Still down. Hating it.
Managed to get up and clean the past couple of days. An hour here, an hour there. Hitting the trouble areas that don’t usually get cleaned well. In other words, I’m sitting on the floor scrubbing something that’s really, really dirty. Not doing too much because it’s humid and bad for my RA. Not doing nothing at all because that really won’t help my depression. And I’m not going to the gym because my hands regularly hurt me just picking things up like, oh, my laptop. Or my water bottle.
So T gently approached me the other day to ask about my book. He’s been on me for over a year to re-release it here in NL. I’d managed to pull up my original manuscript that includes several appendices I didn’t have in my Irish release. But that was it. Oh, I looked at it here and there. But I didn’t go in for re-writes or big corrections. Anyway, I had to ‘fess up to basically doing nothing with it. He’s asked for and received the manuscript from me so he can put in the work to get it published. I…I just can’t get all that excited. Oh, I may sell a copy or two, but that will be it. It’ll be a lot of work for very little return and I am just sick to death of that. Had to admit to that, too, because T asked the big question: Why? Why wasn’t I more excited about it? Why this, why that? So I told him how effing lousy I’ve generally felt this year. My RA has been bad. I seem to get to the gym for a week or two or even a month and then I get hit with bad RA or my feet fall apart or I hurt myself or whatever. In short, I feel like I’m making zero progress. At the gym AND in life. And I’m so fucking depressed by this seeming mountain of obstacles I have to somehow find the energy to get myself over at a time when it feels like a big deal to get up and do my fucking laundry. And I am so, so VERY sick of working and working and perfecting and sweating and working some more and then getting fucking nowhere with it.
…So I’ve been in touch with the salon to try and schedule an appointment to get my braids out. Yeah. That turned into a fiasco (which is NOT helping me). At first I did it online. I said I wanted two appointments because last time I think it took a full hour to get my braids out. But that was a problem for some reason. Goddess! I had a back and forth with someone who didn’t know me. Someone who finally passed my number onto M, the person who does my braids. And of course M tried to call me on the morning I got up to find that once again my phone had died overnight. I have an appointment next week. Which is good, because – and I really hate to say this – my hair broke and one of my braids came out. Yep. I have a near bald spot on my head. Lucky for me, it’s on the bottom row of my hairline. But I’m really, really bothered by it. Granted, it’s not a LOT of hair. That row had more extensions than my actual hair. But my hair broke. My hair doesn’t break easily. But it seems the braids really do a number on me. So I want them out and I want them to be VERY careful. But all of this appointment making was done online. Again. So I didn’t bring it all up because it’s a lot of English to throw at them. They’ll see what’s happened when I walk in.
And the weather is grey and cool and humid, which means I’m not feelin’ great.
Mostly I just feel down. Really down. And it feels right now like I have a lot dragging me down. Fighting it as best I can, but it’s winning. I’m not in tears. I guess that’s a small victory. And I’ve assured myself that if all my hair breaks when they take out the braids, well, that’s a reason to have this long hair cut short. Also, the gym. It ain’t going anywhere. I made it back before; I’ll make it back again.
I’ll get through this. Maybe not with my long hair. Maybe still with all this extra weight on me. But I will get through it.