I wish I had been born in the Victorian Age. I probably wouldn’t have loved the corsets or the lack of indoor plumbing, but I think I could get into the swooning part. I would enjoy spending a few hours, or days, on a couch in a darkened room, with lavender water in a cloth over my eyes.
It might be nice to be seen as too fragile and nervous to face every day life. A Victorian Lady was allowed to take to her bed with the vapors every now and then, just from hearing bad news.
That sounds good to me right about now.
You see, lately I have been struggling with a real sense of melancholy. Life is feeling like a challenge.
I am not depressed: that implies a longer, deeper and more profound feeling than what ails me.
I am not really sad; life is full and rich and all is well in my world.
I’m just……melancholy. I miss my babies, as anyone who has ever stumbled by this blog surely knows. I miss the days of active motherhood far more than I ever thought I would, and with far more sorrow that I anticipated. But its more than that. I miss my father, especially around my birthday. I miss his voice. I miss his brown eyes. I miss the fact of his existence.
I am melancholy for my past. I want a chance to play with my brothers and sisters again. I want to run through the sprinkler and get in the station wagon and go on vacation.
I am wistful for friends who have retired, moved away, grown distant. I am missing my school as it used to be in all its creative glory. In the old days before all the tests and standards and rubrics. I miss those days.
And I have been on the edge of such sad stories, too. Unexpected death in the very young, loss and illness and sadness. I am watching friends as they try to cope with the unthinkable. It drags on my soul, after a while.
So I am finding it harder and harder to just keep going , to just keep pushing through the demands of every day. But what’s my choice? I would feel weak if I had to miss work or skip the grocery shopping or fail to walk the dogs. In 2012, a woman needs to just chin up and keep on plugging. A modern, progressive, professional woman can’t just pull the curtains, place her limp wrist across her eyes and fall onto the couch.
So I wish that I could live back in Victorian Days, just for a while. I really want to swoon for a few days. Just till I feel better. I’d even be willing to wear a corset…..