true blue

Today I went down the stairs to cut across the parking lot that’s located just behind Stylus. Crack heads like to smoke on the stairs there. There was a guy at the bottom of the stairs, on his hands and knees, rummaging around for lost rocks. I asked him to excuse me as I passed. He said, “Yes, I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have to see this. This is very sad.”

And it was. So sad. I choked back some tears on my short walk home and smelt love in my home when I opened the door. I am so thankful for everything in my life. I have so much. Some people want to rationalise all they have by calling a good life a blessing. Some people go on about karma. I don’t know about any of these theories. I don’t know anything about the chaos of creation or the cause of beauty. I do know that I’m very grateful to be who I am. I’m very grateful for my confidence, intellect, and ability. I’m grateful for all the love that I have in my life. I’m grateful that I can turn to a support system and family instead of crawling around on my hands and knees looking for a false sense of health and confidence. I don’t know what set me apart so far; I’d best not take anything for granted.

I have a friend who once told me about her struggle with addiction. She said that being buried in the crack mire reminded her that she’s really no different from the crazy, empty-eyed people you see on the streets. She could have been any of them. A few different situations and I could be one of these people too. The gentleman at the bottom of the stairs had an unusual, polite awareness. They say that the first step in battling addiction is admitting the problem. He’s got that part down, at least.

It has now been two weeks since I felt the first symptoms of being sick. Symptoms vary in frequency, and seem to have ebbed and flowed. Perhaps my cold is compounded. Two viruses at war with me. Perhaps my cold is related to a trifecta of sickness. Toxic Environment + Virus 1 + Virus 2. Either formula works out to a jumble of fogged perception, clogged hearing, and general ache.

My morale is medium, being neither here nor there. Is this mediocrity or balance? Some times I don’t know. I think I’ve spent so much of my life feeling dramatic that these days, with nary an issue due to mania or depression, can feel a little surreal. Not that I’m feeling the need to ask any questions. Even in a sick head, I am feeling relaxed.

I went to work today, smelled paint, and promptly left. I suppose that today I should feel thankful that I’m new in town and sporting a schedule with large gap. Most of the time I just feel hopeful and completely fine with sitting for long periods and repeating my daily mantras. “If you build it, they will come.” “Fake it till you make it.” “Patience.” “If it’s meant to be, it will happen.” “Secure a presence.” “Gamble everything.” Ect and ect. I let those thoughts repeat, check facebook, and eat fruit from the market.

Speaking of the fruit from the market, it is getting lovely already in this season. Sweet white peaches, juicy tangerines, delicious strawberries. It is also starting to get somewhat lovely outside, though you wouldn’t know it if you went outside today.

I started planting our garden yesterday. We have rosemary, lavender, thyme, basil, and mint. We have a fire receptacle and wood. We have tiki torches. I am excited for warm days with a book and cool nights with a bottle of wine and a fire. I am excited to buy a worm box for composting. I am fathoms deep in love with being in our apartment, but never so much as when my fiance´is home.

I feel high from cold pills. I’ll head to work for a new client in an hour, I hope she doesn’t notice my debilitation.