The place I usually go to get my images displays them, but you can’t download them, hence the recent turn to the Victorian. No idea if it’ll be back up and I’m sure it’s not an issue to anyone but me, but just in case you were wondering.
I have to say…today there’s really only one thing that I want to mention. I’m kind of proud of myself. Because I was starting to fall down a shitty, exhausting rabbit hole and somehow, I was able to get myself up out of the bed and deal a bit. I have a made bed and at least six loads of laundry done and some progress made. I know that it’s pre-Frederick at the moment and I have a lot on my mind and I am contemplating the emotion of anger and how maybe I feel so unable to express anger and frustration that eating, say, a pan full of cinnamon rolls is one way to do something frightful and toxic and hateful in a “safe” way. It’s a wound. And I’d joke that it was a delicious wound, except, when you eat for irregular reasons, you don’t really get delicious in the moment. The idea of food has some components of anticipation and pleasure, but when you eat to shut something up, you just want to get it swallowed. You just want, actually, the gross feeling afterwards of how could you, and wasn’t that a waste and I’ll never eat again and I’ll be good and it’s this whole sad ritual to perform rather than saying what the fuck is wrong with you, talking to me about our relationship and then not replying and it’s verging on a month and how humiliating it would feel to email now and so I’m left here, at square one, all on my own again. And this is never going to happen for me and even if I could grow the parts necessary to send him some terrible passive-aggressive kiss-off, I’m sure that I’d only discover that he were going through some sort of misery.
I just keep recalling that if it matters to someone, they make time for it. Especially in the universe of romance. I thought, laughably, that I was this delightful, unearthly, charitable voice at the other end of the world, and that was some sort of motivation to continue. Having this not work makes me really feel…shitty. Extra alone when I told myself at the start that this didn’t matter and this was my year and bullshit, etc, etc. I mean, fuck this noooooise. How do I have time to wallow here? How do I have time in my life to allot to waiting for someone to email me back anymore. We are racing towards eternity and I don’t want to spend it tying my shoes.
I know some of my friends have been going through some crappy feelings, lately, as well. I feel so disembodied. Self-centered and wading through the negativity when I have tools and ways and interest to get over it. At least for a day.
Tomorrow, emails, driving myself a bit for some shopping, exercise, looking further for a desk (the right desk, not just any place to put down this laptop, and a chair and committing myself to staying out of this bed.