Making no sense at all...

I am out of sorts.

So much so, in fact, that I have been unable to write. I have no coherent thoughts. Lately, my brain has been a jumble of mashed randomness. Or, completely blank.

This emptiness can sometimes be a welcome reprieve for me, but it's been going on too long. So I thought I would write about just that: my out-of-sorts-ness.

It seems this may not have been such a good idea, however, because it has taken me 11 minutes just to write this little bit. And that's not even counting the several minutes during which the cursor blinked on my screen, urgently, expectantly, right after I wrote that first sentence:

I am out of sorts.

And then, I had nothing.

Hubby once told me: "Your highs are really high, and your lows are really low." It's true.

I don't really do "medium."

This is both a blessing and a curse, 'cause when I'm happy...woo-hoo! But when I'm not, well...it's not good.

I struggle with this, because I'm never really sure what's "normal."
Is it "normal" to have as many mood swings as I do?
Is it "normal" to be giddy one minute and overwhelmed the next?
Is it "normal" to feel lost for no reason at all?

Am I normal?

There are days when I think it's just physical: I need to get back in the gym. I need to take my vitamins. I need to eat right. I need to be on my routine. I do well on routines.

Then there are days I think it's more than that: Maybe I'm just an overly sensitive person. I over-think everything. I get wrapped up inside my own head. I dream. I plan. I stress. I worry.

It's normal to be in a "funk", no?

I am intense, and usually, I have little tolerance for those who walk around unmoved, blase.

But sometimes I am jealous of those people.

It must be so much easier...walking around with quiet simplicity in their heads. They must not struggle, as I so often do, with the everythings and nothings of Life. Do they ever feel indefinably out of sorts?

I have a Jack Kerouac quote on my refrigerator:

"...the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop..."

I am sure I am mad, and certainly desirous of everything at the same time. I'd rather have a mad, loud existence than a quiet, simple one.

But sometimes I think perhaps sanity and nonchalance are a much easier way to live.