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Friday
That feeling from yesterday swelled and morphed into an overwhelming sense of doom. I can't seem to shake it... can't find the joy today.
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Friday
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Thursday
It's Blah Day today. Started really well, got some writing done on a short story. Those days are always the good ones, or so I thought. Up early, drinking black tea and typing at 6 AM.
Somehow things haven't gone right since. The mind of the Very Fat Guy tries to figure out if it's physical, or just the craziness:
Did I lose a bit much weight? Am I in some kind of withdrawl? Feels like crap, like all the serotonin faded away.Did I finally kick over into type 2 diabetes? Should I check my blood sugar.Caffeine test. Caffeine and sugar didn't help. Hrm. Food test. Food didn't help. Hrm.Maybe some days are just crap. Maybe I miss my job, doing relief work in another position.
Maybe some days are just crap.
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Wednesday
The Very Fat Guy is still Very Fat, but I don't mind today. I will tomorrow. Today I don't mind.
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Monday
A good day to be working inside.
What a good weekend! Actually got things done. You know you've not
been too well when a good weekend consists of getting a few sacks of
rubbish out into the bins, going out for breakfast and reading the
paper, and writing. Maybe a couple hundred words (not counting
various blogs), but it's more than I get done most weekends.
Not perfect, but I'll take it.
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Friday
I love breakfast. I don't much care what it is. Bacon and eggs, sure… eggs benedict, or a fresh bagel with avocado and smoked salmon. Rye toast and manuka honey. Hot black coffee.
I don't need to be stuffed, at breakfast. Breakfast is not the time for bingeing. It's the time for being outside and looking across the water, or down a busy morning street and watching the crowds go by. Reading the paper, finding out what the world's been up to while I've been ignoring it.
I don't have time for such luxuries today, but I'm still going to go make coffee and sit still for a few minutes. Let the mind of the Very Fat Guy stray to the end of the week and the blue sky blanketing the city this morning.
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Wednesday
How the hell did I survive?
I'm 34 years old. How did I not die yet? I have all the risk
factors, in spades. I don't know anyone beyond a passing hello in the
hallway. My apartment is dirty. God only knows what devastating
bacteria are growing in the kitchen sink, waiting to pounce on my
struggling immune system. Suicidal ideation has been a companion many
times in my life. But for some reason, I'm not dead yet.
You ever get the feeling something is keeping you alive, that you're
not done with whatever it is you're supposed to do with your time
here?
I get that feeling, but then you have to worry... what happens if I
finally figure it out, get it done, and then like the car at the end
of the Blues Brothers movie, I disintegrate from accumulated damage?
I think the idea is to make sure you're 90 years old before that
happens. Not sure I've got that long. Still, the sun came up today.
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