I’m not just tired, I’m weary. I can feel it around and behind my eyes. That’s how I know. I’m quietly despairing and must not let it overwhelm me. I have to remind myself that I’m exhausted and that is a major contributing factor to my sorrow. It’s still tough, though. Tough as hell.
I hate coming home at night because it’s just me in my house. I feel so isolated most nights. It makes me sad. What am I going to do?
I feel sad, but this is coming from fatigue and job stress as much as anything else. I must remember this so that I don’t succumb to the temptation to wallow in all this sorrow. I also have to remember to practice better self-care, by which I mean keep up the exercise and prove my sleep hygiene.
Ok, enough angst for now.
Here’s a haiku I wrote about yesterday’s Steelers loss to the Baltimore Ravens:
I woke up crying. I woke up from a dream that I had trouble waking up from. It was sad, but the sorrow and regret were beautiful. Now I have a memory that of mourning for something that I had lost in my past, something fundamental. I can’t articulate what I was missing exactly but it was something from childhood I think. Something that was part of my inmost self that even in my rawest moments don’t really remember. It wasn’t the depth of the sorrow that was, for lack of a better word, the flavor of it. It was mourning for the childhood friends that had come and gone but I have forgotten, and moments I don’t even remember but know to regret. l don’t what it was that I was sad about specifically; I still don’t. I don’t have a word for these emotions. Again it was sad but it was sweet. I let myself open up and feel again. I was able to shed thus dull, thick grey armor that I wear to protect myself from a dull thick grey world. I think I am mourning for a simpler time. Oh God I could talk in circles about this forever. It’s about the sweet and sad memories that tap you on the shoulder and you turn around they’re gone. The ones you just missed, but you know they were there, always hiding behind your back and just out of sight. I’m sorry to yammer on like but this feels like some kind of Christmas gift. It was a beautiful gift spoken in a language that I could only half understand of the under the best of circumstances. As tantalizing and as frustrating as the moment was, it was still wonderful in its own way. Its own strange way. This really is a Christmas gift that I will remember and treasure for a very long time.