"May I make my fond excuses
For the lateness of the hour..."
It's now the middle of the night. I can say that with authority. It's almost 1:30, and I've been struggling for hours to come up with both a topic and the will to write. I've been bouncing between grumpiness and melancholy and anxiety, with no idea where any of those moods are coming from. The anxiety is the worst, because it comes with a nervous stomach to punctuate its foulness. It's also the most persistent, having been my frequent companion for weeks now. The blame for it surely lies at the feet of the rebellion in my central nervous system, and the wait for the next appointment to have it properly diagnosed (if that is even possible). I'm nauseated and twitchy, and that doesn't lead to spectacular journaling.
I miss having the focus and memory that I once did. I used to be the person at work who held all the details of projects in her head, and kept it all straight. Now I'm barely even the person at work. Forget keeping things straight, even with a list (that I keep forgetting to make). I'm hoping that in December/January I am told that this is a simple imbalance, easily corrected with diet or run of the mill medications. Ideally, they'll tell me to start taking one of those brain-boosting supplements, and I'll start feeling clear-headed with calm nerves, lickety-split. I'd like to feel focused enough to read again, and to do the other quiet activities I once enjoyed, like sewing or driving. Failing that, I'd like to stop feeling like there's a shredded wire in my electrical system, periodically arcing and shorting out the circuits.
I thought maybe goofing around with chat photo filters would cheer me up. It didn't. I scrolled through all of the ones currently available on Messenger. I think I ended up just feeling old. I didn't crack a smile once.
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