Coming off of a fine meditation session.

I spent all day yesterday in a sunken funk. That I had to be at work didn’t help. Knowing feelings are contagious and walking about with a mood akin to the flu, worse. Being told I dwell and that the dwelling is what’s hindering me, even worse. That person being right, the worst.

So we come into today. First day of a short weekend. Slept good, slept in. Pizza and cookies for breakfast. Extra coffee. Get started on some cleaning. Get to meditate longer and at my leisure. Write this thing. A damned fine morning.

The mood of yesterday, you know, the lingering one of burnout from the past month, oh it’s still there. I’m still traumatized by regularly. And fuck all, if I’m not handling those feelings responsibly. And it’s all frustrations over the routine, sinking feelings about not making progress.

I’ve had the impulses of stomping out from work or the relationships, or whatever responsibilities, and, in my resplendent youth, indulged myself with storming out. I’m older and wiser now. Those indulgences are, well, those aren’t the path to my salvation.

We’re playing a longer game here. One where I have a family to feed. You know, figuratively. Little Susie in the form of house payments and beloved Samantha in the form of art habits need to be nurtured and fed and raised. When one puts that perspective on things, the barbs endured feel worthwhile. Almost noble.

On life, you are so pendulous.