My timing is off this morning. I reached the trailhead too late to get a walk in before work. Disappointing. It’s a cold morning. I can walk later, over my lunch break, I guess. Where did the time even go, I wonder? I feel as if perhaps I’ve simply been moving slower, or didn’t account for needing to stop to put gas in the car. Something. Or maybe something else.
I’m mildly amused with myself and also a bit aggravated. I feel as though I am “distracted”, but as a state of being rather than a momentary condition. I don’t know what to do about it. My thoughts bounce and jitter, scraps and fragments, incomplete and inconsequential. It doesn’t bode well for the work day ahead.
I think about the weekend, instead. I’d like to paint. No studio. No room for it right now; my Traveling Partner has his new watchmaker’s lathe and it’s assorted parts and tools spread out on the dining table, being patiently cleaned up, assembled, and put to various uses for the first time. It’s a fascinating and delightful vintage tool, and I’m tickled to see it. No resentment over it, at all, but there is no room on that table for spreading out pastels and art supplies for work of a very different sort, and I seriously doubt any good would come of getting the delicate machine works of the lathe dusted with various pigments. lol I sit quietly thinking about where else I could go, and regretting that I don’t yet have a proper plein air setup ready. Last time I thought about it, I thought to myself “soon enough”… And clearly I was incorrect. lol
I sigh quietly and feel a pang of sorrow. I’d laugh about this with my Dear Friend and commiserate over the many untimely inconveniences of life, but she’s gone now. G’damn that sucks. Tears fill my eyes and I snarl at them dismissively.
At my last therapy visit, my therapist calmly noted that I “don’t really need therapy at this point”, and that I am “simply very sensitive and feel things very deeply”. He pointed out that I have the tools I need to handle most circumstances, and that although I have PTSD to deal with, it’s less a matter of acute mental illness and more an assortment of manageable concerns that are part of living my life. While it feels good to hear that, I guess, it’s also frustrating in the way any “disability” can be. It feels limiting and a bit “unfair”. He’s very correct about one thing that sticks with me; paying to see him and talk for an hour can’t replace the joy and connection of time spent with a dear friend.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I remind myself to reach out to old friends and stay caught up and connected.
…I remind myself to begin again, while there’s time.
Evening Light 