Not an entirely easy one today. I want to write a personal essay, to answer more of the five hundred questions, but my focus is nil. I feel chewed up and that’s not great for a Saturday. I have definitely felt off all day. Off in a good way, off in an self-exploratory sort of way. A way willing to sit with the discomfort rather than sidestep it.
There were no tears. But there was a fair amount of looking backwards. I got myself up as late as I possibly could and still call it early enough to go to work and shared the morning with a nebulous headache that I’m still dealing with twelve hours later. I did get to work and was at work, and aside from a general checking-in sort of conversation with the boss who was also working today, I didn’t do as much as I wanted or should have. I’d regret it, and I might still do that, but I was pretty amazed that waking up that angry and sleep-starved, I was able to get myself there and sit myself upright. It’s a low bar for success, but it was Saturday, and I took it. I can’t keep taking it, but I did today.
Then, a few random, unexpected situations trying to get food for the party Things that remind me I need to get clear in areas like my finances, because people are weird and things have changed and words like things should be verboten, but I don’t want to say out loud that I have misplaced my card yet again and I wonder how many times you’re allowed to get new ones before they start to look at you screwy. And writing a check for ten over apparently is akin to asking for an act of congress in some places. One clerk today bent over backwards and basically acted as though I was asking for a pint of his blood, and handed it over, before I could even say that it was just ten bucks and I could go cash another one and…yeah, suddenly, I’m feeling a whole other wave of guilt I don’t want or need or ultimately own.
January. January. I think I want to be ready for something on January 1. I want to be ready to fully give up soda again. I want to be ready to lose weight in whatever plan I choose to follow.
A term came up today and stuck in my mind: biological dead-end. I feel, sitting there at that table, surrounded by friends who are pulling away, and further orbits of acquaintance and then onto strangers I have never met before, like a biological dead-end. More to say about that, but I don’t know if I care to say it.
I have been thinking about things I’d like to do to be ready for another drive. Read every post. All 2100+.
I feel rather numb, sugarfied, yawning, but then: Williwaw! There’s a word that bounds into your intelligence and asks to be said. Asks for registration into the memory banks.