It is up to me to stay productive today.
Woke up at 3:30 this morning, feeling hot and awful, throat raw, cough dry. I hadn’t taken the medicine, because, I don’t know, reasons? Even though I feel like I’m dying from the neck up, I don’t want to call that being sick or capitulate to my body in any way. But the thing I got is meant for the things I have so I took half a dose and went back to sleep and it seemed to halfway help. Trying to actually keep taking it, and not let this thing take any further root than it might.
So, the thing is, I got a letter. Well, less a letter and more an email explaining a few things going on with said person that make it hard for him to sit down and write, some quite literally shitty things with a landlady and his living situation and work. Things that are pressing, but he looks forward to returning to our conversation when they’re dealt with. He is not having a good time of it right now.
I can easily take this in the direction Mildred wants to take it and say it’s all exceedingly complex lies designed to extricate himself from my literary clutches. It’s quite simple to find yourself wanting to say grossly needy things like “But you still like me, right? This isn’t about me, right?” When sanity and sobriety remind you that he gave you a reasonable explanation that has nothing to do with you and how bizarre and needy and cold to not see someone’s suffering except in how it reflects yourself?
And then you realize that all those laughable people in books, and movies, flailing in desperation at romantic confusions, embarking on deranged plans because of just such worries are somehow suddenly empathetic. Believable.
Those women, your sister, that you advised to be calm and rational, even as you watched something tick behind their eyes, plotting, devising, refusing to grip onto the buoy of rational thought in light of the fear that you’re losing someone’s attention and/or affection.
But regardless of his motivations, and I do think the only choice I want to make is just to find it all genuine. It doesn’t matter at this point what his motivations are because the result is the same: the “relationship” is at a standstill for now. I’m just glad I know something of what he’s dealing with. Even if this sort of slow game is exactly the way I wanted, at the outset, for things to go, it is weird that I am disappointed that this is a bonafide hiatus and I didn’t call for it.
I always wanted time to get organized, get better, get “perfect,” make room for this, but I’m coming to believe that this works better when it just crash lands in your life, when you just have to respond to the cards on the table. And now, I have time, maybe all of the time. I have time to get exercising and dig in on the diet, and do that oft-mentioned, amorphous task of “loving yourself” and I…feel disinclined. I feel, aside from the throat rage, like I want to sleep until the Great Whenever.
Luckily, the therapist/psychologist appointment is coming next week, and I have some other social interactions being required of me today, otherwise, I just want to go home, get the new Dragon Age DLC downloaded and get in bed, surrounded by treats I won’t be able to taste because my throat is sandpaper. Disengagement is not the answer.