Coral polish on nails bitten too short.
Ingrid Michaelson on ears that aren’t okay.
Reality television on eyes that see everything and nothing all at once.
Attempts to climb outside of myself feel futile today. They are items on a checklist and I complete them without thought or emotion because I can’t lie in bed all day staring at a white ceiling. I have motions to go through that, with time, will start to resemble normalcy. At least this is what I tell myself.
Today, readers, I’m struggling to pay attention to what’s going on outside my head. Do you ever have days like this? Days where you want to put your brain on mute so you can pay attention to your life? Sometimes I have weeks like this – months, even. My thoughts are so damn greedy. They beg for my attention constantly and on days like today, tired and burnt out, I relent.
Disconnect, a blissful escape from myself. Oh, what I would give.
The polish, the music, the TV shows. These are things someone once told me would keep my mind off the monster, although I can’t remember who said it … or where or when. Although I certainly remember why. They will make you feel better. More normal. More okay.
But they don’t. In fact, they make me feel worse. Forget digging myself into a hole – we’re talking stuck in a cement pile that’s been dry for days. It’s going to take jackhammers to free me, not shovels.
Striving for normalcy doesn’t unshackle me; it suffocates me. Because, folks? I’m not normal, nor am I okay. I’m crazy, unhinged … extraordinary.
Aren’t we all?
Most days, I just go through the motions, not thinking thoughts. C'est la vie, yes?
Yes, yes, yes. Often a good day around here means survival, and I'm becoming increasingly okay with those standards.