A hundred words at a time. A pile of clothes at a time. A load of laundry at a time. This and that done so that something else can happen. It doesn’t have to be a hysterical surge of energy, a Mary Poppins-style freak-out. The jobs that become games are still job-like. There’s still elbow-grease involved.
Broken record talk, but I don’t mind it. I scrolled by a Facebook article posted by a local radio station that heralded the evil winter we are supposed to have. A winter that seems inexplicable, if not impossible, on a 75 degree Sunday in late October. I do feel a bit of a twinge in response, but I refuse to let myself go DEFCON 1 over what is not something I can do a damn thing about from my bed on a Sunday night in late October. I will find my way, to wherever I have to go, whenever I have to go there. I also have to find the same werewithal to battle back against the truth that Daylight Savings is coming next week and I can’t change the fact that the rest of the world is going to give me an extra hour everyday to fear the darkness and bring on new and exciting existential crises. That has been the truth of it so long as I have been alive and that’s that.
So today has only been challenging in one way, and that’s, my awareness that it’s 6 more days until I get another one of these. There’s the idea that I can some how find a total restoration in 8 or 12 hours. It’s not possible, darling, dearheart, dumpling, to get fixed that quick lest you’re a cat at the vet. I need a veil of silence and solitude so thick that sledgehammers couldn’t crack it. I need
I did make muffins. And garlic toast. And I did not, despite the impulse (because it’s my one day off, as though that has ever stopped me before), go out and get food. That’s a mild, but useful, achievement.
Tomorrow’s a half day and that’s something. That’s a good something, even if there’s ten kinds of news expected at work – possibly news about the move. I am not sure now if the move to the industrial suburb northeast of where we are now is completely off the table or what, but I am glad to know that it doesn’t appear to be definite. Source of anxiety 10% diluted. So, after a half-day’s work, I will be able to come back here and tackle more of what I am attempting to pull together organizationally. Getting all of these clothes stacked and categorized so the purge is a single-shot and not like I’ve done in the past, a quick pruning where everything I give away is replaced by equally crap stuff.
I am, also, even if tomorrow will change it, in a decent enough mood. I think that comes from allowing myself to be as isolated as I could be, as quiet as I wanted, just for the few hours I had. Maybe one of these batteries will have some juice now.