Strangeness and intensity
This past month has been strange and difficult, physically, mentally, emotionally… With the onset of winter comes the familiar spectre of fibromyalgia’s intensified discomfort, the cold and shorter days send my self-discipline into a nose-dive, the uncertainty surrounding new people in my life and circumstances surrounding the familiar people in my life, being torn between the loyalty and routine of a normal job and a desire to find a way to extricate myself into a better and more satisfying working life… it’s been a trying time.
I spent a lot of time thinking about the person I am and the person I want to be. And while pondering my own failings I felt like I was achieving nothing and yet achieving much at the same time. I’ve also been overcome by an urge to read, to absorb. I have always loved to read, but because I really pay attention, I normally read very slowly. I didn’t read any faster this past month, but I have spent a much vaster proportion of my free time doing it and as a result I’ve read more in this past month than I usually consume in half a year.
I cut my hair. Radically.
I wrote too. A lot. In brief snatches and moments of fervent feeling, sometimes on anything I could find when I didn’t have a notebook on hand. I’m calling this phase “The Diary of Being Left Behind”, but that’s not for public consumption. At least not yet. Underneath the unperturbed surface, a caged wolf has been pacing. Restless and uncertain, agitated with herself. Pawing at the bars of the prison for answers and understanding, so close I can smell them, but still just out of reach. *sigh* It’s an intimate, exquisite frustration, by turns anger and dismay, mixed with a sense of failure, but this too shall pass. I acknowledge it, but I can and will overcome it. This has always been my way.