I need to be more in motion

A coworker reminded me the other day, an object in motion will stay in motion while an object at rest will stay at rest. He overheard me telling one of the girls that once I start doing a chore or task at home it’s easy and I don’t even realize I’m cleaning or folding laundry, but getting to the starting point is the hardest part for me. I try to think of that now when I know I need to do something, sometimes it works. . and sometimes it’s like this journal. I want to do it, I want to write and express myself but getting to this damn keyboard is so hard, I can so easily convince myself to do anything but what I need to do.

The other day when I wanted to write and knew what I would say, I didn’t, and the next day the same, I chose not to write or journal the feelings and emotions and thoughts that filled my day. And maybe that’s for the best, one day I was upset at someone but after a few days of thought I asked myself why I was carrying it still. It’s like the monks, why am I carrying this thought, this moment that created that sour mood, it was discussed and understood but I still held it until i realized I was carrying it and I asked myself why.

Now why can’t I do what with everything else? Why can’t I process through those moments where I remember something that makes me hate myself all over again. As they come to me now I try, I try and rationalize why they upset me but even then what is my answer, well you’re still a shit person and need to continue to think on it, and back into the jar it goes.

Fuck the jar

I wonder if the meds are helping or if it’s the therapy helping me figure shit out, hell maybe both, it should be both. Too bad a true panacea doesn’t exist, but what is life without some form of pain.

I finally wen through the christmas tubs. It’s been nearly two years, it’s well past time. I thought it would be an easy sort, and most of it was, but some ornaments I don’t have the heart to just get rid of so they’ll stay stowed away, probably never used but I can’t bear to just dispose of them and what they meant to her, even if not to me. I thought I would cry. I was not without emotion, but I didn’t cry, I tear up now thinking about it, but I feel like my emotions are more in check than before. Hell any type of in check was more than before, but I suppose I expected more emotion yesterday. I don’t know what other tubs the boys are going through next but they’ll be on hold a while.

I’m not necessarily afraid of the surgery, I’m just afraid. The whole situation seems surreal still, the idea that all of the pain could go away for real, not just some temporary relief with braces and painkillers and silent crying when it becomes too much. And if it is successful, how long will I be without each hand? stitches come out a week after each procedure, so I’ll have an idea come the second surgery what to expect, but the idea of feeling helpless seems overwhelming and foreboding.

as I get an email with my schedule for next week, scheduled for the day I have surgery and the following days, as if I didn’t have a conversation with my scheduling manager about how I would be out for two weeks and he even wrote it down. I don’t need extra stress of making sure they have coverage while I’m gone, I really can’t help them. There is not a single thing I am able to do that only takes one hand there, just not possible.

I feel stressed, defeated, meh, I feel so empty and I can’t figure out why. Tomorrow is going to be an awful conversation where I feel guilty no matter the outcome.

Looking around this room, listening to the rain outside, I need to look at this room, this journal, as a sanctuary not a punishment. Maybe I need more quiet time to reflect, time to write, time to create, time to. .  breathe.