The Drunk Ceramicist

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In just a moment, I will rise and take up the mantle of America’s Foremost Home Cook (in this one particular home) and make dinner.

The moment came.  There’s rice made by the sister, and now chicken thighs I am trying to recall whether or not are boneless, all seasoned and in the oven, and I’m steaming broccoli and cauliflower and I have pineapple juice that I can put rum in.  All in all, probably a better meal than I have cooked (mostly) for myself in a long while.

Today was odd.  The boss was gone – a sick day, probably her own version of a mental health day – and I didn’t get the usual onslaught of emails that come even when she’s out.  I didn’t get a phone call.  I made one invoice.  I mostly just worked on willing myself to file and organize as best I could, and write down the bigger projects I need to begin thinking about as this transition (in whatever form it comes) begins go solidify in my mind.  It was hard to buckle down.

I also ran out and had the sort of pizza that erases horrific pizza memories like that of the one I had yesterday.  So it’s good to do something that approximates healthier tonight.  I am thinking about it – it’s funny that when I forget to worry about work or forget for a few hours to grind my teeth, I realize that I actually have an interest in things like exercise.  Yoga.  In life in general.  Getting out of the formaldehyde and breathing the free air.

If I were to be working on something like that elusive something, this might make for a chapter break.

(The chicken is actually really good – nice for that to work out like that.)

So I suppose, in a roundabout way, what I want to say is that I felt alright today.  I felt unchained, free again, and ready to stay that way even if that’s not entirely up to me.  Ready to move on.  Ready to try again.  Even, in the car, where my anxiety ebbs and flows as a result of such a combination of things (food, mood, stress from a hundred different sources, the time of day, traffic, the energy in the song on the radio, if anything unexpected happened – a detour, a slowdown, an accident), I felt like I was facing it rather than scrunching down and bearing it.

I could sit there at that light and not let it turn into the thing where I go all tic-y and sweaty and desperate.  Maybe it was just a result of having had the day to myself, more or less, but I walked away from the battle a little less bloody today.

Tomorrow, we go to the shop and I can continue suspending my beliefs and climbing back up to snuff.

And with my last little bit of journaling today: Happy Birthday to my dear friend who may or may not read this today.  She deserves people dancing in the streets with delight over the beneficence that was her getting borned.  Instead, we have blog posts, but we will duly use them.

 

 

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