…and I’m tired.
I don’t know why it’s been hard these last few weeks – I still don’t know what triggered it, why there’s such fragility in my capacity to cope with the things life throws at me, with the vicissitudes (I do love that word) of living with post-traumatic stress disorder.
Right now, writing is hard. I’m still putting a star on my calendar for each day that I do some writing: one star for writing my three daily Haiku, one star for journalling, and one star for any other sort of writing – poetry or prose. But right at the moment, there are fewer stars on my calendar.
And I’ve decided that’s ok. It will get better, and I’ll get some sleep and this week will end and I’ll enjoy singing on Friday and Sunday, and each time the bleak comes back it will last for a shorter time, and it will be a little easier to deal with. And there’ll still be some stars on my calendar, and I’ll get through this. And if I have to eat my own body weight in chocolate to do that, then that’s what I’ll do.
And I might get to use the word “vicissitude” again.