Under a lot of stress recently. There's not enough time to live, breathe, write. Grad Skool + Full Time Work = lack of luster in my chest. Days like these I like to take to the wind with a spray can and my laptop, pretending to take the city by storm. I feel decadent, taking my damn time looking at every single letterpress-style greeting card, picking up every book that fits my fancy, buying snacks I never buy, reading The Stranger cover to cover. In the past, these things have been coping mechanisms for the pain inherent in boring postmodernism. Now they seem like a refuge, a release, a special evening all to myself. Is it hallmark of danger, when my salves become that which I crave? When my Bandaids, previously used to hold back the blood, become the first thing I reach for in a spare moment, stolen from the long weekend? Mary Oliver talks about paying attention. She just published a book of poetry; One Thousand Mornings. Or something. So I am trying to pay attention, like it's my job.
What have I noticed?
My skin has 2 dime-sized patches of dryness. Stress-induced eczema?
My shoulders seem to be pregnant with stones, tight to the point of restricting movements.
After responsibilities cease, I snatch for the easiest, most convenient, most instant pleasure.
Each area of my life trades off being neglected.
My brain is tired from absorbing information...and I haven't even done all of my reading and probably never will.
The people in my life who truly love me are cutting me slack all the time. It's a test of my ability to receive, to be okay with an unfair skew on some relationships.
It'd be good to write more. To go for jogs. To read for pleasure. To pick up the guitar in the mornings. Yet the crushing reality of work, class, sleep, rinse, repeat will rule me for the next week. Just one more week.
These days are getting shorter, the nights are taking over. Here's to the darkness, to fears, to hibernating, to hiding, to evenings spent on the raft that is a warm bed with some warm bodies in it. I'm watching the night conquer the day each day. I'm waiting for that solstice to turn the tables and bring us hope again. Until then I revel in the aloneness of darkness.
That's the way we get by (#spoon).
