Excessive writing without meaning …
Depression … Social withdrawal, isolation, and reclusiveness … Dropping out of activities — or out of life in general … Indifference … Inability to concentrate or to cope with minor problems … Extreme reactions to criticism … Inability to cry, or excessive crying … Sleeping excessively or inability to sleep … Staring without blinking — or blinking incessantly … Hyperactivity or inactivity — or alternating between the two … Bizarre behavior … Forgetting things … Forgetting things …
Just thinking out loud.
I’ve pretty much decided that anything that ails me right now can be overcome so long as I stick to my diet, stick to my workouts, and keep JT around to hold on to. Work is happening day by day, as that’s the only way it can happen. I just do what I can do, but I have to keep telling myself that. So many people came up to me with issues today, paused to touch my hair and comment, then beg me to do something for them, while I was helpless to do anything because of email issues still. I tried to explain, again and again, only to have them walk away and find myself actually shaking afterwards. I know these things need to be done. I’m sorry I can’t do them right now. I know I can’t take a day off without ending up two days behind… that’s the curse of not being part of a department, but actually being a department.
Things happen to me that makes me feel like I’m watching life instead of living it, and it always scares me. Then it makes me sad. I’m trying so hard just to cope day to day with my stressors, thought I was doing pretty well, but it seems that it’s really just a precarious juggling act on my part, and I never could get the hang of juggling. It makes me feel weak, and until I can remind myself how strong I really am, it makes me hate to be me. Yesterday I was overcome with the urge to get out my paper journal and make an entry, but I didn’t. Just deciding what I would write seemed to get me over the funk. My paper journal has a special purpose, not like this one. This one is my life … good and bad and dull and absurd and everything, without much bias. The paper one is like concrete … the place to vent the bad things so they are gone and can’t ever get out again. The place I can turn to when I want to see how far I’ve come and how strong I really am. The place I record the lowest of the lows, when I’ve been put down and trodden upon and somehow manage to get through it. Those entries are blurred with tears in a way no keyboard can ever relate to the screen. And though we’ve had our ups and downs, that journal has not been touched since I met JamesT.
He knew I was sad. He apologized to me for a lifetime of things he might have said carelessly when suffering from the very common foot-in-mouth disease, but it was wholly unnecessary (though appreciated). I’ve never been more sure of loving or being loved than with him. I don’t know how he puts up with me day by day, but I’m glad he does.
Where does the time go? It’s nearly October. Birthdays and holidays and the need to coordinate and plan family gatherings is upon us again. I can’t remember exactly how many times I saw mom this year… was it just once? Twice maybe? Twice I think. And I bet the number of times I’ve called her would amount to barely over a dozen. Sitting here realizing how out-of-touch I make myself makes me sad. I think about her everyday, but calling makes me want to see her, and seeing her means a whole new hassle of money and travel and time and that only leads to the inevitable parting which seems even more sad than if I hadn’t seen her at all.
It’s time to work. I’ve delayed it enough. This somber mood lends itself too well to idle rambling which is just procrastination.
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