I woke up last night, so restless I knew I was suffocating. Before my dramatic panic could gain a good foot hold I realized that in my sleep I had smashed my face into a feather pillow and was literally a little short on air. Now chuckling at myself, I rolled over, waking myself up all the way. I quietly got up before I could toss and turn my darling awake too and headed downstairs.
Char excitedly jumped into my lap as I sat on the couch. We played 'chase the string' (which is way more awesome in the muted light of 4 am than ever before known.) This cheered me up for a bit but as he settled on my chest for a cuddle my thoughts again soured...
Age is marching on my face. I have gained ELEVEN frigging pounds in the last three months. Every day, I woefully eat my Greek yogurt/ raspberry breakfast and then later munch down my loaded veggie salad, snacking only on almonds, hard boiled eggs and bell peppers... while I resentfully glare at skinny coworkers snacking on cream cheesed bagels and raspberry muffins.
I get to work in the dark. I stare at my computer screen, checking internet references against word docs, without access to windows. I leave work in the dark. I get home and make dinner. I sit in a dark living room and stare at a TV, the blood in my ears sounding thick and heavy. My art sits silently collecting dust in the company of many double stacked unread books. We stay up late. I sleep badly. I get up in the dark.
My special kind of hell is a regular happy world for others. I am confused why I don't seem to adapt. I have struggled into this ill fitting sweater every day for years now. Years and years. Everyone around me seems to be just fine with the hours, with the commute, the grey walls, shared lunches in windowless break rooms and dress pants. Why am I not just fine too? Why am I slamming my inner fists against the walls?
I went outside yesterday, during the day. Watery December sunlight kissed my face for the first time in three days and just for a moment I felt lighter. So today, as I got to work in the dark, I carried with me my tennis shoes. At 9 am, an hour and a half in, I traded my heels for them and walked around outside for ten blissful shivering minutes.
Char excitedly jumped into my lap as I sat on the couch. We played 'chase the string' (which is way more awesome in the muted light of 4 am than ever before known.) This cheered me up for a bit but as he settled on my chest for a cuddle my thoughts again soured...
Age is marching on my face. I have gained ELEVEN frigging pounds in the last three months. Every day, I woefully eat my Greek yogurt/ raspberry breakfast and then later munch down my loaded veggie salad, snacking only on almonds, hard boiled eggs and bell peppers... while I resentfully glare at skinny coworkers snacking on cream cheesed bagels and raspberry muffins.
I get to work in the dark. I stare at my computer screen, checking internet references against word docs, without access to windows. I leave work in the dark. I get home and make dinner. I sit in a dark living room and stare at a TV, the blood in my ears sounding thick and heavy. My art sits silently collecting dust in the company of many double stacked unread books. We stay up late. I sleep badly. I get up in the dark.
My special kind of hell is a regular happy world for others. I am confused why I don't seem to adapt. I have struggled into this ill fitting sweater every day for years now. Years and years. Everyone around me seems to be just fine with the hours, with the commute, the grey walls, shared lunches in windowless break rooms and dress pants. Why am I not just fine too? Why am I slamming my inner fists against the walls?
I went outside yesterday, during the day. Watery December sunlight kissed my face for the first time in three days and just for a moment I felt lighter. So today, as I got to work in the dark, I carried with me my tennis shoes. At 9 am, an hour and a half in, I traded my heels for them and walked around outside for ten blissful shivering minutes.
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