Dragged in by the cat

Lousy sleep. Sweaty and disoriented. You know the drill.

The words, they do not come easy right now. I am seriously torn as to whether it would be smarter to go back to bed rather than blog at my usual time, which is now.

On days when I have nothing in particular to do in the evening, I blog somewhere nearish to 7 pm. On days when I do have something to do in the evening, I blog withing a stone’s throw from 1 pm.

Fascinating, I know. But wait, there’s more.

On days when I am feeling particularly ill, I sometimes break the blogging into two 500 word sections and do one per sitting. That gives me a smaller and therefore far less intimidating goal to face per sitting. .

That doesn’t happen very often though. I have done literally thousands of blog entries. I am quite used to it by now. The words flow fairly freely, even on bad days.

Like right now. Although I must admit, I don’t feel ill so much as I feel tired and sort of gross. That might change before I am done typing.

That’s the great thing about being totally unstable. Don’t like the weather? Wait five minutes and it will change!

Ha ha… ha.

If it doesn’t change by the time I hit 500 words, I guess this is going to be one of those two segment days, because I am damned tired. This is what happens when I get behind on sleep. I end up having that difficult kind of sleep which I think comes from my mind going into REM oversdrive as it catches up on all the dreaming it missed.

I guess that means that when my head clears, my head will be clearer.

Or…. eh. You know what I mean.

I sometimes wonder if I would sleep better if I didn’t drink so much Diet Coke. I don’t think so. I seem to sleep just as well (or, more times than not, just as badly) whether I have had any Diet Coke recently.

Then again, I do drink a fair bit of the stuff. And I have a strange relationship with caffiene. Sometimes its effect is strangely delayed..

So I dunno either way. What I do know is that I am addicted to the stuff, and that can’t be just because it tastes so good.

If I go without for long enough, I begin to crave it. Not in a hardcore way, just at a nuisance level. If that goes on long enough, it escalates to mild fantasies of Diet Coke consumption. Fantasies in which the Diet Coke tastes like the nectar of the gods.

I find it all terribly amusing. It’s such a small addiction that it’s downright adorable. I might feel differently if I suffered from withdrawal symptoms but I don’t. I don’t get cranky, or sleepy, or headachey if I don’t get the stuff.

The symptoms are mild and easily dismissed.

I have never goitten into coffee because I have never had a reason to do so. If I had a job, things might be different. I might get into the whole coffee thing both in order to have the fuel I needed to work and in order to better fit in.

The sad thing is that I am 44 years old and drinking coffee would make me feel like a grownup. SO would having a job.

Because I still haven’t grown up. Not on the inside. I am frozen at around 13 years of age. I was never truly a teenafer, not psychologically. And apart from my college years,. I have led a cloistered life from which there seems to be no escape.

I mean, I know what I need to do next. The only way I am going to resolve the conflict between this feeling of restlessness and dissatisfaction with my life and my massive intertia is to set out to do something challenging to said inertia and bulldoze my way through the fear and resistance until it is done.

And I will do so. Soon. Ish.

But right now I feel too tired and weak. I just want to crawl into bed and go back to sleep. PRess tghe snbooze alarm oin life and hope to feel bettter when I wake.

But I have miles to go before I sleep. Miles to go before I sleep.

And around 270 words.

Sometimes I feel like I am stuck in the nozzle of a funnel and all this stuff drops from the sky and gets funneld down to land on my poor head.

What I need is the strength to fight back, To solve problems instead of avoiding them or escaping from them.

And the courage to turn around, look my ghosts right in the eys, and demand ID.

But my life is always a struggle between what I know I “ought” to do and what I actually can do. It would be lovely if those two lined up more often.

But I cna only do what I can do. The notion that I could be doing more to help myself is both noxious and specious. It’s a toxic attitude that only serves as an expression of my depression. It’s an attitude I can’t afford to entertain.

And, it’s true that I’m not happy with my life. That needs to be expressed too. I keep waiting for that crisis moment where I have finally had enough and I break out of my shell in a moment of pure rage, but it’s been a long time coming.

So maybe I need to think of some larger move. Something clever and strategic that is both within my current powers and effective in drawing myself out.

If only depression was lke any other illness and you could just spend some time in the hospital and come out completely cured.

But no. It is, instead, a daily struggle against a montrous burden that crushes the life out of you and makes the simplest things impossible.

I want to walk in the sun again.

I want to feel like I am alive.

I want the springtime of my soul to finally arrive.

And I am so very tired of waiting.

I will takk to you nice people again tomorrow.



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