It has been 9 months since I lost my job and have been home, every single day.
That’s 268 days of me trying to figure out how to use this “down time” to work on writing. Sad reality is… there is now “down time.”
Yet, here I am, 6432 hours into something that was supposed to last “three weeks.”
385,920 minutes of a situation so repetitive I feel I shouldn’t be moving forward–maybe I’m not moving forward–maybe I’m just spinning in circles. I’ve become a broken clock that twirls on a pin attacked to a cog that isn’t touching anything else.
Well, damn. I guess that’s a top. I am a top.
Yes, sirs and ma’ams, theys and thems — 23,155,200 seconds of me going round and round and round and round… no wonder I’m so damn dizzy.
The world is a blur that has lost its color, pigment drained from the thick black lines outlining what I’d come to perceive as my reality. I’ve found myself missing something I wasn’t sure I liked in the first place–but it’s is the something I knew, the something that was comfortable.
Spinning isn’t comfortable.
Especially without color.
Now, if you’re wondering what is the point of this post? I supposed it’s me sharing with you that I’m not okay. I’m just okay enough. I would say I’m fine but that’s a complete lie and I could say I’m terrible, but it’s not that bad. It’s just the spinning.
One day I hope to post about writing (because I’m still writing) or about books I’m reading (because I’m reading two at this moment — one by Nico Walker and the other by Joe Hill.) Words form in my head to describe them to me but not in my mouth to describe them to you.
Guess I’ll just keep on spinning and hope when I fall the couch is at my side, and I tip in the right direction. Until then, this is me saying, if you’re not okay, you welcome to be not okay with me–we can be not okay together. Until we’re all okay again.