Heading into the city to get acupuncture for pain everywhere. I don’t write about how bad it is. How I don’t sleep because of it. How I have to meditate to avoid panic attacks. But it’s been the scariest thing I’ve faced in my time here. And I’ve yet to let it stop me.
I’m wearing bright colors today because it is gray out. Even the salt-covered streets are gray. I keep hearing, “Wait, it gets worse.” But honesty, it’s not that bad.
I’m not sad, per se, but definitely melancholic. December is such a sentimental month. If you stack 40 of them on top of each other, there’s a lot of memories to confront. And confronting them happens so lighting fast when there are songs and sights and smells that reach your brain before you’ve had time to think.
I’m afraid I’ve been damming a lot of tears back and they’re about to breach the wall while I’m on the train, or crossing a street. I don’t cry. I don’t cry. I just don’t. But I just might.
I’m a giant child some (most) days and I really wonder why government authorities aren’t out on the streets trying to return me to my adults. Who thought this was a good idea for me to live on my own and be accountable for my own safety and security?
Whoever it was saw fit to get me through to this point in my life. I’m constantly learning lessons and the figurative growing pains can sometimes hurt as much as the literal ones. They pop up like instruments in a symphonic orchestra. I’d drown in misery if I wasn’t laughing like a fool most of the time at how life really is too good.
I’m not scared. I’m just a little weary and really exhausted. I need to nights on end of sleep. Preferably wrapped in the pelt of a Teletubby. That reminds me. I need new sheets. But that can wait until I have a bit of money.