And so another week starts of being a cross between Mr Freeze and Jesse Pinkman – stuck in a caravan but freezing cold. On the plus side I have managed to snag a tiny plug-in heater so my feet are warm.
Today’s a weird day. I have all of the thoughts but none of the ability to make sense of them. There’s jumbling around like a washing machine of tattered and torn feelings and of thoughts and justifications of why it’s okay to feel the way I do. But… I don’t know how I feel.
And I suppose that’s recovery.
Just… being okay with where you’re at. Not feeling guilty about feeling and just accepting that my world is the way it is. It certainly beats being afraid of being uncomfortable and dare I say it, there’s a tinge of excitement about feeling confused and unsure. Almost like stepping onto the tarmac of an unfamiliar runway in a foreign country – anything could happen, and what will be will be.
Working from home is back and it’s likely that it’ll become the norm again sooner rather than later due to the second spike of Covid. Covid is a weird thing because people are getting extremely accusatory but not particularly following the rules themselves. Where I live is extremely busy and it’s uncomfortable going out – and I know this because I went out on Saturday and quickly retreated back to the inner sanctuary of home when I realised that being among people feels quite wrong at this particular moment in time despite official advice saying that it’s okay to do so.
Like my feelings, the world feels like it’s teetering and whilst the consequences for the world are much more significant than my own cliffy feelings, it feels like a suitable match up. Still, at least whilst everything goes to hell in a hand basket there is the comfort of warm feet and rain falling atop my metal office.