I’m struggling lately, with grief, loneliness, the feeling that I’m not doing enough, that things are too busy, too slow, that my thoughts and feelings are not what I am proud of. I’m having flashes of bitterness, and want everyone to know it, so I feel less of a sham and a liar. I can tell you to find the beauty out there, but if I’m all pestilence and shame, who am i?
so yes, this is extreme but I’ve given myself the task of five minutes to write and post it. why? i can’t find the reason in it, myself, but I’m going to force it, force the five-minute higglepiggle of words and hope that I find something in it to truly put my attention on.
believe it or not, it’s only been a little under two minutes and my fingers can fly.
I’ll go back before posting and fix the typos. (in coming back, now, i figure to explain: i can do absolutely anything for five minutes, so maybe this will help me get my fingers back in order…I’m not saying I’ll produce anything more exciting than limp lettuce, but it’ll be OUT of me, and that is a good place for some of this sh*t to be…)
but this is what i’m looking at: my slippers, looking prim and pointing themselves at the fire. maybe i should make one. its rapidly getting dark, and while i can still see the gold leaves on the tree outside the window, it is technically night and i won’t leave the house again.
the kids are away, so the candy wrappers next to my slippers are mine. there is no excuse. no one to roll my eyes at for their slovenly ways. who raised them anyhow? who raised me? have i been raised, in truth? have i ?
there’s a small soccer ball under the table and I’m thinking about ted lasso, and how it’s so sweet to watch what might be an actually good character, on tv, like, as something we should emulate or something, rather than a Kardashian or her fucking insane ex-husband.
why we feed the bad and angry wolves rather than the sweet curled up ones? i will never know.
such as it is,