(If you recognize the song from which my subject borrows, you too may be entitled to a senior discount at a family restaurant.)
… or substitute Ferndale, Michigan as needed. I’m there at the moment, enjoying an iced java caramel at Java Hutt, trying to figure out what to say here. It bothers me that it has been, what, nine days since I wrote here last. But it is never as simple as “Just write something.” In a lot of ways, I’m just lost. I’m helping Mom, and then fitting in my day job as best as I can, and making my personal trainer appointments… getting daily contact with Dave via various Internet modes. And that’s about it. Everything else is just simmering on back burners, either getting overcooked and crusty or, when the heat goes out of its own accord, cooling to room temperature. There’s not much I can do about that. I’m only averaging six hours of sleep a night as it is. Not to mention that a lot of my waking hours are suffused with uncertainty and anxiety. I’m no Zen master by any means, and you can’t just be one with a snap of the fingers.
The main issue I’m having, perhaps (I’m just trying this on, thinking out loud), is that I’ve fallen into thinking that a lot of things aren’t really possible even if they once were, either due to my more pressing time commitments, or falling out of practice doing them, or simply doubting that it’s worthwhile. There’s a lot of “stinkin’ thinkin’ ” going on, yet it’s not as if I can just go on a late night out and manage to be at Mom’s at 7:30 the next morning, without fail. I ain’t built for that anymore. With that stricture, whether I would have any worthwhile, unawkward social interaction is kind of irrelevant, though I still worry about that.
I can’t ignore the things I can’t control, either. The world seems insane; elected leaders are acting like self-absorbed 6-year-olds and the ones who want to be elected leaders are worse. The economy is not working for people who aren’t already rich as Croesus. Most of my close family are on hard times and don’t yet see their way out, and I can’t help them. My own retirement fund will keep me in Chiclets as long as I save the box my furnace came in for when I need it to live in, thanks to the stock market. One friend was shot (and lived, fortunately, but still) and another one died last month; that’s just a tip of the iceberg, maybe, since I really have no idea what’s happening with friends despite their constant stream of Facebook updates.
So here I am, writing the one thing that I say in my user profile I won’t write, something whiny. I can’t make myself write anything else at the moment. I have ideas, but I don’t even know if anyone would read or comment, as LJ is in eclipse even when there’s no DDoS.
Sorry, I don’t have any uplifting conclusion here. My sense is that it’s going to be a long slog to where I can get on top of things again. It may be a while before I’m posting more often than once a week here, or going out to see people, or creating something with words, sounds, or pictures.