I’m single now. Again.
To be honest and earnest, I’m not positive how I should feel about it. Gauging by my moods being both powerful and all over the place, I think it’s safe to say I’m affected. I’m gonna have to wait for the dust to settle before I declare how.
So what does a fellow do now that he’s on his own? Well, this fellow is cleaning his house. I come from a long line of girlfriends who have found solace in cleaning. As I participate in cleaning now, I can see why. There’s a meditative quality behind all the scrubbing and folding, a nice distraction that quiets the mind. I cannot help but suspect that there’s a psychological benefit to tidying up of the house, as though it’s symbolic for simplifying or streamlining one’s life.
There are urges to get alcohol and attempt to purify myself via that mechanism. I know overly drinking won’t work. I know it’ll only lead to more misery and a flabbier midsection. I know that time and an even hand are the best ways to sail through this storm. Still, my cravings defy logic. They do so by talking over reason via constant nagging.
Homework is all done. Well, there’s still that giant research paper due early December. When cleaning is done, which it almost is, I suppose I can actually “research” a little. I’m less inclined to do so, though. I have a lot of time for that and the topic is a little dry considering the emotional state I’m in.
No, that can wait.
My inclination is to get back to finishing the danged book. It’s been a month or two since last I touched a verse or attempted a scribble. Sounds like a good idea . . .
Life demands me, I’ll excuse myself here.