i miss being unemployed. talking to jane last night as she lives those odd nebulous days that run into one another where your only concept of weekend is the time your friends are free. this time last year i was knee deep in nanowrimo, figuring out if laura was a lesbian for reals or not and going to yoga, baking bread, making soup, eating soup, napping with my cat and playing a hell of a lot of bejeweled.

after several frantic work deadlines met i spent this weekend feeling my hibernation begin. i’m ready for winter. i want hot beverages and naps. i had a random headache sunday that refused to leave despite all my usual get-rid-of tactics. ibuprofen, balasana, dark rooms, green tea, water, food. some things helped but the dull ache in the front of my brain came and went in waves until late that night where i felt it mostly gone, enough for me to sleep.

the dr. still crawls into bed with me to snuggle before crawling out after i’ve passed out to do night things.

i feel the headache mostly gone but there’s still some odd ghostly pain hovering around my head and it’s one of those things i can’t tell if i’m making it up or if it’s really there.

gym and shower helped last night. i trudged home heavy lidded and hungry. this is my 8:30PM most nights. tired and starving. the struggle to figure out food before passing out. which need will win? i go about my business in the kitchen opening and closing the fridge door thinking about things. opening and closing cabinets, starting a pot to boil water or a pan to sautee veggies. eric speaks to me from the entrance of the kitchen. i push through and rote behavior takes over. chop, chop, stir, stir, bake, wash, whatever. eric is still talking to me from the doorway where there is no door. he is halfway in the kitchen halfway in the hallway. things are difficult. things are hard. this is what i want. i’m working on things. i’m working at it. i’m working. i want. these things are wrong. these things feel right. i want these things. i’m working on these things. i’m working. it’s hard. it’s work. people are involved. these things.

somehow a meal happens. usually it is random. frozen peas, small pasta shells, olive oil and nutritional yeast. an avocado on the verge. salt. pepper. gardein chicken patty. it tastes as accidental as it looks. it’s not bad but it doesn’t make sense. i look at eric and add my two cents in which seems to be getting smaller and smaller each day. one day i know it will be boiled down to nothing but a blank stare. i have nothing left to give you and it’s not because i don’t care but it’s because i fail to understand anymore. i asked to be benched on this one. coach keeps putting me back in the game. i’m going to keep dropping the ball until i’m fired.

as quickly as it started, it ended as his phone rang and he spent the next couple of hours moving from room to room talking to people, different people, walking here, walking there, leaving and coming back, in and out of the house, smoking, not smoking, moving things in and out of his bedroom. the tone of his voice changing as quickly as he moved from place to place. i picked up my cat and took her to my room.

i wrote some, but not much. i figured at 10 words a line i’m 600 words a page. the only sane way to get a word count when you’re handwriting is to average although what sane person handwrites their novel for nanowrimo? i guess i hover between the rational and irrational most of the time.

Day 9, 1658 words.

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November 2010
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