Goddamn. It’s that time of year. The toilet seat is frigid when I gotta go. Hard not to emit and a squeal when my ass goes down, all warm and toasty from bed, and meets that porcelain ice. Brr. Takes a while for those shivers to dissipate, too.
So. I kept at things yesterday and managed to tidy up the house a bit, take a walk, finish and send off my story about George, AND work on Dutch. I’m satisfied. A day like that every day and I could have a real life. One day down, the rest of my life to go.
Still sleeping in….all the way to 7:20. That’s a real lie-in for me, considering I usually see 5 a.m.
Yeah, but how do you FEEL, Beeps?
I honestly don’t have a clue. Feels like that feeling, emotional part of me is still asleep. I’m just the frontal cortex. Words, okay. Concepts, fine. Emotions? Uh…Can we skip that one? I’m in shut down. No…that’s not entirely accurate. I feel a right asshole for seeing a message from a friend that came thru last night and I wasn’t online to respond immediately (I’m not a hooked-in tech guru). So. Feeling like I did well for myself but that came at the price of interacting with others. I THOUGHT about writing to my friend. All day long, while I was out walking, feeding George, cleaning the house. I thought, I need to write a note to her. Get in touch. See how she’s doing. And I didn’t. Too fucking wound up in my own drama to take the time.
THAT, I think, is what I hate most about myself. The times when I get too involved in myself and neglect the people I care about.
What a nasty word ‘selfish’ is. And for no reason. Drop the ‘s’ and you get ‘elfish’, which for me says fun and light and playfulness. Add an ‘s’ and suddenly it’s mean and self-centered and uncaring.
Gotta hate that ‘s’.
*sigh* Then again, I played catch up on blog posts yesterday. Made the unfortunate mistake of reading Zoe’s posts out of order. I ended on her traumatic ‘present’ of getting cut off. It was enough to tip my panic scales again. I’m too close to that situation and it scares the FUCK out of me. So I had to calm myself again. Smooth the ruffled feathers. Tell myself it’s not me, it’s not happening to me, I’m not there.
I am VERY ashamed to give you a smoking update. I’ve not been keeping score because…well, just because. But I was the one who did the last smoke run on Saturday. And I see how another smoke run is needed today. Fucking hell. I’m back to chimney mode, let’s just put it that way. My bro keeps telling me it’s okay, we’re not that tight with money right now. He’s been keeping his eye on me and my mood. He’d rather I be a chimney than fall into deep depression. My mood is not lightened by the thought that I’ll have to cut back again, go through wanting again, get stabilized at a lower level again.
And I’ve been writing. And thinking. Both of which require copious amounts of doobage.
Thank the fuck it’s Monday. Concrete plans, real things to do. Today I’m opening my own bank account. *gasp* Beeps! You mean you’ve been living there for over a year without a bank account? Yeah. Well, when you’ve got no money of your own, it hardly seems worth it. I’ve just kept the cash my bro gives me – my monthly ‘allowance’ – and spent it as needed. But now I’m in need of a computer update, which means I’ve got to have some sort of valid debit or credit card to use online. So: bank account. I am NOT thrilled by the idea. Bank accounts are a pain in my ass to set up in an ENGLISH speaking country. I gotta do it in Dutch. OMG. And I need to get hooked into PayPal; too many publishers want to pay writers that way now. But, since I’m in NL, every time I access PayPal online it’s in – you guessed it – Dutch. I get stumped. So I’m hoping the bank personnel will be able to help me with all of this. It feels like a massive undertaking.
But that’s true of so many things in my life right now. Massive undertakings. I have no energy, no oomph to do things right now. I want to hibernate: curl up in my bed and sleep, sleep, sleep. To get thru anything I have to super-psyche: You can do this. Come on, go, go, go! One step in front of the other. C’mon, you’re doing great! Just this one thing. It won’t be so bad. You can do it and then go home and hide for a while. That takes place for about half an hour before I tackle anything. Then it’s continual pep talk while I’m doing it, continual telling myself I CAN take care of it, I don’t need to run and hide, to get through it. All of which adds up to the fact that it seems to take ten times more energy than it usually would to just go to the store to buy my lotto ticket.
I’m getting worn down by this. The oppressiveness of it. The continual need to fight in my head. I see how this defeats me: not by one big push, but by small, incessant pushes. By NOT STOPPING. I have no breaks, no time off, no holiday from this. I am tired. Everywhere I turn, something triggers me. Something brings panic closer to the surface. My circle of allowed interaction is getting smaller and smaller due to that. No news, no bad juju allowed beyond this point. No heavy topics, no dark films.
The storm is right there, on the horizon.