Oct. 22nd, 2018 04:35 pm
Comfortably numb
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muckefuckSomewhere there exists the world with the me in it who rose early on Saturday, worked out, went to the post office to mail a certified letter, and returned with butter and hipster bread for breakfast. Then this me went shopping for groceries and a plaid jacket to wear to the wedding reception next weekend.
In this world, however, the me that really exists had some cold cereal and went back to bed. I did manage to water the plants and feed myself, my meals consisting of ever-diminishing combinations of what I had on hand. Lunch was a PBJ on crap-ass bread from Devon Market. I went out for dinner. The next day I cadged some butter from a neighbour, allowing me to make French toast, Käsespätzle, and a tuna burger with a sad side of stale poppyseed noodles.
My lack of motivation was intense. I spent hours contemplating the things I wasn't doing. Sunday night I took a bath and I honestly had no desire to leave it. (Fortunately I timed it for before Kitty's last feeding, which gave me reason to get up out of it.) I slept--naps both days, plus I fell asleep sitting up in bed reading a book.
Was I sick? I thought I might be on Thursday, which led to me cancelling a brunch date for Saturday withinnerdoggie and tyrannio. But I didn't feel unwell, just unwilling. I did manage to leave the house for a few hours to meet a social commitment, which I'm glad of, since not only did it mean I ate a decent meal (with vegetables!) but I got to catch up with a good guy I haven't seen much of for months.
I hope this doesn't last. I hope this is just a temporary response to being seven weeks out from the two-year anniversary. The real test will be in two weeks when my family comes to visit and I've promised to put them up. If I can't get it together to provide them with decent accommodation then it may be time to see someone again. Bugger.
In this world, however, the me that really exists had some cold cereal and went back to bed. I did manage to water the plants and feed myself, my meals consisting of ever-diminishing combinations of what I had on hand. Lunch was a PBJ on crap-ass bread from Devon Market. I went out for dinner. The next day I cadged some butter from a neighbour, allowing me to make French toast, Käsespätzle, and a tuna burger with a sad side of stale poppyseed noodles.
My lack of motivation was intense. I spent hours contemplating the things I wasn't doing. Sunday night I took a bath and I honestly had no desire to leave it. (Fortunately I timed it for before Kitty's last feeding, which gave me reason to get up out of it.) I slept--naps both days, plus I fell asleep sitting up in bed reading a book.
Was I sick? I thought I might be on Thursday, which led to me cancelling a brunch date for Saturday with
innerdoggie and tyrannio. But I didn't feel unwell, just unwilling. I did manage to leave the house for a few hours to meet a social commitment, which I'm glad of, since not only did it mean I ate a decent meal (with vegetables!) but I got to catch up with a good guy I haven't seen much of for months.I hope this doesn't last. I hope this is just a temporary response to being seven weeks out from the two-year anniversary. The real test will be in two weeks when my family comes to visit and I've promised to put them up. If I can't get it together to provide them with decent accommodation then it may be time to see someone again. Bugger.