“The poet and the painter…”

The poet and the painter
Casting shadows on the water/
As the sun plays on the infantry returning from the sea/
The do-er and the thinker/
No allowance for the other/
 As the failing light illuminates the mercenary’s creed/
The home fire burning/
The kettle almost boiling/ 
But the master of the house is far away/
The horses stamping/
Their warm breath clouding/
 In the sharp and frosty morning of the day/
And the poet lifts his pen/
While the soldier sheaths his sword 
And the youngest of the family/
Is moving with authority/
Building castles by the sea/
He dares the tardy tide to wash them all aside/
(From “Thick as a Brick” – Jethro Tull)

Love me some Jethro Tull. ❤

Hello, blogosphere.
So, I managed to get back to sleep somewhere between 7:30 and 8:00 this morning. Vega came down at noon for his lunch break and despite a valiant effort to rouse me from my slumber, I kept right on a-sleepin’ until 2:30 this afternoon. Long story short, I didn’t make it out into society to get any writing done, and the most productive thing I’ve done all day has been making a gigantic cup of jasmine green tea and reading endless BuzzFeed articles. It’s 4:22 now and I could happily crawl back into bed and call it a day. Exhausted and sore as hell are the two best descriptors for me today. How are your hump days going, readers? Hopefully y’all have been more  productive than I. I was going to add some self-deprecating humor there about my sloth, but I was allowed by Vega to sleep in on the promise that I wouldn’t feel guilty about it later. So.

Parks and Rec. Are you on Netflix yet? hmm.

…so, here I am now on the couch, dog in lap, tea in hand, Radiohead in background. I feel…out of place today. Kinda weird and very much an unsettling  sensation. I’m also freezing and very excited for Mr. Vega to finish up his work day (half an hour now!) so that we can snuggle on the couch and eat dinner and go to sleep. Back to where I was, where everything hurts and takes way too much effort and I’d really rather just stay in bed with the blinds closed all day. That said, I have Christmas shopping to accomplish still and my tea supply is dwindling; so in that regard, perhaps I’ll drop the bar on my “leaving the house this week” goal and settle for hitting downtown and killing both them birdies with one stone on Sunday, when my final paycheque from Hell – ahem – the Bean is ready for me. Or maybe I’ll be even more realistic and put it off until Monday when my bank will be open. Who am I kidding? Sunday is for tea and pyjamas, even when I’m not feeling all mopey. This week’s a write off. I am just not ready to venture into society just yet. It’s me, tea, and my sketchbook for the next few days, and you know what? I’m alright with that.

I just need a few more days of crying and crappy television. I’ll have this shit handled again soon.

I don’t really know what I logged on here to say. You’re all painfully aware by now of where I’m at right now, and I have no brilliant revelations to share with you. I think I’m just trying to keep my brain busy – two days from now is the anniversary of the worst night of my fucking life, and I wouldn’t call it a hasty conclusion to decide that the sleep fuckery, the upset stomach, the general malaise are all psychosomatic symptoms. The brain is a funny little machine that way – despite my knowledge of the opposite, I still maintain to myself that I’ve dealt with all of this. I think what’s hurting me the most right now; what truly is fuelling this depressive episode is the acceptance that at the end of the day, I am still very much a wounded soul. I pride myself on my sunny disposition, my unrelenting optimism…and here I am, struggling to hold on to the frayed ends of the proverbial rope. I want to feel strong again, want to feel powerful and integral and worthwhile. The irony is that Vega makes me feel all of those things; however, being unemployed (again) makes me start in on my faults and shortcomings and I manage to convince myself that he’s wrong for making me feel any of those good things and that he’ll realize it one day and evaporate from my life, too. That’s literally the precise train of thought I grapple with multiple times every day. I suppose it’s time for me to eat some of my own humble pie though, and take my own advice. Every time I’ve ever felt this way in my life, good things have come of it. I’m too blah to remember that feeling right now, but I know that it’s the natural progression of things. Self-care first, though, and for the time being, that means not thinking as much as I’d like to and more TEA.

 

Truth.

 

Anyways, I’m dying for a cigarette, so for now,

Wallace, out.