The Bloody Doors Off

And I’m adrift. So tired of it, too.

Worse, I didn’t really plan for this day. I mean, it’s been in my head that I need to work on getting my shit together. But I’d been so focused on this past weekend. Can’t count the number of times I’d tell myself “I can’t get sick, need to be healthy” or “keep pushing through, keep strong”. And now it’s done. And I’m caught flat-footed.

My short-term goals are accomplished. But dammit, I put the rest… on hold. Hoped it would resolve itself before now. I’ve got notes for the next draft of the play. But it’s not going to pay the bills. I can’t make it my sole focus.

I wish it wasn’t February. Or at least it wasn’t so stupidly cold, or that I was handling it better. I need to get more active, but even with two pair of socks my feet are cold and there’s noise overhead with renovations of the main floor of the house six days a week, a giant dumpster blocking the driveway and thus, my path out of here. It’s near impossible to squeeze through on my own, forget trying to get the garbage bins out, or groceries in. I honestly feel. Trapped.

I’m drifting, with nowhere to go, because I’m blocked in. Physically and mentally. Fuck me.