Grumpy mug

I have come down with a case of the grumps.

I am just …irritated. 

I can’t shake it. I am frustrated, easily rattled, grumpy and generally DONE.

Any one root cause? Probably not one I can think of.   It is February still, the month just won’t end.  Everyone is getting cabin fever, work is a lot of just that…work.  We are 19 days out of house possession and everyone is just tiring of the entire process.  I feel spread thin.  I am craving wide open spaces, warm breezes and calm.

The only upside to all of this is I am getting a tonne of writing done.  I have written page after page lately.  Goodness knows what will make the book and what will be edited but to have the tap be flowing freely helps.  The more words that come make it easier.  I find these days, although exhausting from the catharsises easier than the ones plagued with writers block.

My favourite mug broke last week.  It wasn’t just my favourite, it was my mug. 

I bought this mug when I was 14.  I had my first real part time job and received my first pay cheque.  I had to save for my education so I set aside my savings and with the remainder I bought this mug.  I remember the kitschy little boutique I found it in, it was around the corner from my work and I went there day after day waiting for that pay cheque and the reward of buying this mug.  I thought it was the coolest thing ever, at 14 and I am just so sure it was. It has been my mug ever since.

I drank coffee out of it each day.  It was my mug when I was sick, my mug that was schlepped from bad dodgy apartment to bad dodgy apartment.  It has made more moves than I could count.  I drank out of this mug when coming home from hospital with both girls, a comfort in the chaos.  Matt has brought me coffee in it countless time, with a smile or perhaps an apologetic glance.  This mug got him out of many a dog house.  Such a silly possession to form an attachment to but there you have it.  It was mine and when it broke I was very sad.  The little voice inside of my head warned me not to bring it on this move.  It said to put it in storage where it would be safe and spend the five months without it.   I should have listened.

I put the photo on IG when it broke and a dear friend of me observed that when things like this happen it makes her wonder what it means.  Is it the beginning of something new? Is it the end of a chapter?

And it got me thinking.

Perhaps this is the end of a chapter.  From 14 to now has felt like uphill growth.  I feel like we are beginning a new chapter of which I hope will have less struggle and more peace for our lives.   Was this my growth mug? That may have just been the most bizarre sentence I have ever written.

I cannot part with my beloved old friend so I will be crafting it into something new.  I have saved it and set it aside and will find it a fitting tribute once we are settled.  I cannot bring myself to replace it just yet. 

I hope the next mug finds me as much as I find it.