There could be story words here, but I would prefer to get this off the table. That sounds dramatic. It’s not. It’s a word count quest. I think, actually, I’m just feeling irritated in a nebulous way. Stiff hands, thinking about health issues of family members, sick on gummy bears which have served as dinner (when I finish this, there’s something in the fridge for me), I need to get my bed remade and this room reset. I feel deeply lonely, watching youtube videos of youtube stars and their quirky relationships (with all the crap edited right out of them). My hair doesn’t look Pre-Raphaelite today, just ratty and natty and pulling my head down into the well of my shoulders. I don’t feel wise or literary or imbued with magic powers and my stiff fingers are making me spatter typos all over.
This is a venting. Sooner or later my lightbulb is going to burn out. It’s flickering now. I don’t know if that’s a metaphor, but it’s happening. I have to find a new bulb, a new lamp, a new source of clean energy.
We went to the restaurant I picked and after ages waiting got a chance to eat some pretty decent food. I had been planning a whoopie pie, but they were in the case and didn’t look as glorious as I imagined, like perhaps they’d been there a bit and wouldn’t be soft. And you have to manage your whoopie expectations if it’s going to be hard and crumbly. I could forgo the $4 bucks for that and spend it instead on garlic fries and fried chicken. All of which was excellent, but not overwhelming, knock you out of your chair good. And after waiting forty-five minutes for a table, you were kind of hoping to just be undone, to have some sort of culinary orgasm over biscuits and gravy. Instead, aside from the chicken, I thought, I could make this at home and like it a little better. Just another reminder that food doesn’t really get me to that place anymore. Even if I like it a lot, even if it’s Chipotle. It makes me stop feeling, not feel one way or another. Not ideal right now.
But we celebrated Mother’s Day, I got to see my aunt before her surgery on Monday and this is how it goes.
I’ve been looking at OKC, thinking about ways that I can pull on the big girl panties and get back to addressing my life’s challenges. Before, you know, the guy, there was a trajectory. There was a plot. Now to get back to it. To do better. Try again and not wallow in what was or might have been. I just feel disconnected and ready for a new morning’s ready-made fresh start. The house is freezing. I was sort of planning Chipotle (as in a meth addict sort of plans to have a dab’o meth after his daily rounds at this hospital) this evening, but there’s no reason to meander out in a wet, drizzly snow that had descended. Tomorrow will serve.