Talking To Me
I’m writing this because I promised myself that I’d write at least once a week but I’m not sure that I actually have anything to say. Not anything that you’d care about anyway. And if I don’t know why you should listen, or what I can offer, then why would you even keep reading?
Maybe to see if we both figure it out? Maybe you’ve already gone.
What if everyone is already gone and I’m writing only to myself? What do I have to say to me?
You really should stop staring at that water bottle and pick it up and drink.
Okay, that felt pretty good, but did you taste that? Aren’t you worried now???
No, the slight aftertaste in the water is not soap. No, it will not kill you.
And speaking of no, no you cannot get a job right now. You can barely move most days and you have to make plans to think. What job could you possibly get? You know this is capitalist bullshit thinking, so KNOCK IT OFF.
But it’s not only that. I feel like all I do is take from my family. And more than anything I just want to give something back. That was part of the whole garden plan. I can’t fix things inside the house, but I could at least plant some flowers. Only now my body is betraying me AFUCKINGGAIN and I can’t get the prep work done and I can’t pay for it to get done and the yard looks like a mess and
Well, now you’re crying out all the water you just drank. Plus anyone still reading this weird version of you talking to yourself is going to be extremely worried about your mental health.
Good. My mental health sucks.
We should not have laughed at that.
We shouldn’t laugh at the vast majority of things we laugh at.
True.
At least I’m not crying anymore. I’m still pissed about the garden though. And I’m exhausted from constantly having to accept less and less and less control over my life. My body, my mind, my time, my capacity. IT IS INFURIATING. Only, I don’t have the energy to sustain the anger.
Maybe if you rest today you’ll be able to do some gardening tomorrow.
Maybe.
It’s worth the chance. I think that’s the point. That it’s still worth the chance. That vision you have in your head of the kids running through the flowers and digging in the dirt - that’s worth the frustration and the pain. The dream you have of sitting on the porch and writing surrounded by color and scent, that’s worth it. Having all your people around you and happy and wrapped in beauty you coaxed from the earth - that’s a great dream.
It’s so far away. And it feels impossible. And hopeless. BUT I WANT IT.
You get to want things. You do not have to earn wanting. You don’t have to earn receiving. You don’t have to earn rest. Or care. Or beauty. YOU KNOW THAT.
I really just miss my life.
I know. It sucks. I’m sorry.
Thanks. So…exactly how weird is it that I just wrote a whole blog post basically talking to myself.
Dad always says talking to yourself is fine. Don’t worry until you start answering yourself.
Oops…
Yeah…
Well, I feel better. So maybe we just don’t tell him.
