... as if, after this brief reprieve, I might start to be sweary again shortly.
Look, it's not as if I've had a lot of energy - physical or emotional - to do anything of much lately. Not lately and not for a long time prior to that. No doubt there has been an element of design to this circumstance. (I can say that here, irrespective of your judgement about my attitudinal orientation. This is my space and I will write my story as I choose). It's a good way to keep a good woman down, isn't it? A splendid way to funnel an individual down a chute of limited options, as indeed mine are on any day when I'm struggling with functioning in a physical sense.
The mechanics of waking, of moving, of eating, of placing one foot in front of the other in an orderly direction towards my goals - all constrained. There's been a lot going on, even when I have done not much at all. I am living in the haze of what seems like an induced lethargy, and it's all I can do to cling onto the landscape in which I find myself lying prone. I am forced into a tedious caution by my injured sense of balance, and even my eyesight is unreliable. I am peering at an uncaring world through changeable eyes. Day after day this continues. No amount of urgency makes anything urgent when it comes to my care or wellbeing. The people around me continue their inexorable march of sameness, and I sense at a very deep level that there is very little I can do to alter any outcome, least of all those that will most affect me personally.
Yes. There are solutions. I can hear you (in my head) telling me everything I should do. Try this, you say, as if all that is required to induce a beneficial effect is a single action, something simple and achievable and utterly within reach. I can hear you because I'm telling myself the same things, and yet... still they are out of my behest, somehow, to enact.
And then - a moment of extraordinary interaction, ever so briefly. Just enough to cause me to simultaneously believe in my own empowered agency, and then doubt utterly the reality of it. Because there is no balance in this lop-sided existence. There is no synergy between the isolated hours of my bed-bound days and the moments of sudden, vast influence that this other untold story will have me believe. And even as I type this here I know that this reality lies so close that one day I will log in to this blog and this blog post will no longer be here and it won't be because I have removed it. It will be because an arbitrary point in time has passed, a way-marker on someone else's timeline will have arrived. And this impending loss speaks to every other loss that has been my lot, these past years. Including the loss of my right to write what I will on the internet. To steer my days in the direction that heads to my own north star. To bring my glorious imperfection into the world in creative ways, and be in some way rewarded or remunerated for it. And this excision of my own, unique creative process is utterly lived out in the dull hours of my unstructured and yet unfree days. And I am too lethargic, it seems, to even summon up my fury sufficiently to sear the letters of my name into the minds of those who are responsible for this, and yet who have not taken responsibility for its real impact on my life.
But I refuse to believe there can be no change. There must be change. So for every day of my idleness, there must be days coming of action. And if the only action open to me to open my mouth and speak my fury, then that is what I will do. And I will speak it and keep speaking it until the insensible world and its insensible people bend their ears, and then their minds to me. And if this is nothing but a delusion, it is a functional one, one that will assist me to cut through the mists of inaction with a renewed energy. And that's worth something. That's worth a mouthful of cuss-w0rds and a complete lack of apology. I am not sorry for anything I've written here, or anywhere else. So swearing it will be, then.
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