I’ve been letting others speak for me since they do it so well –
My Instagram(@justtawkin) is filled with “posters” most of which I create from quotes that reflect my thoughts/opinions/feelings far better than I could. Often it takes me hours to make one as I try to find an appropriate background to illustrate the quote. This is the latest –
I used to write thoughtful posts. They were usually well written. As a “writer” I am often very good with a few sentences, not as good with a sustained narrative. As a poet, again, I’m a writer of a few good lines.
It’s not so much that I lament the quality of my writing lately but rather the content.
I am old. I have 75 and half years of life, love, experience, mistakes, surely I have learned something; acquired some wisdom to share and comfort to offer. Appears not, or, not lately.
My mind is stuck in the mires of mundanity. I prefer the light and fluffy. Perhaps I crave the light and fluffy as antidote to the fears and resultant anxiety.
I am afraid of everything. The simplest task or event is fraught with ‘what ifs’ and none of them are positive. I anticipate disaster with every breath I take.
This is how my Monday starts, and my Tuesday and every day of the week. Every night of sleeplessness. I don’t know how to make it stop, how to make it better.
I am all out of advice, of wisdom, of comfort to offer to anyone else, least of all me.
This is the sort of post that does NOT require comments, so I shut them off – just for this post. I’m sure the next post will be less fraught and you’ll be able to jump in and we can tawk – but not this one, okay?
2 thoughts on “Because my brain is stuck on the mundane”
I hope it’s a small comfort to know that you are not alone in those truffles. My Mother in law, who is of same age has often lamented the same fears and anxious thoughts lately. She must know all the facts of any event before she can be at ease with attending. She worries over littles details as of late. And she was not like this until recently. I suspect it’s a commonality that comes with age.
My anxiety is a life long condition. In the past it has gotten so bad that I have wound up in the ER. By events/tasks I mean something as simple as the Uber showing up in the right place or the laundry room being available or the fact that I start my laundry an hour before the 'approved time' and someone is going to complain. Or that the stomach ache is another major bleed or that G is going to fall again – every time he gets up from a chair or walks across the room my heart is in my mouth or that if I have to spend one more god damn minute stuck in this apartment with no one to talk to – going on 15 years – 15 YEARS of isolation – I can't even anymore.
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