Oh Bother.

Oh bother.
That's how I feel right now, you know, like Eyeore? Or is it Pooh? Merde. Shite. That's how I feel right now.
Why?
It comes down to sheer nothingness, as in, the nothingness I feel I am achieving in life at the moment.
It's just one of those days anyway, but a conversation turned the volume waaayyyyyy up on that this afternoon and it left me feeling...agitated.
I picked my young one up from a playdate. Her mother invited me in for tea and we sat and had a very free flowing conversation. We rarely see each other. Her daughter takes the bus to school and she lives a bit out of walking range for two small kids and so doesn't make regular appearances at the school like I do.
So we don't talk much but we seem to have very good talk when it happens and I find that she brings out a bit of a chatterbox in me that very rarely rears her head.
And there we were talking about whatever and she began to refer to "her book". I guess I appeared puzzled when she said that she was putting out a book of poems that will launch in April with a gala at the Drake with all these other artists and musicians who will be using her poems as inspiration for their own mediums...making it more of a variety show, based on her book of poems that she's written.
And I'm like "that's so aweseome, please tell me more.." and she's like
"Well, it's actually a bit of a crazy time for me because I've got that happening in April, and then I've written a play that will debut at the Fringe festival AND I'm 120 pages into this novel that I'm writing ....."
That was the point where I ceased to be a part of the conversation and just sort of hovered above the room like a huge failure balloon. Whatever a balloon like that looks like. I was floating there. No, come to think of it- I was actually suspended. Not even floating because that implies a sort of freedom of movement. I was just suspended there, held by a string that was attatched to a large fish hook that was caught in my skin. Hurting me. Ripping me apart. Just a little. Just enough.
How could I continue this? Of course the talk was then me asking her all sorts of questions about how when who and complimenting and being excited (which I really was, how could I not when in so much awe?)
And then, the clincher. She asked me if I was an artist too...because some people are but they like to keep it under wraps or they're uncomfortable talking about it.
And I cracked some joke like I always do when I'm trying to sound as if I really couldn't care less. Am I an artist? No I'm not.
Am I anything? Yeah.
Is what I am something that I am proud of? Sometimes.
Was it at that moment?
Not even close.