(no subject)

I have an entirely planless day today (until studying with Hips tonight). Most days I try to plan at least one task, one outing, just to make sure I get out of the house, but I've chosen instead to wallow in my exhaustion and see what happens.

Tea, stupid books, and finally making at least half a post about the 28 new recipes I've made so far this year. Oh, and maybe a little laundry.

I'm still afraid of running out of cope, finding out that I actually have scraped bottom, or even worse, finding out I can't make it back out of this, even if/when circumstances change for the better. On some level, I'm sure I will, ballads have been written about the stubbornness of women less stubborn than I, but depression glosses and glazes all my thoughts, and like Emily Dickinson's pain, I can't remember a time when it was not.

I keep promising myself one more week, then I'll start temping, go look for a medical billing job, start doing something, anything to impose order on this life, because I think I would prefer a miserable stability to a comfortable chaos, if such a thing exists, because I can't entirely believe that there is such a thing that chaos that is comfortable. I'd still like to wait until we buy a new house to start working, and in theory, that's still possible, but everything I say sounds like an excuse to myself, like I'm being weak or selfish or silly, and I can't tell where practicality ends and self-recrimination begins. That said, I think I'd started to hit my stride right around when Light's company laid him off, and that means I'll find another different stride later.

Maybe I'll make some bread today. That seems like it might soothe.

(no subject)

I have an entirely planless day today (until studying with Hips tonight). Most days I try to plan at least one task, one outing, just to make sure I get out of the house, but I've chosen instead to wallow in my exhaustion and see what happens.

Tea, stupid books, and finally making at least half a post about the 28 new recipes I've made so far this year. Oh, and maybe a little laundry.

I'm still afraid of running out of cope, finding out that I actually have scraped bottom, or even worse, finding out I can't make it back out of this, even if/when circumstances change for the better. On some level, I'm sure I will, ballads have been written about the stubbornness of women less stubborn than I, but depression glosses and glazes all my thoughts, and like Emily Dickinson's pain, I can't remember a time when it was not.

I keep promising myself one more week, then I'll start temping, go look for a medical billing job, start doing something, anything to impose order on this life, because I think I would prefer a miserable stability to a comfortable chaos, if such a thing exists, because I can't entirely believe that there is such a thing that chaos that is comfortable. I'd still like to wait until we buy a new house to start working, and in theory, that's still possible, but everything I say sounds like an excuse to myself, like I'm being weak or selfish or silly, and I can't tell where practicality ends and self-recrimination begins. That said, I think I'd started to hit my stride right around when Light's company laid him off, and that means I'll find another different stride later.

Maybe I'll make some bread today. That seems like it might soothe.