Thoughts From the Veranda

Camillo has left for two days in Macae. He has barely walked out the door when the silence of the house on the hill surrounds me, a silence so profound that I can hear my own heartbeat in my ears, the soft splat, splat of the moisture from the fog hitting the roof, a lone bird calling, a clock ticking.  I have a second cup of coffee.  I make the bed.  I load the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher.  I have a load of laundry to do. Fifteen minutes has passed.  A day less 15 minutes is in front of me.

All the time I am doing these basic chores, I make an effort to frame a day that will pass filled, happy. No not happy but content.  I can run into Friburgo and do a spinning class.  I can call Tatiana for lunch.  I can work down in the vegetable garden, turn some soil, try to make something grow.  Pull weeds. Take photos. The two days will pass.

But I get dressed, putting on shorts and a work top, no workout cloths and I know this mean I won’t go into town, but I ignore that knaggy little voice that knows I won’t do any of the plan for the day.  I already have my excuses ready. I drove into town two times yesterday and will go tomorrow, why today?  If I want I can go later to bike class but, then it will be raining. I have to wait for the gardener to leave for the day before I can go down and work in the vegetable garden. And by the time he leaves it will be raining.

I have heard all of these before, all the excuses. I know that this indicates a deep depression, one I am able to ignore on a daily basis but one that always comes to the front when alone, in the silence, in the house on the hill. {My computer is in the shop getting a new hard drive} I go upstairs to Camillo’s computer and look at some blogs I follow. I read B&B for my daily dose of humor and write a long comment,  momentary feelings of connection to the real world.  I see one from Texas Heather, I open it. Today she talks of purpose. What she says strikes a deep cord in me. Purpose, purpose is missing. I float from day to day, month to month until another year has passed and then another. If I had a purpose what could it be?  

She asks “… if there were one word that would describe what you want for yourself in the next year what would it be?” I am stymied.  I awake every morning with my first thought being, ‘I want to go home’. I go to sleep each night with the thought, ‘I want to go home’. Camillo’s says if you want to go – GO.  But then what?  Heather has used just the right word.  Purpose.  This is what Camillo is telling me, for what purpose would I go. How would my purpose be different in Houston than it is up here on this hill?  If I don’t have a dream, a plan, A PURPOSE here, will I have one there? The thought that I would have no purpose there stops me, freezes, frightens. Maybe this feeling is not about being here but the lack of purpose in general. 

How has this happened? I have always been motivated, energetic, interested and now I’m floating just to get by, to pass the day, tick tock, tick tock goes the clock.