Up all night. And now — at the keyboard as heat and humidity seize the day — I'm trying to make sense of life as I know it, and failing miserably at the task.
"Listless" is the best word to describe this feeling, and not just because I haven't slept (though let's face it, kids, sleep is an essential part of a growing boy's daily regimen). The apartment, like life, is silent today, and in the silence old habits and worries gnaw at my insides, where the gas tank doesn't have enough fuel to motor past them.
At least the apartment's clean and the kitty's getting better. Huzzah!
Even an old cat like me can learn new tricks, I keep telling myself. I have to keep learning new ways to not disappoint myself. I've come too far since May 5 to stop now. But as I said yesterday, this is the hard part of the journey, the stretch of the path where failure seems omnipresent, where my unraveling life seems close to a train wreck. I was overly optimistic when I breezily declared myself on the verge of approaching the ultimate boon.
I think I would have given up over the past two days had it not been for the chronicling of the journey through this blog, and for the kind, supportive words from some corners. Dr. JG wrote:
I suppose there is a train-wreck quality to reading such brutally honest words (although the train seems to clinging stubbornly to the rails). But I also feel you through your words — your ups and downs, heart leaps and heartbreaks.The churn of those emotions is the worst guzzler of my energy tank. I want to be on a glide path to a safe landing; I want the rest of this adventure to be less grueling. Instead it feels quite the opposite — the ping-ponging inside my brain has accelerated this weekend, and that's tapping the tank hard.
I slammed a fist into my left thigh this morning: still no real feeling, just a small tingling sensation. My limp is almost all gone, thank God, but so is my hope that I'll be able to run or bowl or even skip down the hallway. I can't begin to tell you how disillusioned that makes me feel.
I woke up with a headache on Saturday and it remains a throbbing ache today, and as silly as it sounds, I confess that I've had a few passing worries this weekend about another stroke.
My guide is silent, of course. The talismans are dead objects in my hand.
I've allowed myself 10 minutes a day to cry, but lately I haven't given myself that time because I don't think I can keep it to 600 seconds.
Truth: on this day I'm not even tripping on winning the boon. I'm just trying keep out of the ditch and survive. Finding a fuel refill is mandatory if I'm to make it up the hill and through this journey. But the desert road I'm on is unfamiliar, as always I'm directionally impaired, and I don't have a clue how to get to the nearest pump. I'm lost.