Do you know...
I haven’t read a book in days? I haven’t listened to music in days. I don’t even remember when I last even ate a meal alone. Went to a museum. Saw a concert. I can’t even recall the last movie I saw in the theater.
I love all those things.
Haven’t been able to do any of them. It is starting to kick in like a kind of withdrawal. I’m not happy. I don’t know that I want to be. If that makes any sense. People around me just annoy me. I like the spawn well enough, but always feel entirely overwhelmed by the notion of how I fit into their minds.
It’s all just…blah.
I suppose that makes me depressed. Stupid to be depressed when I have so much goodness and abundance at my disposal. When I was poor and miserable I would tell myself, “You won’t be like this when you’re better situated.” That was a foolish thing to think.
Today I sewed something by hand for the first time in literally five years. With an actual needle and thread. Turns out I can still thread a needle with quadruple and tie a quilters know with my eyes shut. That fast. You’d think I was directing a symphony, but there’s the thread waiting. It’s built into me now. And even when I am miserable and ache…things like that are there. Even when I can’t go backward or feel anything, I can still chop celery. Or stare into magnified precision, or work a simple screwdriver. Wandering around fixing things, tending things, cleaning things. An automata. Till everything rights itself and I have the capacity to feel things again.