An aspiring writer fascinated by what we simply are.
There were good things today.
I cleaned. I wrote a little. I didn’t get to that cut out poem, but I spent some time on taking care of me. There was a delicious dinner and a bottle of good red wine. I got new head phones and they are exactly what I need to help get through the long days at work.
And now the weekend is over and I am trying not to be too down about it. I’m proud of myself for doing better today than I did yesterday but I’m still carrying so much guilt. I can’t do that anymore. I can’t let myself get sucked into mindless TV and social media timelines that way again. Not all day.
But today was better, and that has to be enough. I have to let it go and start new tomorrow.
It’s been a lazy day spent binge-watching mindless shows, napping, drinking hard ciders, and eating junk. My body hurts and my mood is spoiled. Everything that would help sounds exhausting. There is no hope to recover the day, not that I want to anyway.
I’ll try again tomorrow.
I love Friday the 13ths. Everyone thinks they are such spooky and unlucky days but I feel the opposite. I was born on a 13th you know and so too me they are worth celebrating. I wish this one were my birthday it being a Friday and a full moon, a rare occurrence indeed I hear. A quick search tells me the next time this will occur in April will be in the year 2063. I will be 78 years old then.
No matter the date any Friday is a good day because it means the weekend and fun and rest. This week has been both long and short and as such I am both relieved and sad to see it end. I have no big plans this weekend and only the possibility of a Sunday morning hike to look forward to. I contemplated asking friends to come out for a “margarita Friday” but we’ve all spent too much money and time seeing each other lately. I thought about asking my family to get together but with so many of their birthdays coming up I thought it best to wait.
Oh well, maybe a quiet weekend spent doing quiet things is worth looking forward to too.
Suddenly the week is passing quickly again. Perhaps stress and anxiety not only color the present and the future, but maybe the past too? Maybe it all got drawn out because I was too busy holding back, holding on, and avoiding moving forward all together and now that I am free from this small (in hindsight) fear I can move through time again—and time can move through me too—normally.
Of course all this also means there aren’t enough hours in the day again.
I’m avoiding things again. Hard things are rearing their ugly heads and I am making excuses to turn toward lighter, happier, sunnier things, but I know it has to stop, and I know I will feel far better too when it does.
So, the to-do list is growing and I’ve added dates and times to the calender. These are things that I must be brave for and must, if need be, mindlessly rush toward before my feelings and fears can catch up.
I’m an over thinker, but I am learning to turn off that inner skeptical, pessimistic, and degrading voice and simply do. We can’t always be people of forethought and wisdom. Sometimes we have to be people of action if we ever want to get anything done.
Today was made of many small fortunes. The route I rode this morning was a long overdue reminder that this job can be both fun and rewarding if you put forth the effort to make it so. Of course, I knew that, but it’s been a long time since I felt it.
There was plenty of work to do around the office when I got back but none of it was hard and all of it made me feel proud and useful. There was time to read afterward and despite my fatigue I was still able to be cherry and social with my coworkers.
I took advantage of the rare opportunity to go home early today and promptly wasted it on an accidental nap. Oh well, it’s not like I’d have had the time on a normal day anyway and it’s not like I did nothing at all. Small chores and catching up on reading count for something, don’t they?
The evening is less easy but there is still good here too. I’m going off to bed only wishing we were further along in the workweek. As for the rest, I am content.
The fatigue has returned. The day was easy on me and the people around me were understanding and undemanding and still I struggled to keep up. I crave sleep and where I couldn’t get it I at least craved solitude and silence. I got neither but thank God for headphones. At least I could tune out the undesirable and listen to music to music to match my mood.
I spent a lot of time reading in the afternoon. I made the mistake of trying to read four different books at once in a desperate attempt to make up as much lost ground in my reading goals as I can, but I am beginning to doubt the strategy. Not because I don’t like the books, or because I feel overwhelmed, but because now all I want to spend my time doing is reading those books. I suppose there are worse ways to waste time.
The evening is better. My wife and I cooked dinner together, something new, savory, satisfying. Tonight feels like another Sunday, not rushed, not stressful, and tomorrow the week will be a day closer to done.
Today was actually kind of a bad day, a rare occurrence for the weekend, but it was one of those bad days that while sad, and stressful, and hard, leaves you feeling grateful underneath it all too.
It was a bad day, but it wasn’t just my bad day. It was a bad day, but I wasn’t alone. I was supported and loved and I gave support and love too. I know bad days are inevitable but I wish every bad day could feel like this. I wish everyone, if they had to have a bad day, at least got to have bad days like this sometimes too.
Today I attempted to plan a perfect day for someone else. I felt like my wife, who is always doing so much for others and planning everything, deserved a day doing things only she loves and a day in which she didn’t have to worry or think or decide what comes next.
I planned a day for her and inadvertently experienced my own perfect day. Perhaps it’s only because we enjoy so many of the same things. Perhaps I failed in my endeavor and actually planned my own perfect day instead (this is very possible) or perhaps just seeing her happy and knowing that she knows how much I love her is what my perfect day really looks like.
The work week was a short one, shorter or me than most of my coworkers even, and I still felt like it lasted twice as long as it really did. When I write that or say it out loud, it sounds like a ridiculous thing to be upset about. More time—even miserable work time—is a gift I guess. It’s all about perspective.