Friday morning, a few minutes after 8 am, my aunt picked me up to head over to the endoscopy center. As far as I could tell, I was the youngest person in there by decades.
Someone said I needed to update my blog. I’m guessing they meant with actual new content, not just republishing random satire.
I haven’t felt much like writing.
Sometimes this is the canary in the depressive coalmine but I’m not sure that’s the case right now. My goal this year was to write less but write better. Quality over quantity. Somehow that has led to writing almost nothing at all.
Hi there. It’s me, Rhiannon. I am currently super caffeinated. I am currently not super depressed. Those two things have nothing to do with each other, I just wanted to give you a head’s up about the first thing. The blog post is more about the second thing.
The last few weeks have left me raw. A bundle of nerve endings too close to the surface, chafed by every tiny demand thrown by life. It would short circuit and leave me feeling stuck in the murky darkness, where feelings are different. Less than and greater than at the same time — a heavy fog shrouding the world in a deep sense of dread and confusion. I was aware that there were alternatives to the be found — that happiness did exist as a gossamer, intangible idea somewhere beyond the grey. A theoretical thing. If I reached for it, my hand came back empty.
Squirt is still with us. He’s consistently below five pounds now and his legs collapse every couple of steps. But he’s still eating and getting where he needs to go with no signs of pain. He can’t get in and out of the litter box very well, but puppy piddle pads (brand is called lil squirts!!) are working just fine.
There was a cup of water in my hallway.
I stepped over it several times before I realized I should probably pick it up. Once more, before I gathered the motivation.