tantrum
The midsummer malaise has arrived.
My garden is the garden of chaos and neglect. Things need trimmed and trellised and cared for, but I would much rather be sitting in the pool with a drink in my hand. Maybe I'll be different, better, come fall.
(Better, in all of its forms, is always a future state of being, never the present. Lying to myself helps, if only just a little.)
My energy, both mental and physical, is a precious commodity and I've been working on guarding it more closely. If that means neglecting the garden, so be it. Not falling prey to the sunk-cost fallacy at the risk of what little contentment I can manage.
The pain has been worse the past few days, tipping over into that place where I can't give all of me to anything else. I hate that it's making me irritable and moody. Sensory shit is through the roof.
I don't enjoy being this unpleasant. It makes me feel like a petulant thirteen-year-old, something I haven't been in 30 years. The upside is that I'm not actually thirteen anymore (thank god!) and I can laugh at myself, even while feeling this way.
Plus, you know, alcohol, which is my plan for the evening.
2:41 p.m. - 2023-07-21