My Personal Kickboxer

The day is not going as well as I’d hoped. It looked good on paper yesterday, but now I’m having a hard time doing anything. The tasks are simple errand-running sorts of things. Now that it’s time to head to the store, I dread having to make decisions, to anticipate the week ahead and know what I’ll need.

This is really dumb.

I am averse to emotional drama, so I try to step around intense feelings. I used to pride myself on being pretty mellow and even-keeled. I still look that way from the outside -- friends tell me they can’t read what kind of day I’m having until they ask a direct question. But there’s a kickboxer in my head who is doing serious internal damage.

I’m sure that’s why I write. I am not much of a yeller (sorry, kids! I save that just for you!), I tend to cry only under specific, limited circumstances. Writing is the only way I am able to make the insane fits in my head seem real.

My goal for the day has shifted from checking off the stuff on my list to this one item: Do not go to bed. When it’s so hard to focus on one thing, or to generate the confidence that I’ll be able to do any one thing, going to bed feels safe.

I wrote these paragraphs a few hours ago and now, re-reading it, can see that it wanders and is pretty vague. I can’t quite see how to sort it out.