I could knock this out easily. Nobody in this massive office is here. Well, a few folks, sure. But nobody, REALLY. Nobody in the cubes around me. I can type away, giddily, to my heart’s content. Maybe it’s the caffeine, maybe it’s the Friday, maybe it’s the half-day broken up by a dentist appointment…it’s definitely the caffeine. Damn.
Compose a post in forty-five minutes at the end of the day? Is such a thing even possible anymore? The mind does wonder. The mind…
I have to turn off the light on the dryer. As soon as I hit five hundred words, I will do that.
Too many cut corners and you end up not knowing where you are. So tonight, even though I am tired, and there’s technically only 30 minutes left in the day to do it, I am going to buckle down and write my five hundred words.
I had a good day, actually, dear diary. I did a few things that mildly improved my lot. I am thinking about all the books I read about cleaning and organization and the one thing that truly helps me is getting things into containers. Containers actually do force me to visualize how much of a thing I should have rather than believing I have at least as much air as is in my house to cram random shit in. No, I have two bookcases and that is sufficient for the number of books I need to treasure and own. The rest can live at the library or online. I now have dividers for the socks and underthings (sorry internet for informing you I own underthings) and I already feel as though I have so much room. I am trying to kind of Unfondo? Sort a combination of my own making of Unfuck Your Habitat and Marie Kondo teachings. Seeing what makes me feel good and glad to have in about 20 minute bursts. In my case, I have a lot of things I know I want to get rid of, but what holds me back is the idea that I have to do the whole house at once or in one process. I will never get to that stage. Probably ever, ever. So instead, to whirl around and say, shit, I have 5-6 misshapen and useless sports bras that I dig through every time to find the one I like and still wear, along with a huge armful of tights that have runs in strategic places where you could still wear them if they stayed exactly where they should. Mostly this never happens, but I keep the tights because you’d have to think about yourself as an inordinate destroyer of tights and an overall bad person were you to grant them to the garbage pile. I have tried to avoid such determinations, but perhaps, in the end, that is exactly what I am.
The dear cat is very unwell, and back to the vet she went today to get IV’d and have fluids put under her skin because she was refusing to drink or eat. Now she’s perked up a bit, a very little bit, and her eye is all sorts of gross, but I’m hopeful about that.
I’ve watched a lot of Abroad in Japan, for a bit of culture. There’s certainly more on offer in every respect, things to do, things to read, things to worry about tomorrow. I’m feeling positive, generally, mostly because the alternative feels so exhausting and there’s boxes out there to put all your bobby pins in so…stay calm.
I am feeling positive this morning. Not entirely sure why given the fact that right behind me is a veritable whiteout situation. I don’t have to immediately leave work, which is the only way that I think I’m not flipping out. I will, I suppose, have to eventually leave work. I’m deciding on the bus, but it’s a matter of whether or not I’m driving myself to the bus station or no. I’ve got boots in the car, at least. There is an element of peace working here where I know, on these days like this, crap flying from the heavens upon us, I don’t have to necessarily find the huge well of resources within to sort out how I’m going to sleep at my house tonight. How, in this 1-3 inches, I will endure?
Maybe it’s the activation energy! Which I announced with an exclamation point as I got myself upright relatively quickly this morning for an early meeting. Up I rose, careening into the heavy, extensive fog. It didn’t feel impossible. Days with an hour later start and I am on the constant edge of death.
Start early. Get the window rocking in its pane, just ever so slightly, so you can pop through it when you must.
I would like to write on what I would like to write on. Just mark it down under the long, long, interminable list of things that are out of my hands.
Take yourself to task. There were far too many items in the washing machine and it damn near exploded.
The cat is slurping as she washes herself over and over again on the floor. I am not sure how to make this post today.
I’ve been trying to be creative and limit social media today. This has been not an altogether successful mission, but lately, I’ve been feeling the sense of doing such a thing. I’m feeling bombarded, both in good ways and bad, by ideas. Things to worry about. Things to do. Things I could think about and build into other things I’m trying to be creative and achieve. And it has become more than the small dustpan of my mind can handle. So I have taken a certain percentage of the day to do what I do best, and that is, fuck all.
This, when it doesn’t coincide with someone’s plans, can be…a touchy thing. We so rarely have touchy things. But he says nothing and I say, tell me if you’re tired and want to sleep and aren’t going to go to bed unless we speak. Don’t wait around for me. I’m not…as I’ve heard it said…your girlfriend. I am bending over backwards as it is to be generally available, to be generally present and picking up the phone. A few hours without having to drop my train of thought to get on yours is all I’m asking. One night to not have to live the reality of this half-fulfilled existence, to take my ball and go home.
Instead, writing projects. Instead, some MST3K. Some Sunless Skies once I worked that little bug out. Some not giving into sugar and carbs so I can say Day 2 of the low-carb till ECCC plan is actually happening. Going into a few fugue states – metaphorical ones, in actuality, more of a Pinterest freefall for writing inspiration that is a really bad idea on a number of levels. More of that digital overwhelm when I just need to rely on my own brain to think up the details rather than relying on constant predigested inspiration. That’s the worst, least effective kind.
Tomorrow: we cook. We see my mother and I square how she sounded on the phone with how she looks. Nobody’s called me so, I’m assuming it’s okay for now. Like she said, what else can you do? Like Prof. Brian Cox said, the forward motion of time is a constant: everybody’s going to tomorrow, there’s no getting around it.
Let’s wrap this up and emerge from our psychic chrysalis tomorrow, fresh and awake and ready for life. I’ve picked my spells. I know what I’m needing to do. There’s some intent in the haze. Time to give myself the sleep necessary to make some of that happen. Sleep sounds really, aggressively, objectively wonderful right now. I think I am going to close this laptop up just after I press post and try and make shit happen in the land of Nod.
Paraphrasing from a recent TED talk I heard: The energy it takes to get you out of a warm bed into a cold room is the exact same energy required to change your life.