I knew there would have to be a grieving process involved when it came to my separation from the restaurant. I almost don’t like to call it “grieving,” given what I know others—and myself as well—have experienced upon the loss of a beloved person. But grieving seems to be the pop-culture word for it; I can’t think of another off-hand.
Oddly enough, the week I spent with my sister seems to have tipped me down toward the well of grief. Perhaps it’s because I had thought that throwing my efforts into helping someone else do something would be fun. Affirming and somehow cathartic. I didn’t know how badly I needed to experience a little success at something. Now I know. And I didn’t get that at all, last week. Quite the opposite, in fact.
So, since coming home Sunday night, I find myself constantly on the verge of tears. The week of frustration at my sister’s house has amped up the volume on that little voice in the back of my head that constantly taunts, “You can’t do ANYTHING right!” I thought I had been doing a pretty good job telling that little voice to f*** off. But it looks like the only time that voice quiets is when I am actively doing nothing. So maybe it’s true. The only thing I can do right is NOTHING.
I’m going to take today and just…do nothing. I’m going to get in the car and go over the hill to do it…but I have no plan, no objective. Well, that’s I lie. I do have an objective: To run away from the pain.
Old Mill and New Approach
21 hours ago