fugeddaboudit
The heat is sweet while it is, but no escape lest I live near a lake, river or sea which welcomes spontaneity. Okay, the lake is near but it’s a long way to the closest pier, the public beaches are tiny, crowded and bounded by barriers, the whole thing singularly unattractive to me. There is the sprinkler, which I’ll be using soon, but in the meantime, let’s complain about this energy drain, the downward spiral of emotion.
Have I mentioned in this space how weatherbound I am? Too cloudy, rainy, hot or cold and my soul shrinks. There are things I could do to get through differently but I’m too damn depressed to bother: a classic catch-22. If I could cry me a river I’d have a place to swim, but the tears dry too soon, leaving me gloomy, heavy and disheartened.
Eh, fugeddaboudit, some sweat-streaming face-fanning part of me wants to grunt, who ceahs, so what (this voice has a Boston accent, which makes sense when you consider how uncomfortable my one summer there was), whaddayagonnado…
Somewhere down there I do care, but I’ve lost my reasons and don’t trust the ones I come up with. This heat (a classic example of ‘beware what you ask for’) is cooking my brains into a stew of insecurity and glue, wanting to stick it all onto you, whoeverdafug you are.
Nobody likes me, he likes her better, they don’t want me, I’m not good enough, I’m too much, too little, too intense, too bland, too short/fuzzy/fat/old.
He, she, we, they, it, them, the stew cooks as I use the heat of the sun as a gun to shoot my ownself in the foot. Nobody can be amazing all the time, and in these moments, I feel heavy, amazeless and dazed by my own past reactive triggerpoints, irrelevant though they may be to the actual moment happening now.
Still, I can gently allow my own tears and fears to swell and overflow until the squall has blown over and I return to equanimity. This is not calm, quite, but more a dynamic state of intense presence and insistent acceptance of what is, whether I like it or not. This includes, of course, acceptance for the fact of my like or dislike along with all the mess and baggage that come with being me.