how the sausage is made
This morning I woke up inspired to write. I was having a dream about writing something for this blog. I think perhaps because I went to bed last night after writing and fretting over it much of last night.
The day before yesterday, I had a bad day. I just couldn’t seem to shake this deep feeling of melancholic hopelessness that was there pretty much as soon as I woke up. The feeling happens quite often. Sometimes it will come around for a few hours, sometimes a few days, rarely a few weeks. Sometimes I will be spared and it will leave me alone for a few weeks or months. But it always comes back; it always has blessed me with its presence.
For a longtime I would try and run from it. It’s a natural reflex. Yesterday I tried to run away from it. I tried to say go away, leave me alone but that only makes it stick around longer. Writing has been helpful. So has practicing acceptance. Accepting that the feeling is here, that it is real. That it is ok if getting out of bed feels like the hardest thing in the world that day.
It’s tough to do that sometimes though, acceptance that is. There is a lot of internal voices calling me a pussy. Telling me to get out of bed. Telling me it’s time for work. It’s time for school. I’m late. I’m inconsiderate. A flake. Irresponsible. Unreliable. Untrustworthy. An idiot. A fuck up. A failure. A fraud.
It’s quite the cacophony to be met with first thing in the morning. The voices usually do not have the nicest tone to them. They are quite grating actually. Grating and vailed in a deep judgment. A deep shame.
And I try. I do try. The effort to make it work is truly enormous. But muscling it has become less and less effective over time. A stress fatigue of the spirit.
Softness is a much more effective strategy at this point.
Being gentle with myself has been yielding better results. That is, if I can remember to be that. If I can be the orchestrator of the morning cacophony of self judgment and hatred; give space for kindness and acceptance and gratitude. If I can do that, getting out of bed is easier. So is staying out of bed.
The day before yesterday, I muscled it. I muscled it for most of the day. And it was exhausting. Yesterday, I muscled it but was an able to relax into it. By mid morning I was flowing. Life was less… taxing.
Moving was easier. My body lighter. Things just happened without much friction. The gears had become un-seized.
I had brunch with my friend and his sister and brother and mom. We had waffles. The food was good. The conversation was interesting.
I then went to my grandparents. I helped my Nonno (grandpa) prepare some meat for making sausages today. It’s become an annual tradition of sorts. This year it will be four of my cousins, my uncle, my Nonno, and me. I’m looking forward to it.
My Nonna (grandma) made us dinner and it was good and tasty and better than anything I made myself since being back from Mexico. I think it was the first vegetable I had since Monday.
I then fretted over my digital footprint. It was quite existential actually. I really would like more control over it. It makes me deeply uncomfortable how much of my life is out there on the internet to see. But it is dialectic. Because I also want to be seen.
I want to be seen and unseen at the same time?
Fretted over that.
Then went to bed.
Then woke up.
Now I’m here.
Thanks for reading.
Have a good day.