It will be the end of me, and I of it
I feel so tired, and quite low. I find myself reluctant to blog, so this morning I'm forcing myself to it, as one would a chore. There is a danger with depressive moods - one often quits the very things that are subtly therapeutic over the long run. "Waste of time", "pathetic", "stupid" these things become in the midst of a low point. "What's the point?" applies to everything.
Why am I low?
▪ Neighbour issues - plans for an intrusive extension has been approved, and the neighbour informs me that a fence between our land isn't the legal boundary and that a twenty meter by one meter strip of land on my side of the fence is his
▪ I'm hugely tired by the travel and full work days in London. Rather than my stamina building to match the demand I instead become more wearied with each week that passes
▪ It is becoming apparent that I'm expected to join a rota to provide 24/7 support
▪ A free-martin future looms
All these sit atop the burden of metastatic cancer and lymphedema that near overwhelm me on their own.
This is the black hole I have to neutralise with the joys I scratch out of my surroundings and activities. The dawn light saturating the world, the green growing world, the birds fleeting by, the satisfaction of a DIY job completed, watching my garden bloom, having a laugh with a friend or co-worker.
I work hard at this, aiming for a swan like appearance of serenity, but below the surface I paddle furiously to keep pace against the relentless tide.
All the while the black hole glooms ominous, hungrily sucking up all I throw at it, growing irresistibly larger. It will be the end of me, and I of it, for once it eats me and I pass from the world, it too will cease.
Why am I low?
▪ Neighbour issues - plans for an intrusive extension has been approved, and the neighbour informs me that a fence between our land isn't the legal boundary and that a twenty meter by one meter strip of land on my side of the fence is his
▪ I'm hugely tired by the travel and full work days in London. Rather than my stamina building to match the demand I instead become more wearied with each week that passes
▪ It is becoming apparent that I'm expected to join a rota to provide 24/7 support
▪ A free-martin future looms
All these sit atop the burden of metastatic cancer and lymphedema that near overwhelm me on their own.
This is the black hole I have to neutralise with the joys I scratch out of my surroundings and activities. The dawn light saturating the world, the green growing world, the birds fleeting by, the satisfaction of a DIY job completed, watching my garden bloom, having a laugh with a friend or co-worker.
I work hard at this, aiming for a swan like appearance of serenity, but below the surface I paddle furiously to keep pace against the relentless tide.
All the while the black hole glooms ominous, hungrily sucking up all I throw at it, growing irresistibly larger. It will be the end of me, and I of it, for once it eats me and I pass from the world, it too will cease.
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