The Mullygrubs

Ever heard of the “mullygrubs?”  Not an insect or plant fungus, it was a word my grandmother used to describe how she felt at times.  “Honey, I got a case of the mullygrubs today,” she would state.  I wasn’t sure what it meant at the time, or even if it was a real word, but now that I am older (but not necessarily wiser), I think I have them.  I did look it up, and the definition is a despondent, sullen, or ill-tempered mood.  That pretty well sums up my current state of mind.

            There is a load of clothes in the dryer that needs folding, my favorite makeup foundation has been discontinued, my best friend has a suspicious tumor on one of her kidneys, I have several stacks of paid bills and other assorted correspondence that cry out to be filed, I should be cleaning house, but it’s too hot, and I am feeling tired and unmotivated to do much of anything.  I suppose these might be the symptoms of the dreaded mullygrubs, but not sure what the treatment might be, so I sit myself down in front of my computer and verbalize my feelings in the hopes that this will purge my sense of inertia and jump start me back into action.

            For some unknown reason, when I am overwhelmed with life in general, I turn first to prayer and then to my writing.  I compare it to what happens to a body when it gets hit with a nasty twenty-four-hour bug and the unpleasant time spent sitting on the toilet with one’s head in a plastic hospital dishpan.  Once the body purges itself completely of the unseen troublemaker, it slowly starts to return to normal.  Once, while journaling, I began to sob uncontrollably, and when my husband found me alone in the living room, decimating a box of Kleenex, he became concerned.  I assured him that it was a virus of my spirit and it was necessary for me to get it all out of my system.  Bewildered and quite certain that I had totally flipped out, he retreated to the other part of the house and just let me be.  A wise man indeed.

            Having experienced this malady previously, I know that time and patience will eliminate the mullygrubs, but as I age, I find I have less of both remedies.  And so, I entrust my concerns to God’s care and write amidst the undone tasks and dealing with my bad mood, waiting for it to pass, and pray I don’t contaminate those around me with these awful mullygrubs.           

Mary Margaret Formosa Lambert is a long-time regular columnist for the Tennessee Register. Her “Pinch of Faith” column appears in every issue.  A charter member of Nashville Catholic Writers, her book “Life Is Too Short To Wear Beige” can be purchased from St. Mary’s Bookstore in Nashville or on her website: marymargaretlambert.com