(no subject)
I'm tired and feeling frayed around the edges.
I finished a book today which compounded several of my life experiences. It put long fingers into old memories and pulled them out in jagged strings like pulling stitches from a wound not yet healed.
I tried to walk it off tonight but it didn't work. The streets around my new house are not so familiar, and are poorly lit. I have no accustomed walking route, no particular destination, so I have to choose a direction at every cross road and intersection. It feels like a burden.
When I walk at night I feel the absence of my dog, lost to me now for almost two years, who was my companion and protector on hundreds of our nights together. Alone I feel so very vulnerable. I walk in the centre of the road rather than the footpath, which is shadowed by trees and houses that would provide many a place for someone to crouch unseen. It is not an unsafe neighbourhood, but I am reminded that there is nowhere truly safe.
I have always loved to walk at night. I abhore mornings, and I am physically weak before noon, which is exacerbated if it is also hot. I love the air, the crickets, the stars, the light, the sense of quietness that descends.
My other cure for this mood is a bath, which, if I venture it, will be the first in this house. I have a large claw foot bathtub, which may take half an hour to fill, and which has enamel chipped and chipping and rust around the drain. I have scrubbed it myself, but have not yet brought myself to bath in it. I should remember my time in a farm in Ireland, where there was no shower and only a bath, and my desperation for cleanliness soon overtook my hesitation at the grey and rough appearance of the tub.
A bath and some candles, perhaps a quiet cry, and if all else fails a valium will bring me the peace I seek.
It is not just the book and the memories. I am tired with my work at the moment where I seem to achieve so little yet have so much to do, and with my goals about which I feel the same. I have so many plans but so little motivation, I feel overcome by what I have set for myself and so daunted. So daunted by what I must do, that the thoughts themselves exhaust me before I have the strength to attempt the action.
I finished a book today which compounded several of my life experiences. It put long fingers into old memories and pulled them out in jagged strings like pulling stitches from a wound not yet healed.
I tried to walk it off tonight but it didn't work. The streets around my new house are not so familiar, and are poorly lit. I have no accustomed walking route, no particular destination, so I have to choose a direction at every cross road and intersection. It feels like a burden.
When I walk at night I feel the absence of my dog, lost to me now for almost two years, who was my companion and protector on hundreds of our nights together. Alone I feel so very vulnerable. I walk in the centre of the road rather than the footpath, which is shadowed by trees and houses that would provide many a place for someone to crouch unseen. It is not an unsafe neighbourhood, but I am reminded that there is nowhere truly safe.
I have always loved to walk at night. I abhore mornings, and I am physically weak before noon, which is exacerbated if it is also hot. I love the air, the crickets, the stars, the light, the sense of quietness that descends.
My other cure for this mood is a bath, which, if I venture it, will be the first in this house. I have a large claw foot bathtub, which may take half an hour to fill, and which has enamel chipped and chipping and rust around the drain. I have scrubbed it myself, but have not yet brought myself to bath in it. I should remember my time in a farm in Ireland, where there was no shower and only a bath, and my desperation for cleanliness soon overtook my hesitation at the grey and rough appearance of the tub.
A bath and some candles, perhaps a quiet cry, and if all else fails a valium will bring me the peace I seek.
It is not just the book and the memories. I am tired with my work at the moment where I seem to achieve so little yet have so much to do, and with my goals about which I feel the same. I have so many plans but so little motivation, I feel overcome by what I have set for myself and so daunted. So daunted by what I must do, that the thoughts themselves exhaust me before I have the strength to attempt the action.