July 18 - creeping anxiety vines
Sticky already. If I only got up earlier …. I am awakening with that grumpy angry sense of being already late and so “not good enough” is nipping at my heels from the get go. Judgment. Justice. “There’s no court in this country for men like Prothero…”
Flow words flow, form follows function, what’s next with the verbiage? I merely looked under the basil and there it was. Dry, wry humor. What is "wry and ready?" Jose asks about my playlist of that name. "Oh, post cynicism, now-what," I reply. Let go, with a whiff of regret, chagrin, and swingin into recommitment to going forward.
Going forward. Click-click, c'mon girl. The seditious call of depression is to give up, "why bother?" Continuously question the next step. In fact this is the nature of the plague, is it not? to bedevil the question, to undermine the resolve, to inject doubt into every act, almost every breath. This trips up my forward progress, and casts me into the pit of “there is no forward progress.” Where I wallow and nurse wounds until it becomes such a miserable prison that I clamor out feeling victimy and put-upon.
[Gently now, but clearly, see this:] I approach my work like a victim, with a leaden load of negative expectation, tangling my feet and weighing down my back. It shrouds me in not protective magic, like MK's hero, but entanglements that occlude my vision, tire me, and trip me up quite literally. All those times I re-pledge to lift my head and 'act as if' proud, then soon stumble and nearly fall, flooding my whole being with anxiety and giving the devil a chance to whisper: “See, you really aren’t (fill-in-the-blank).” A big dose of the poison pill “I cant. Its hopeless.”
How hard it is for people to change! How brilliantly we weave magic and our lives when we do! Yesterday I wrote about being a witch, and I finished "L is for Luminous", both V-Board projects. That is where I am working out my verbiage confidence. I need a schedule for the Blog. I think LSG is my laboratory where I labor over my oratory.
Schedule myself and keep my appointments – this is slipping. Yesterdays swim was good, but not a sub for my morning workout. What could get me out of bed in the am? Call MJ and book gym dates again. Attic, closet, another bag of goodwill clothes . It's so good to throw away fat clothes! never need 'em again. Vacuum. Schedule floor scrubbing. Call Sal. Love my kitty. CF gone Sunday for 11 days, share the cat care.
Keep going! The birds, and cats don’t question their being, they step forward without tripping over their mental clutter!
Soaring oak trees, scrubby holly, tangle of greenbrier, riot of vines. Invasive species, the foulest of which is man, my people. If my own people are responsible, would I really want to know? My people, the Europeans, my people, the white people, my people, the Americans, my people the well-off, the spoiled, the car people, the suburbanites, those who need air conditioning, my people are doing this. I am doing this.
How do I cope with the shame/guilt of my entire race, not just my own failures? What was that theater idea where the protagonist fails, and no one can intervene? Sound like Jesus story.
V approaches cautiously, allows tentative contact, and expects nothing. When rejected, he slumps and draws back, but only a tiny bit. The inner crumble may be monumental, but his will is steel. My inner crumble is all over the outside, and my steely will is outfoxed, convinced by the whisperings of hopelessness to yield its footing, and get out of the way of "progress", which is decay.
Get to the roots of the morbid vines, but look carefully for the Black vein… and know its essence, its value.
Flow words flow, form follows function, what’s next with the verbiage? I merely looked under the basil and there it was. Dry, wry humor. What is "wry and ready?" Jose asks about my playlist of that name. "Oh, post cynicism, now-what," I reply. Let go, with a whiff of regret, chagrin, and swingin into recommitment to going forward.
Going forward. Click-click, c'mon girl. The seditious call of depression is to give up, "why bother?" Continuously question the next step. In fact this is the nature of the plague, is it not? to bedevil the question, to undermine the resolve, to inject doubt into every act, almost every breath. This trips up my forward progress, and casts me into the pit of “there is no forward progress.” Where I wallow and nurse wounds until it becomes such a miserable prison that I clamor out feeling victimy and put-upon.
[Gently now, but clearly, see this:] I approach my work like a victim, with a leaden load of negative expectation, tangling my feet and weighing down my back. It shrouds me in not protective magic, like MK's hero, but entanglements that occlude my vision, tire me, and trip me up quite literally. All those times I re-pledge to lift my head and 'act as if' proud, then soon stumble and nearly fall, flooding my whole being with anxiety and giving the devil a chance to whisper: “See, you really aren’t (fill-in-the-blank).” A big dose of the poison pill “I cant. Its hopeless.”
How hard it is for people to change! How brilliantly we weave magic and our lives when we do! Yesterday I wrote about being a witch, and I finished "L is for Luminous", both V-Board projects. That is where I am working out my verbiage confidence. I need a schedule for the Blog. I think LSG is my laboratory where I labor over my oratory.
Schedule myself and keep my appointments – this is slipping. Yesterdays swim was good, but not a sub for my morning workout. What could get me out of bed in the am? Call MJ and book gym dates again. Attic, closet, another bag of goodwill clothes . It's so good to throw away fat clothes! never need 'em again. Vacuum. Schedule floor scrubbing. Call Sal. Love my kitty. CF gone Sunday for 11 days, share the cat care.
Keep going! The birds, and cats don’t question their being, they step forward without tripping over their mental clutter!
Soaring oak trees, scrubby holly, tangle of greenbrier, riot of vines. Invasive species, the foulest of which is man, my people. If my own people are responsible, would I really want to know? My people, the Europeans, my people, the white people, my people, the Americans, my people the well-off, the spoiled, the car people, the suburbanites, those who need air conditioning, my people are doing this. I am doing this.
How do I cope with the shame/guilt of my entire race, not just my own failures? What was that theater idea where the protagonist fails, and no one can intervene? Sound like Jesus story.
V approaches cautiously, allows tentative contact, and expects nothing. When rejected, he slumps and draws back, but only a tiny bit. The inner crumble may be monumental, but his will is steel. My inner crumble is all over the outside, and my steely will is outfoxed, convinced by the whisperings of hopelessness to yield its footing, and get out of the way of "progress", which is decay.
Get to the roots of the morbid vines, but look carefully for the Black vein… and know its essence, its value.
posted by Ven at 6:45 PM
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