Damn, this makes money super-tight again. I hate how this stuff cascades. I'm back to the idea of a roommate.
My shop vac is missing. I think it might have been stolen along with the saw and I just missed it, but it's possible it may have gotten moved into the basement. I somehow don't think so. And since that's my main vaccuum cleaner right now, it makes cleaning even more sucktacular. At least I have a broom and mop.
I seriously hate trying to clean with teh sick happening, not that I'm a huge fan of cleaning anyway, but being sick just makes it all the harder. My workout schedule is hosed beyond recognition because I can't breathe without going into fits of coughing or passing out on the bike. I need to take Sadie out for a walk. I need to do a bunch of stuff that I don't have time and energy for.
Okay, three-day weekend, and I haven't heard from Barb yet. Maybe I don't have to be trekking to KCMO this weekend after all, and I can buck up and do house stuff. I do have a new dumpsterbag that I was hoping to hold off until spring-- naw, I'll keep that for the bigger stuff. I'll just get more boxes of contractor trash bags and go to town. That's always fun, right?
Life is mundane at the moment. Or my life is anyway. Gratuitously, it's only mundane by choice as I've retracted my creative pseudopods right considerable. I've also psucked in my psocial pseudopods as well-- I'm not feeling particularly worthy of company at the moment. Part of that is the medication (specifically the dextromethorphan hydrobromide in the Mucinex) that has me sitting here feeling like a quasi-useless lump, but part of it is a bit of less-than-human feeling from the large disparity of Where I Should Be In Life from Where I Am.
My problems don't warrant the tension that are availing themselves of others today. Death, anxiety attacks, war, famine, pestilence... my avoidance of responsibility doesn't hold a candle. Yet it is my sty to wallow in, and it doesn't just wash away with judicious application of windex or all-purpose Ultra-Brite.
Am I just dissatisfied, or is there more?
Yeah, obviously there's more. I just can't see it from here. I can feel it like a huge shadow overwhelming the sky, sitting on my back like the tortoises that hold up the world. It's big and black and it tastes like chicken.
Maybe I just want a place to hide out, a place to stay and lick my wounds into submission, to wallow in fear and guilt and avoid the light because it burnses us it does, precioussss....
I want to have meaningful connections, but I don't know what that means anymore. Maybe this is the first step of a new evolution, the leaving behind of the meatworld and the thriving in virtualspace. We haven't yet learned how to dissociate from the physical needs of the body, and indeed it be them there physical needs that drive the spiral into the ground and below, a drill bit of shame and perfusion and raw need, galactic in its intensity.
Sense of touch. Sense of soft caress and love, of warmth and happiness. Is this what I want? Is it real, or illusion in the most painful sense? Do I want the meatspace? Do I have a choice?