II
All of the small wins can feel so forgettable. I wanted to write proper today + haven't managed a second of that. + I won't be managing much of it here now. But I suppose a normal journal is better than nothing. A thought which then reminds me of an entry in Woolf's own journals. I suppose we really all are just circling the same problems until the end of us comes.
The weekend wasn't altogether the easiest. + again, I want to write about everything, but it is too late in the day for that sort of thinking or feeling. The bare bones of it all was an almost breakup, as in, I was almost broken up with. Not as I'd done anything wrong. Not as they'd really done anything wrong either. But fear, which always comes with anyone mattering to anyone, doesn't really consider such things when it storms into the room + turns over all the furniture. They'd found my blog, as men do, + they'd read it, as men do, too much of it, as men do, + not talked to me about it, as men do, + so outside of context were destabilized by it + unable to ask me for any clarity until it did come out + they claimed to have been unaffected + yet was not truly as how could anyone be when left alone in their own head with my interiority having been on a platter without explanation or details or the outline of what is what. They thought wrong + it was all understandable really all across the sides + I knew through the entirety of it all how the root was in the fear of loss, of not being the one chosen, of being seen + seeing, of not feeling in control of the future + so assigning it a prediction that this cannot work, you know, of all the types of anxieties within that same shade. Anyway. I was broken-hearted + what not + I am still quite tired from all the feelings I'd felt but glad as well that they are who they are + eventually came to the conclusions that they did + that I did not respond how I may have so many years ago, + I do, like I said, want to write about it all, but I am not at the capacity I would need to be to do it any justice or move it beyond myself into something that might touch another in any meaningful manner. All is well though at this time, this moment. All is flowing once more between us in its natural way. Unlike my sentences today -- each one too complex + fragmented + running on + on + on + on.
But it is spring. Effectively at least. I mean, meteorological spring started itself yesterday, March 1st, + the astronomical spring will be following close after + reach itself on the 20th of this month. The sun shone + shone across the sea today. + the daffodils have sprouted. So out I went for a long walk amongst it all + this was nice + good + restorative as it always is. + the rest of the day was spent catching up on relationships, with others, as I tidied + cleaned + paced the long room of the house's entry.
I do like how this year we have all spoken more about how silly it is to try to change anything in the middle of winter. What a terrible time for a 'new year' or any new me or any new you. If anything, I failed spectacularly to consistently take care of myself through January or February. Exercise was only here + there. Start + stop. My sleep the same. Sometimes good, sometimes miserable. My habits as well just a repeating story of two steps forward + three steps back. These 60-something days denoting only the Sisyphean aura for each task one might care to tackle. Vitamins forgotten. So on + so forth. But it is as it always is. To be sustainable, we must stack the small wins + keep going. But there's many other things at play, several of which I discussed today with friends or simply monologued about with the ones whom my relationships with are not quite live but more like letters back + forth, recorded or written.
The next several days claim to guarantee more beauty, more sun, + so promise me a returned energy + the inspiration to care once more to try harder + align what was struck off balance through all of last year's difficulties. The burnout. The loss of direction. The move. The illness + the surgery. The deaths. The emergence out of overfunctioning + relearning slowly how to not do it all without just doing nothing instead. The extremes we boomerang between.
The very primary partner will be late home today. Trains + the nonsense of trains. So really I'm just wasting a little time here. I miss my friend often, especially on days like these, reminding me of the times we were in the same places under the same sun at the same time as one another. I've still to deal with that emotion, the reality of goneness, the funeral for a friendship I didn't choose to ruin or end, + that stupid helplessness I hate to confront. To process it all properly + make whatever sense that I can. I will get to it. But it won't be today. With little energy to spend, I'll close up shop in my office + seek the certain comfort of the couch.