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Feb. 16th, 2018 09:21 am Some days I thwart myself by wanting to find a subject line before I write, having an inkling of what I'm about to write about and wanting a hook to hang it upon.
I have a list of lyrics that have seized me, but most of it's about six years old and many of them don't quite fit. Once, Bespoke told me something about how often my subject lines are not about the line I'm quoting, but the lines around it. I don't know if it's true, but it's the sort of observation I found/find intensely flattering.
Abundance complimented me on the grace with which I hold my paranoia after having had a hard conversation with his former cofounder, because while I assume the worst of pretty much everything, I've long realized that I have to behave as though I don't, that I can't move through the world forcing people to interact with my distrust, I keep the fire banked, just enough so that when something that hurts happens, I can tell myself I should have known better than to believe it wouldn't.
I've done nothing this morning and it's already 9:30. Didn't feed the pets, didn't walk the dog, didn't do dishes or laundry, didn't even make myself breakfast (Abundance did that). I'm not hanging out with Starchild or Delight. And I feel bad about how exceptionally easy I'm taking it, Abundance and I are about to head down to the flea so I can get my volunteer on, which means Light will be left home alone for a couple days and somehow, that means I should be more enthusiastic about cleaning before I go? I'm not sure the logic behind it, I suspect there's no logic, just a weird guilty feeling in the pit of my stomach about going out and having adventures without him, even though I suspect he's delighted to have a weekend with nothing to do but play video games and hang out with the dog.
I've determined my love languages are youtube videos and service and I've determined my hunger for contact doesn't seem to equal my exhaustion and desire to hibernate.
I'm not doing a lot of things right now, and I beat myself up for each and every one of them. I have all these links open that I want to read, but I'm always too tired to read anything but fiction and I'm not even doing a very good job of that this year either (11 books so far), everything seems to skitter off of me.
Shower, laundry, pack. Finish the latest Lady Churchill's Rosebud Wristlet. Stitch. Browbeat myself into engaging with my bullet journal. Sort the week's worth of pills into their container. Forward, ever forward.
I have a list of lyrics that have seized me, but most of it's about six years old and many of them don't quite fit. Once, Bespoke told me something about how often my subject lines are not about the line I'm quoting, but the lines around it. I don't know if it's true, but it's the sort of observation I found/find intensely flattering.
Abundance complimented me on the grace with which I hold my paranoia after having had a hard conversation with his former cofounder, because while I assume the worst of pretty much everything, I've long realized that I have to behave as though I don't, that I can't move through the world forcing people to interact with my distrust, I keep the fire banked, just enough so that when something that hurts happens, I can tell myself I should have known better than to believe it wouldn't.
I've done nothing this morning and it's already 9:30. Didn't feed the pets, didn't walk the dog, didn't do dishes or laundry, didn't even make myself breakfast (Abundance did that). I'm not hanging out with Starchild or Delight. And I feel bad about how exceptionally easy I'm taking it, Abundance and I are about to head down to the flea so I can get my volunteer on, which means Light will be left home alone for a couple days and somehow, that means I should be more enthusiastic about cleaning before I go? I'm not sure the logic behind it, I suspect there's no logic, just a weird guilty feeling in the pit of my stomach about going out and having adventures without him, even though I suspect he's delighted to have a weekend with nothing to do but play video games and hang out with the dog.
I've determined my love languages are youtube videos and service and I've determined my hunger for contact doesn't seem to equal my exhaustion and desire to hibernate.
I'm not doing a lot of things right now, and I beat myself up for each and every one of them. I have all these links open that I want to read, but I'm always too tired to read anything but fiction and I'm not even doing a very good job of that this year either (11 books so far), everything seems to skitter off of me.
Shower, laundry, pack. Finish the latest Lady Churchill's Rosebud Wristlet. Stitch. Browbeat myself into engaging with my bullet journal. Sort the week's worth of pills into their container. Forward, ever forward.
