A paragraph of woe-is-me:
This weekend two days in a row I spent hours doing things I love with people I love, and both times it took a concerted effort to look and act ok. I get so mad sometimes. I'm doing the right things! I think. I'm treating myself kindly! I think. And yet, I keep having bad days after good. I feel so, so strongly that someone needs to stick a bottle brush up in my head through my neck and just sweep it around in there. There must be cobwebs or fungus or pus or dead gerbils. When I'm in a rut (I'm in a rut), there is so much ick in my skull cavity. It makes me feel carsick and dazed and achy and grumpy, grumpy, grumpy. I am all but panicking about the inaugural summer community band concert this evening. I have promised I'll be there to play, after having missed months of rehearsals and events. I promised I'd be there, assuming (as I always do) that I'd be just fine by June. I am arguably finer than I was in the winter, but I am not fine. I am mad. This might be the second time in my life I regret the fact that I do not play a dime-a-dozen instrument. If only I was a flute player or a trumpeter. I could escape without guilt, then. I will go, though, and I will do my best to play for an hour and a half. I'll do it because I do love the music, and I owe so much to this group (like a husband, for example), and I'll do it because maybe it'll help? Maybe a weekly performance in a park will be like a virus exorcism?
A paragraph something else:
You know, sometimes people confide secrets to me without meaning to. I think it's been happening more often lately because I can't run away. Heh. I mean, someone will sit down next to me and, true, I don't have the energy to get up and leave, so I'll stay and talk, and I'm at a rather blunt stage in my life when I like to ask direct/slightly rude questions. It surprises people into telling the truth. Anyway, it's been interesting. I spent at least 25 years being subtle and keeping my opinions to myself, and I'm kind of over that. I have always known how to tell the truth, but I'm doing it in a much less hedgey way these days, and asking for the same in return. And now I owe the world the ability to keep a secret once it's been given to me. I'm working on it.
This weekend two days in a row I spent hours doing things I love with people I love, and both times it took a concerted effort to look and act ok. I get so mad sometimes. I'm doing the right things! I think. I'm treating myself kindly! I think. And yet, I keep having bad days after good. I feel so, so strongly that someone needs to stick a bottle brush up in my head through my neck and just sweep it around in there. There must be cobwebs or fungus or pus or dead gerbils. When I'm in a rut (I'm in a rut), there is so much ick in my skull cavity. It makes me feel carsick and dazed and achy and grumpy, grumpy, grumpy. I am all but panicking about the inaugural summer community band concert this evening. I have promised I'll be there to play, after having missed months of rehearsals and events. I promised I'd be there, assuming (as I always do) that I'd be just fine by June. I am arguably finer than I was in the winter, but I am not fine. I am mad. This might be the second time in my life I regret the fact that I do not play a dime-a-dozen instrument. If only I was a flute player or a trumpeter. I could escape without guilt, then. I will go, though, and I will do my best to play for an hour and a half. I'll do it because I do love the music, and I owe so much to this group (like a husband, for example), and I'll do it because maybe it'll help? Maybe a weekly performance in a park will be like a virus exorcism?
A paragraph something else:
You know, sometimes people confide secrets to me without meaning to. I think it's been happening more often lately because I can't run away. Heh. I mean, someone will sit down next to me and, true, I don't have the energy to get up and leave, so I'll stay and talk, and I'm at a rather blunt stage in my life when I like to ask direct/slightly rude questions. It surprises people into telling the truth. Anyway, it's been interesting. I spent at least 25 years being subtle and keeping my opinions to myself, and I'm kind of over that. I have always known how to tell the truth, but I'm doing it in a much less hedgey way these days, and asking for the same in return. And now I owe the world the ability to keep a secret once it's been given to me. I'm working on it.
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