Pass the Rosy Wine

By: L.

Oct 24 2015

Tags: ,

Category: self

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Aperture:f/5.3
Focal Length:165mm
ISO:250
Shutter:1/125 sec
Camera:NIKON D80

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.

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