Once again, sleeplessness won over rest. I’ve been awake now for an hour, having gotten up just before 3:30. The thoughts running through my mind had nothing to do with the stresses of house renovations. Rather, my thoughts focused on far darker matters. I spent the better part of the hour expressing, in writing, my impenetrable hopelessness about humankind. Finally, though, I stopped writing because it was just too depressing to think those thoughts. I saved the rather lengthy diatribe, though, in case I need one day to explain the depths of my occasional plunge into the blackest of black holes. If I were to post what I wrote, someone encountering my words probably would think me suicidal and/or in the mood to arrange for the simultaneous detonation of nuclear devices worldwide.
So, instead, I explained in the first paragraph of this post what I did for the first hour of this morning’s insomnia—plunged into depression much deeper than my usual toe-in-the-water immersion. But I’m out now, still drying myself off with a dank towel. I know the cure; but the universe seems unwilling to eliminate COVID and Putin and Trumpism and famine and poverty and virulent greed and a thousand other triggers, so I will have to satisfy myself with periodic doses of alcohol and medical marijuana and entertainment that gets my mind off the real world long enough to allow me to breathe a little.
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Life’s…a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
~ William Shakespeare ~
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When I got up this morning, I opted to wait to take my regular morning pills because I really should take them around the same time every day…which is somewhere between 5 and 6. I forgot to take them yesterday and, if I don’t do something soon about pausing this writing frenzy and taking them, I might forget them again. I also opted, when I got up, to refrain from putting on a sweatshirt, thinking a t-shirt would be adequate. But now I feel cold. I wish I had a sweatshirt on. But I’m too wrapped up in writing and thinking and whatever else is going on in my mind to bother. Putting on a sweatshirt so I can feel more comfortable seems like a pointless exercise for some reason. Ditto the taking of pills that, as far as I can tell, have no effect on me, except to require me to transfer money out of my bank account into the accounts of pharmaceutical giants and their obscenely rich executives. My skepticism is clawing its way out of my pollyannaish outlook.
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…it’s no good worrying about tomorrow. It probably won’t come.
~ J R R Tolkien ~
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This morning, my sister-in-law is coming over to see if she wants any of my late wife’s jewelry. I am not sure what I will do with what remains, but I feel pretty confident I will not discard it or give it away. I may incorporate it, later, into art. Right now, I just cannot imagine letting go of it. The idea of holding onto something that belonged to a loved one who died is fundamentally irrational, but that realization does not stop me from being irrational. Though my sister-in-law was good enough to sort through my wife’s clothes so I did not have to, I found it impossible to let go of some of the caps and shirts my wife used to wear. I still do not know what I might ever do with them, but I cannot bring myself to part with them. I wish I could overcome my irrational attachment to such things. It’s possible that having them in the house is simply prolonging my grief; but I think getting rid of them might send me over the edge. It is not that I am thinking of my late wife that is making me feel so intensely emotional this morning; I think it’s just the opposite. Because I feel so raw and emotional, that may trigger me to think of her. Hell, I do not know what I’m saying. I am just spouting hypotheses for lack of anything better to do.
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The flooring/remodeling guy is coming by this morning to discuss options for both the bathroom in the new house and an inexpensive upgrade to the “workshop” area behind the garage in this one. It’s not a workshop, really. It’s more like an upscale hobby area, complete with its own HVAC system. It’s only about 160 square feet, but it has its own half-bath and two separate areas with lots of cabinets and work surfaces. I am SO looking forward to getting the new house ready to move into and the old one ready to sell. I want this process to be over. I’m tired of it. I want to be rid of the need to be home every day. I want to be able to get away from everything for a day or a week at a time without having to devote so damn much time to planning it out. As it is now, I don’t feel like I can leave for even a day without absurd amounts of planning and preparation. That’s part of the reason I feel so attached to concepts of minimalism. I remember how fervently attracted I was, when I was younger, to the idea of becoming an ascetic. I wonder what the hell happened to that idealistic kid? He grew old and lazy and spoiled. That’s what happened.
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It’s too damn cold to be wearing a t-shirt instead of a sweatshirt and to be wearing flip-flops instead of lined slippers. I will give in to my discomfort. I will try to find comfort in clothing.
