In which I fall in love with parentheses and confess melancholia

I've got to tell you something (imagine that we're sitting across from each other at a cafe, and we've been laughing all afternoon and suddenly I get moody and stare off into space and then I turn and say that). After all, this blog did start as some sort of attempt to be honest and real and genuine and etc. 

The thing is, I've been strangely down the past few days. Not in despair or full-out depressed, just a vague sort of misery. And I have no reason. In fact, I feel guilty for not being ecstatic. I mean, the horrid lump wasn't cancer (that in itself should be enough to send me out rejoicing the rest of the year). The surgery went fine. I have interesting and exciting (to me) work to do this summer. 

Why then this weird blue mood?

I know some of it is undoubtedly physical. I mean, my tummy is sore and has nasty stitches, and my body is still trying to make sense of the fact that some doctor was fiddling around with my insides; and my inner curmudgeon emerges when I don't feel good. 

But I also think the body and spirit are woven together, and issues don't fall neatly into "physical" and "spiritual" problems. So even if my melancholy has physical roots, the way I deal with it is spiritual, and I just feel contrary. Disagreeable for the sake of disagreeing. I don't want what's good. I don't know what I want. So I watch a movie or go to sleep and escape for a while. And when I pray, I feel like honesty eludes me, because who can discern her own heart?

Funny, too, because I just picked up Acedia and Me by Kathleen Norris. Acedia is a sort of combination between sloth and depression, just plain not caring because it's too hard. I've been reading it since Sunday, but depression was so last year, and it wasn't til I started writing this post that I realized the book actually has some relevance to my life-right-now. Strange; I know I am naturally melancholy, and think that somehow knowing will stop me from beingI think recognition is the only step, not just a big one. But self-knowledge alone is not enough. I actually have to fight and live with myself. Just like knowing you have a weakness for brownies is not enough to stop you from eating ten of them. 

And right there is where I would like Jesus to be more of a weighty presence in my life (don't you like how human and concrete and God he is?). I'll admit something else: you know how people are always talking about how they love Jesus? I'm not sure that I do - all I know is that he's strangely attractive and I don't want to leave him. I guess that's where St. Teresa's prayer comes in:

O God, I do not love you,

I do not even want to love you,

But I want to want to love you.