hip during a sports lesson. He's doing good but still on crutches, with me as his driver. At least, this gives me more time with him, quality time, and actually I'm enjoying that although it cuts the time that's left for me.

I've come to a point where I am convinced that most of my problems have something to do with permission. I feel like a child. I feel like anyone is so demanding and I would not be permitted to disappoint them. And noone sees how disappointed I am with my life. It's a feeling like I had to respect anyone but myself. And that I shall not even think about why I feel so bad.

It's like I was a child that had to ask anyone for permisson or absolution, with whatever I do, be it taking my time to do some small piece of art, take some time to read a book or have bad feelings about situations.

And noone to run to.

Maybe I already know what I should do.

But I don't yet give myself the permission to do so. This far have I come. I've lost my integrity over the years, to please others, to make them love me. To not be shouted at. To be considered helpful, a good companion.

But I sleep bad at night, I wake up with my heart pounding, malcontent, dissatisfied with my life.

Why can't I permit myself doing what my intellect deems necessary? And maybe I'm chewing too much on what I should give up to a life long past. Why should I hang on? Why do I?

Maybe because I am afraid to feel like the destroyer of a world. Or, of some.

On my kitchen magnet board, I have a magnet that reads: "Never, never, never give up". Allegedly, Winston Churchill said that. Well, I guess that Mr Churchill had an endorsing wife bolstering him. "You go live and win, Winston, I'll do the rest."

And then, maybe giving up sometimes may be a good thing to do.

If only I knew.

If only I could give myself permission to act. To make my own mistakes. To live.