not-quite Journaling, 78
through gray clouds,
my nature sings bright
bits of blues
12/29/2024:
I said: “I’m exhausted and in no mood
to party. The last few weeks have been rough. But don’t worry, my stubbornness
and I still hope for better.”
She said: “Hopefulness, in the face of this much crap, has to be a type of mental illness. Only crazy people endure the same thing over and over and keep ‘hoping’ for something good. Is that the madhouse I hear knocking on your door? Ha!”
I said: “Your crass pessimism (badly camouflaged as dark humor) is tiresome, unhelpful, and as unimaginative as you are. Ha, ha!”
Then I sent this picture, this haiku, and this Brandon Sanderson’s quote: “Hope is a virtue--but the definition of that word is crucial. […] A virtue is something that is valuable even if it gives you nothing. A virtue persists without payment or compensation. Positive thinking is great. Vital. Useful. But it has to remain so even if it gets you nothing. Belief, truth, honor… if these exist only to get you something, you’ve missed the storming point.”
She’d said nothing else. See? My virtuous hopefulness is
paying off! 😁
I am back: hurt, changed, growing…
1/8/2025:
I
start a new fitness regimen on Saturday (again *cough*).
It’s too cold outside (I don’t love winter); my chunkaliciousness makes
everything more difficult (even if it warms my bits 😅); my neuropathy is acting up (everybody hates neuropathy).
Still, beginning to exercise hard again is freaking exciting! I’ll start with
hiking, move to walking/jogging, and hope to run a few times a week by
midspring. Best birthday present--I hope…
If life sucks (again),
I’ll
write
my Self full.
1/15/2025: Remember how I was supposed to start my new fitness plan last Saturday? Well, my bloody gut chose to show me who’s boss and altered my plans (again). Yep, for the next few days, nothing but therapeutic writing sessions, gentle calisthenics, and quality time with my softest foam roller (is it just me, or does that sound slightly kinky?). Anyhoo, my innards’ temper tantrum seems to be subsiding, so the hiking-to-walking/jogging-to-running plan shall resume soon(ish). That’s the spoonie life--unpredictability on steroids.
– for
Poets and Storytellers United (Friday Writings #160: Low Battery)
