My mind is moving in strange ways today. I’m wired but fuzzy, optimistic but irritable. I’m moving forward, but only ever in circles. My mind is marching on to nowhere.
Tomorrow is coming too fast, and a slow panic is rising, an uncomfortable excitement. I’d rather today drag on a little longer, a day or two longer, a week, a month, a year more of solitude would fix me right up.
This morning was better than this afternoon. I felt more focused, driven, productive, then. This afternoon is all restless energy. I hate it.
I’m trying too hard to harness the evil power of the steroids my doctor has put me on for good, but all I’m getting is jittery and angry. Headaches are rolling in and out because, I’m learning, steroids, though they provide their own kind of energy, are not a replacement for caffeine, but the prospect of mixing the two terrifies me so withdrawal is setting in.
It’s not all bad, of course. I made time for myself, for blogging, for cleaning, for meditating, and tackled a couple of to-do items I’d been avoiding. The littlest activity wears me out though and each task requires another 20 minutes of napping before I can move on to the next. I’m letting myself have all the rest I want though because with each waking I feel just a tiny bit better than when I laid down.
I’ve promised my team, and myself, that I will make it into work tomorrow, but I’ve made no promises to them or myself from then until Friday. I have a feeling forming even the least of expectations is setting us all up for failure.