Still Here I Think

This will be a short post because I'm writing it in the few minutes before some friends are due to arrive. I'm tricking myself into doing some writing, because I (A) haven't done any and (B) think that if I can only do it for a short sprint it will at least be something.

The thing is (C) I've been sitting in some low-level depression. It's the kind that occasionally keeps me from falling asleep easily and makes me snap at my Felix toward the end of the day. It's not the kind that makes me burst into tears and have a crying jag over the ongoing, underlying grief in my life: I've made peace with that. I think.

I just don't feel much motivation to do the things that make me feel better--things for me. Instead I get obsessed over endless tasks like tidying the house, running errands, entertaining Felix, and telling myself that since these things are never done I must keep doing them or I am not worth much.

Ick! I've transferred the habit of mind/ego I had while in academia to housework! Talk about a job never done. So far I don't think I'm drinking too much, but I sure look forward to a gin and tonic or two in the late afternoon.

Must re-route those neural circuits that say I must work, work, work and do, do, do to be someone. It's time to Be, Be, Be--and Now.