It used to be that I could slip into a post, hurry and gather words to fill a quota like berries to a bushel. Hit the mark and move on. But I have this thing now that could always draw my attention, that seems to come with five hundred words attached. Do you think, as I am starting to, that I risk my own good sense by trying to gather too much of it? I risk stripping the tree so nothing more will grow. I’m trying not to walk in that orchard at all, trying not to hang around waiting for gravity to do the work. Think about anything else or anything other than this tiny IV drip of investment. There is nothing to do, nothing. I have no control, no say, no step, no plan. I wait, regardless of where I walk or stand.
I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.
I could write that a hundred times until it lost all meaning.
I am, despite the vulnerability that I’m sitting and drinking up, feeling in a good mood. Much better than yesterday. I got on the bike and rode for fifteen minutes. I have set myself a little challenge of doing 15 minutes of physical activity every day in March. Maybe that can build into something, but it makes for a good baseline, and day one, I did not shirk.
Then, I put on makeup, the whole smear, and drew myself up on my heels and went and talked with my cousin/business coach which is, essentially, free therapy. As I talked, I realized how much my negative thought patterns are impacting me right now. How I wake up, still, clenched and freaked and tired and dreading whatever nebulous thing I dread. Foreboding joy, as I think Brene Brown puts it. How I worry about things going well or going poorly and I just want to lay still and avoid making a choice that will bring about a bad result. It’s just worrah, worrah, worrah, with intermittent spasms of insane, quasi-manic giddiness. And I’m not really getting closer towards weight loss goals or writing goals or being comfortable at work goals or driving goals while I refuse to think about them in favor of this 24/7 mental spin class I’m conducting.
It was positive to be out of this little wasp’s nest, breathing the free air, pressing the gas pedal and having to interact with…well, librarians, and Panera employees. And even though they put a baguette on my plate, I did not eat bread. Even though I was on my own, and I want to use food to get high, I didn’t cave. I feel honestly bolstered.
So, taking the Sunday spirit, working on some writing, reading The Trickster’s Hat, watching Dark Angel videos because I have some weird yearning to see Alec and Max be awkward again, and looking forward to tomorrow morning’s announcement. It’s a better day. And I’ll let my mind linger elsewhere if I can, stay out of the trees.