I haven’t bothered writing since last Monday; it was a fairly hectic week at work, and I found myself falling asleep for hours as soon as I got home. Whenever I came to and tried to work on something, the cat would decide that she would lie down on my computer keyboard, and by the time she stopped playing that game with me, it would be time to go to bed anyway. Autumn’s adorable and I love her, but she really knows how to push my buttons. I guess that’s the thing about cats.
I’ve been trying to get work done on that SNL review project on the other blog, but haven’t been in the right frame of mind to work on them. If I can’t fully immerse myself in that project, I don’t feel like I can string together coherent opinions about the sketches. I get upset when I’m unable to make progress on a project, and hate leaving things unfinished (especially if people are waiting for them) but the words and thoughts aren’t coming together for me like I want them to. I guess it will get better as soon as I work through the inertia that developed since my last review was posted, but in the meantime, it has me feeling quite frustrated.
Last Friday was my one year anniversary of going on escitalopram; as much as it’s helped over the last year, I wonder if I’m hitting another plateau with my dosage or if I need to try something else. Last week I felt some familiar heaviness and inability to get myself out of bed; I still made it into work, but there were a few nights where I fell asleep with most of the lights in the apartment still on because I would crawl into bed with my phone and just pass out before I knew it. I also felt unusually sad on Thursday; even after treating myself to a burrito for lunch and buying a few used records at Taz, I just felt like crap.
Maybe the sadness is only a natural outgrowth from lamenting all the time that could have been spent cultivating relationships, working on projects, or just exploring my surroundings. Something stops me, though, whether it’s fear of rejection, a sense of inadequacy, perfectionism, or exhaustion (physical or emotional). Maybe it’s a reaction to the powerlessness I feel about world events or certain politicians, or reminders of mortality. I think a lot about what happened to Katie Beaton’s sister, even more so as more people I know, people my age, go through cancer treatment. You’re living your life, you notice something’s off with your body, and bam, you get bad news from your doctor. As far as I know I’m not ill, but neither is my body in the shape it was 10 years ago. This is middle age, I guess.
Despite this, I rallied the next night for a planned get-together at the Foggy Goggle and was able to enjoy the company of others (not to mention the Foggy Spuds and beer). I wish I was more able to make myself meet up with people outside of the periodic nights out that I schedule, and my body and wallet can’t handle too many of these too often. Even at these events, I let the other people do most of the talking. Maybe this is my misguided way of trying to get all my socializing in at the same time, or maybe I just want other people I know to meet each other. I still don’t know what I need or want in regard to my relationships.
I’m not sure if I’ll have more to write this week, at least on the personal front. I’ve been thinking a lot about my religious upbringing but am not sure if this is the right space to unpack these thoughts. I want to take another break from social media but I still need to use it to publicize my posts and do research for the SNL reviews. It’s something to do on slow days at work, and if I’m not on there for a while, I end up missing the attention and validation I get when I post something. (I could use that here, TBH, but I’m afraid this comes off as needy).