I could complain about pain and say that’s why I’m not sleeping, which may be a portion of it, but the real issue here is the anxiety. I’m wound up tighter than a drum. My mind has been in a very strange place for most of the month. It almost feels as though I’m dissociating. It’s likely given that’s how I tend to deal with periods of high stress. It’s better if it’s happening to “someone else” rather than to me. I don’t know if this is an advantageous survival skill, or if it’ll come back to bite me at some point.
It’s still hotter than hell during the day, but the humidity levels are dipping. My phone and computer apply the blue filter around 7:00pm instead of after 8:00pm. Night time temperatures are dropping down in the lower 60’s, which means the A/C isn’t running constantly anymore. All signs that summer is coming to a close (YES YES YES!!!!).
More than the obvious signs, it’s a feeling I get in the pit of my stomach. A cross between excitement and sadness.
I can’t stand the heat, the sun gives me migraines, but I also don’t like the darkness of winter. I do enjoy the freezing cold because almost every issue I have from A to Z tends to improve. I gain a ton of weight because it’s what fluffy city critters do. We hole up in our little caves and eat way too many potatoes, drink way too much wine, and enjoy every damn minute of it. Everything goes into hibernation, including my sometimes obnoxious optimism. Winter makes me emo, and by the end of winter when spring pops up, I find myself brow-deep in some sort of swampy philosophical major depressive crisis that coincides with one of my conditions waking up from its slumber, followed by an overwhelming desire to choke to death on an avocado. I eat so many avocados, I assume one will be involved in my death somehow. Such a duplicitous fruit!
At least shit is predictable, even if it ain’t easy.
I need to turn this cycle on its head. The words “quit” and “give up” need to be tossed out of my vocabulary. I have one job, to take care of myself, and I’m failing. I just don’t care anymore. This needs to be remedied. If not for me, then for the people I love. I may feel my life is finished and I may feel comfortable letting go (I think this is a good thing, but I’ve also admitted to my head being in a fucked up place), but there are others who aren’t ready to see me go yet. I owe it to them to give them several more years of me being a pain in their asses.
We’ll call it a work in progress, and as long as there’s still progress, my work isn’t done.