It seems that I am good in company at the moment, feeling genuinely cheerful and happy to be in social situations just chatting or dancing or listening to buddies, but am plunging in to worry and anxiety when alone when there is nowhere else to run from myself. Feeling emotionally breathless is absolutely rubbish and I recommend it to nobody at all, not even my worst enemies. So, Saturday my daughter and I took a day off of everything, absolutely everything.
When I’d awoken before dawn I realised that I could afford to get a bad day out of my system as I wasn’t required to be anywhere particular this weekend apart from Sunday Services. I had a two A4 page of Honey-Do’s I’d written for myself, each line being a tiresome project which needed completing in the house preferably before winter falls. And I couldn’t face it. I was close to tears, on a Saturday! What a waste of tears. I determined I was not going to cry on my own time! Instead, I was going to be still. I was going to ignore the day as long as I could.
My teen padded in to my untidy room around midday and flopped on the bed. We conspired together that we deserved a complete day off having run ourselves ragged for years. It was exciting to be in this together. We chatted a while about books we were reading on Audio because we’re both a little dyslexic and I’d rather listen to a book than struggle with text and so would she. We’re both perfectly capable of reading but sometimes for recreation we just have someone read the darned book to us. It feels like cheating but what is the point of technology if you can’t use it to enhance your experience of literature and make available that which you wouldn’t have tackled without the electronic intercedent.
After a while she padded off again and I settled in for more breathing. Breathing is something I’ve taken for granted all these years but of late my glorious mind keeps trying to trick me that there is insufficient oxygen in the atmosphere. Stupid glorious mind…
So, I lay there in my unmade bed and breathed. Then when I’d done that for an hour or so I took a nap, then listened to a show and then breathed again.
I was roused only by the offspring’s enquiry as to what was for dinner. Without said offspring I would gladly have spent all the hours until the next day in my room, but I’m contracted to care for the kid so up we got and a dinner of beef burgers and pasta was rustled. Then, relocated to the living room, I sat and breathed some more until I realised it was now 2am and I really should go to my untidy room to breathe. Brushed my teeth and toddled off to my chamber for some more breathing.
Is it me, or did somebody really turn down the oxygen supply in the atmosphere? Asking for a friend.