It's Raining
Ever have one of those days where you feel like you've been awake for a week and you weigh at least twice your normal weight? I'd like to think I'm not the only one. Maybe it was the weather. Maybe it was Heath's magical backward-moving job. Maybe it was the pharmacy insisting on a consult before allowing me to pick up a medication I've been for three months simply because the prescription was a newly written one instead of a refill. Maybe it's because there is no light switch for the dining room light. Maybe it's just the monotony of my life. Maybe I just miss Sarah. (I'm not trying to guilt you into writing, Sarah, so don't feel bad, okay? ) Maybe it's lack of money. Maybe it's lack of alcohol.
Whatever the case, I've been melancholy. I have this strange feeling that if I go back and read some of my previous posts I'll find it's not just today. It probably sounds like I need someone to rescue me from myself, but I know that's not the case. My subconscious may be trying to promote that image of a damsel in distress, but I've learned the only way to get out of this puddle I've been soaking in is to just stand up. It's never easy and it never happens overnight, but I know the way. It starts with my refusal to let it all get to me. Listening to the right kind of music and reading the right kind of books makes a difference, as well. I need to stimulate my brain with something beyond the usual garbage. Maybe check out "Philosophy For Dummies" at the library or something. Except, I'm not a dummy. Maybe just "Philosophy" for me. Wow. That was dangerously close to complimenting myself. Wait... Was that complimenting myself? Someone, please tell me, because I have a hard time telling the difference between self-assurance and vanity.
So, I dump my thoughts into cyberspace hoping that getting them out somehow will provide a kind of relief. And it does. At least for awhile. Not quite as much as talking to an actual human being, but it works. Besides, talking to an actual human being is harder. (I really need to stop listening to Cold Play for today.) Back in the day (like I've had so many behind me), I used to go to a coffee house and write poetry when I got like this. I can only imagine doing that now. Abby and Perrin would be running from table to table begging sips of espresso from total strangers and screaming at the top of their lungs while they darted in and out behind the counter. I'd be banned from wherever I went, no doubt.
I've got to stop being so open here. I'm really not a total basket case. I'm still just trying to find that perfect balance between keeping things in and letting them out. Could use some guidance there, too, I guess. You're not my therapist so I'll try not to write anymore of this crap. I might have to avoid writing at all until I get my head on straight, at least on the computer. Forgive my rantings and know that I'll be better about writing like myself again soon.
Ever have one of those days where you feel like you've been awake for a week and you weigh at least twice your normal weight? I'd like to think I'm not the only one. Maybe it was the weather. Maybe it was Heath's magical backward-moving job. Maybe it was the pharmacy insisting on a consult before allowing me to pick up a medication I've been for three months simply because the prescription was a newly written one instead of a refill. Maybe it's because there is no light switch for the dining room light. Maybe it's just the monotony of my life. Maybe I just miss Sarah. (I'm not trying to guilt you into writing, Sarah, so don't feel bad, okay? ) Maybe it's lack of money. Maybe it's lack of alcohol.
Whatever the case, I've been melancholy. I have this strange feeling that if I go back and read some of my previous posts I'll find it's not just today. It probably sounds like I need someone to rescue me from myself, but I know that's not the case. My subconscious may be trying to promote that image of a damsel in distress, but I've learned the only way to get out of this puddle I've been soaking in is to just stand up. It's never easy and it never happens overnight, but I know the way. It starts with my refusal to let it all get to me. Listening to the right kind of music and reading the right kind of books makes a difference, as well. I need to stimulate my brain with something beyond the usual garbage. Maybe check out "Philosophy For Dummies" at the library or something. Except, I'm not a dummy. Maybe just "Philosophy" for me. Wow. That was dangerously close to complimenting myself. Wait... Was that complimenting myself? Someone, please tell me, because I have a hard time telling the difference between self-assurance and vanity.
So, I dump my thoughts into cyberspace hoping that getting them out somehow will provide a kind of relief. And it does. At least for awhile. Not quite as much as talking to an actual human being, but it works. Besides, talking to an actual human being is harder. (I really need to stop listening to Cold Play for today.) Back in the day (like I've had so many behind me), I used to go to a coffee house and write poetry when I got like this. I can only imagine doing that now. Abby and Perrin would be running from table to table begging sips of espresso from total strangers and screaming at the top of their lungs while they darted in and out behind the counter. I'd be banned from wherever I went, no doubt.
I've got to stop being so open here. I'm really not a total basket case. I'm still just trying to find that perfect balance between keeping things in and letting them out. Could use some guidance there, too, I guess. You're not my therapist so I'll try not to write anymore of this crap. I might have to avoid writing at all until I get my head on straight, at least on the computer. Forgive my rantings and know that I'll be better about writing like myself again soon.
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