Saturday - March 27, 2004
Disjointed.
You know that feeling when you get up too quickly
from bed, and stand up, and get all wobbly and sit down again? The week felt
like that, felt like a derelict ship suspended on a dead star's event horizon,
every emotion an asymptote.
Still, my genes seem to have been blessed with self-regenerating perkiness. Last night, I almost threw a tantrum (yes, me, Valium girl) because I misplaced my tablet pen for the nth time, and I had work to do, and of course that fed into my you're-no-good litany.
This morning, I am one big shrug. Okay, I'll just go and get myself a new one at Megamall when it opens. And then more cheerful thoughts creep in. I'm in Megamall anyway, so I'll pass by Our Tribe and see if they have new turquoise leather sandals. That sort of thing. And then I find myself smiling at how silly these things are, really. Roll it all up into a ball and throw it into the arms of the universe, with a kiss. I have food. I am loved. I can think. I can write.
Everything else is doable. As someone once wrote me, "The only way out is through."
Still, my genes seem to have been blessed with self-regenerating perkiness. Last night, I almost threw a tantrum (yes, me, Valium girl) because I misplaced my tablet pen for the nth time, and I had work to do, and of course that fed into my you're-no-good litany.
This morning, I am one big shrug. Okay, I'll just go and get myself a new one at Megamall when it opens. And then more cheerful thoughts creep in. I'm in Megamall anyway, so I'll pass by Our Tribe and see if they have new turquoise leather sandals. That sort of thing. And then I find myself smiling at how silly these things are, really. Roll it all up into a ball and throw it into the arms of the universe, with a kiss. I have food. I am loved. I can think. I can write.
Everything else is doable. As someone once wrote me, "The only way out is through."