After an unwanted shower of snow and sub-zero temperatures early this week, the weather turned wonderful just in time over the weekend. It wasn’t really warm like summers but it wasn’t shivering cold. The days were mostly sunny and breezy and comfortable. I wished I could have gone to the parks with my picnic blanket and lay there in open. People were indeed doing that despite the warnings from authorities to maintain social distancing and stay indoors. I defied the stay-at-home order by taking a walk outside but had no appetite to lounge openly in the parks just a few feet away from strangers. Nevertheless, I wished I could cause I knew that could have helped me to some extent with my anxiety.
The weekend started on a positive note. I was feeling fresh and itching to do something. That something was not defined, but I had this urge to catch up on all that I ignored in the past few months. I was eager to put my life back on track. I knew just a two-day weekend wasn’t enough but I could have made a start and I did make a start by looking around me, at me and inside me. I did a mistake there or maybe it was for the best. Reality checks are never a bad thing however ugly they turn out to be. In my case, I found a lot of broken pieces. The apartment needed care - from the clogged sinks to cluttered cupboards and dusty piles of books, every object around me was craving attention. Not to mention my finances and photography haven’t really got much attention either. Standing in front of the mirror I felt disgusted looking at myself. I am really not in the best of my health and it was so obvious. The oodles of fat that I had painfully lost at the beginning of the year have crawled back in with vengeance and I find myself out of energy. I fear taking the next cholesterol test and facing my doctor’s ire. And inside I am no good. I have been witnessing the falling apart of my soul, confidence and desires for quite some time now but haven’t been able to do anything about it. And there, seeing the result of procrastination over past months brought in the feeling that I was dreading - anxiety. As I am writing this piece now, I am feeling ashamed of the recurring theme of my words while a little piece of my still feels proud of sticking to the weekly ritual of putting thoughts to words. I am not sure if I should focus on my shame or pride.
This afternoon I decided to make a ToDo list and start checking things off it. I am after all good at making lists but I am not feeling great looking at it now. I am not feeling great about the coming new week, neither am I feeling great about the idea of ignoring everything and relaxing for the sake of sanity.