I woke up at 7:30 this morning and made some blueberry pancakes from a box.
And they were good. I even had whipped cream to top them with instead of maple syrup which, in my opinion, is the right way to do fruity pancakes.
There is pumpkin spice creamer in my coffee in my very favorite mug and there is ice water in my favorite cup and I am wearing my soft pink bathrobe and the laundry is going and my bed is warm and my cat seems content and I have a good playlist playing and two of my plays are being produced next week and I have a home and friends and blueberry pancakes and-
I feel ungrateful. I feel like an asshole. My body aches today. Probably because I got into bed at 7:30 pm last night and just gave up. I ate a burrito at 4:30 pm and that was all I had the stamina for. I watched the new Bake-Off and that’s really all I had the heartspace for. So, I did what I always do at night: I started playing old John Oliver clips on my phone and I rolled away from the light and begged for sleep to claim me.
Things were fine yesterday too. Well, except for this ever-present feeling that someone is squeezing my chest. Like someone has a furious grip on my heart, holding me still and whispering into my ear, “You are fucking garbage. I hate you. Why even try?”
I have so many things I need to try to do today. But my eyes feel weary from even being awake this long. It feels like this year of heartache and fear and growth and pain is finally catching up with me and I’m too tired to keep a step ahead of it anymore, you know?
I don’t know.
My fingers shake ever so slightly against my keyboard. I didn’t miss the shaking. I missed you.
Maybe sometimes we’re just supposed to accept the misery? I don’t feel strong enough to fight it right now. It can do its thing, I guess, and just sink over me like an old quilt. Maybe I have to walk through this thing to get to the over side. (It’s so hard to imagine the other side.)
Here’s all I’ve got today: I’m going to keep drinking my coffee and listening to my music. Maybe words will come, maybe they won’t. Maybe I’ll go for a walk later, maybe I’ll fall back asleep.
This period of time when I was depressed (or any of those times) does not make the whole of me. I am happy days too, I am weeks and months of starlight.
I’m so tired.