I have blog paralysis. Very specific writer's block thing. I should dust off my book journal?
I was in a crazy funk last week, and now I'm on my period and it's lifting, sort of. In the mean time I canceled my doctor's appointment about the psych meds after realizing there's no way in hell I can afford them even if the constant waffling had landed on a firm decision to ask for them.
I made a grand, positive decision to exercise and immediately threw my back out. This led to two days in bed vaguely stoned and hurting and bored, which obviously did not lift my spirits. The hormonal worst is dropping away now, and I'm just in this flat place emotionally that is difficult to navigate and a strange place from which to write.
I never know where to open and where to close off writing through/about/inside depression. The blog is like its own entity that has flippant goofiness all over it lately and I don't know how to just spill tears and gray matter all over it.
The flatness, gray metaphors are apt. This isn't a deep place, no terrible highs and lows and nothing really notable at all. It's just malaise and fatigue and a big empty inability to write. I have the blogging-in-brain phenomenon but the imaginary posts seem forced and vapid.
I can't find time to do anything.
The heaviness of what another friend is living through right now makes me feel whiny and like... priveleged? How can I crybaby about mild depression?
I told the baby to shut up today and she's echoed it back all evening. It was a capricious, un-yelled "shut up" and I immediately smoothed it over, and I'm glad as hell I have that little flash of my hearing it aloud, tousling her hair, and saying "Op! Deh... Uh... just hush a sec, babydoll." If I'd have actually snapped it at her in anger I'd feel like hell about it. Well, I feel hellish but only a little and I actually had to hide my face and laugh the first time she said it to me. Now I feel worse. "Fuck" and "shit" crack me up but "shut up" is so mean. The intent: Don't speak. Don't express. Your words are annoying to me right now... shit. Now I've talked myself into feeling bad.
The sleep is getting better. When can I say she's night weaned? She still asks to nurse when she wakes up, but she's waking usually just once. One of my imaginary posts is a glowing goddessy tale of the weaning process, and I will probably actually make that one. There's even a drawing.
Now the mundane grounds me. The Baron meows for his supper, dryer buzzes that warm laundry needs to be folded. TV giggles soothe the baby. Husband pushes a humming mower across clover and crabgrass in the twilight cool. It's OK. The world is real. Smells and sounds are like colors, un-graying me.