one good thing: Day 1:

It’s been a while since I’ve been on this old laptop (a week?). I’d forgotten how temperamental it is. I have a new laptop at work, and typing on it feels like I’m gliding across a page with a rolly-ball pen. The keys have a tiny springiness to them. Typing on this clunker feels like walking on a bed of rocks. My fingers stomp and wobble and slip off caps into anonymous holes, cavernous and unlettered. Unmarked pitfalls splattering accidental g’s. Touchy little nubs.

Tomorrow is Friday. I’ll go to sleep early tonight so that I can get the day started as quickly as possible so that I can get it over with as quickly as possible. I slept last weekend away, and my plan is to spend this weekend doing the same. So tired. Flashes of awakeness hit me once in a while, long enough for me to see through the fog and affirm that my world is moving along just fine despite my half-conscious state. So that’s good.

I put a new plug-in scent in the bedroom. I think it’s lavender vanilla. It’s purple and makes me want to plant my face in the bed, makes me grow sleepy. Makes me feel better.

I decided recently to start a journal, not like what I write here, though I’m not sure I’d be able to maintain something so rigid in purpose…I’m not so sure I’d be able to maintain something…but I like the idea of it. I’ve started those sorts of things before, and though I didn’t keep them up I did have favorites that I’m glad I wrote and held onto. I kept a journal for a while several years ago devoted strictly to good things. I’d log one good thing that happened each day. When things got bad, and they always do, reading back on those good things, some from a few days prior and some from the heart of a different chapter of difficult days, was more encouraging than any advice I ever got. They were evidence that life exists beneath the rubble. They were that dandelion growing through a crack in a sea of dirty concrete. Even the most mundane things were big good things so long as they weren’t bad things.

. . . . .

It’s 8:32 pm, and I’m having trouble keeping my eyes open. It’s time to get working on getting Friday started.







Author: uncaged

When Picasso painted a blue Seated Woman in a Chair, he was unconsciously thinking of me.

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