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but i never left, i was always right here.
Monday, June 9th, 2014 05:05 pm(I wrote this entry two weeks ago but never posted it. sorry, y'all)
Monday in the middle of May, I had what's called a UP3 surgery, plus additional tonsil removal.
I felt TOTALLY out of it afterwards, even though I was doing everything normally. I blame the narcotics.
I like to look at happy pictures when I'm sad but sometimes I'm scared to look for them because what if I run into a sad picture on the way?
These are happy pictures of brides seeing their bride on a wedding day
When I'm depressed, the enormity of life wears me down. I pare down the activities I participate in, the people I agree to see, the obligations I used to enjoy—trying to get rid of the thing that's making me feel bad, but then there's nothing left to lose... and life still forever remains exhausting in its emptiness.
I've mentioned to a few friends that I want to start scheduling myself some writing time in the mornings. An hour, roughly around 10am, for my brain to just let things go.
(Aidyn curled up on the floor, on a blanket, on the electric blanket with cords delicately wound around his feet like he or they were a species of vine. If I were to pet him, he would be soft, he would welcome it, but his nose twitches that tiny little bit and I know he's asleep, dulcet dreaming, and I don't want to disturb him.)
I find myself doing anything—even organizing my email—instead of writing. What's so hard about it? What am I avoiding? For avoiding it I am, and evidently with some real deftness.
Writing is like meditating. I know I need to do it regularly to feel at my best, I know that I feel better when I do it, but actually doing it feels about less appealing than scrubbing the kitchen floor.
( Thoughts about people who give and give, and why it's counterproductive )
Monday in the middle of May, I had what's called a UP3 surgery, plus additional tonsil removal.
I felt TOTALLY out of it afterwards, even though I was doing everything normally. I blame the narcotics.
I like to look at happy pictures when I'm sad but sometimes I'm scared to look for them because what if I run into a sad picture on the way?
These are happy pictures of brides seeing their bride on a wedding day
When I'm depressed, the enormity of life wears me down. I pare down the activities I participate in, the people I agree to see, the obligations I used to enjoy—trying to get rid of the thing that's making me feel bad, but then there's nothing left to lose... and life still forever remains exhausting in its emptiness.
I've mentioned to a few friends that I want to start scheduling myself some writing time in the mornings. An hour, roughly around 10am, for my brain to just let things go.
(Aidyn curled up on the floor, on a blanket, on the electric blanket with cords delicately wound around his feet like he or they were a species of vine. If I were to pet him, he would be soft, he would welcome it, but his nose twitches that tiny little bit and I know he's asleep, dulcet dreaming, and I don't want to disturb him.)
I find myself doing anything—even organizing my email—instead of writing. What's so hard about it? What am I avoiding? For avoiding it I am, and evidently with some real deftness.
Writing is like meditating. I know I need to do it regularly to feel at my best, I know that I feel better when I do it, but actually doing it feels about less appealing than scrubbing the kitchen floor.
( Thoughts about people who give and give, and why it's counterproductive )
