Why, December? We're supposed to be friends!

This hasn't been an easy week (in terms of shit I had to do and errands I had to run without actually achieving the purpose of those shitty errands). In fact, it hasn't been a good week for 2 weeks now. Or is it 3? I lost count. Or maybe I'd rather NOT count. Anyway, it wasn't an easy week, but I think I handled it better than I would have say 2 weeks ago. I mean... I'm still frustrated... but it's low key. It's not very dramatic. It's just mostly exhausting, but still less than before. 

Am I getting used to this? Is that a good thing or a bad thing? Do I WANT to get used to shit? I mean if I can't change it, if it's completely beyond my control, maybe I should get used to it so it won't take a toll on me every time? Running futile errands, doing them again the next day only to be told to come back again the week after... Is it better that it came as no complete shock and that I braced myself for the possibility? Or should I not be normalizing what shouldn't be normal? 

Hagar pull your shit together. If you can't change it, you better not lose your sanity to it. Just... handle it. Like every other person probably would. Maybe.

I don't know what to rant about. There are those errands of course... then that evil stomach bug (if that's what it was).. the feeling that my intestines were held, twisted, and squeezed by giant grips... the waiting rooms and the painfully uncomfortable chairs... and of course there's my sweet lil' crab getting sick like he never had before in all his 7 and half years of life... and having to clean off vomit from a mattress among other things... and a newly adopted pet tortoise that's still getting used to his surroundings by abstaining from food... Then that fugly partially removed toenail in the background with its recurring annoyance that just refuses to come to an end... I won't even mention the outside factors that pile up on the bulk and sit on top of my extravagant shit pie like a cherry. 

You know what? I don't feel like ranting about any of it right now (I kind of just did anyway). Today I feel a little blessed. Just a little. A tiny bit. I know I have a lot to worry about, but I'll save that for next week. And I hope it goes easy on me. I hope I'll have the will and mental state to handle it all gracefully and patiently if it doesn't run smoothly. I really just hope it goes easy on me. I could use a reminder that things don't always have to suck... a break of sorts. 

And that toenail better fix itself. It's irritating. Just fucking move on already! (Speaking to the toenail).

Shhh

 

drip drip drop

So lately my focus is shit. I forget to do things I used to easily do on autopilot. I repeat things I say minutes after I've said them only to realize it half-way. And I often catch myself unable to think clearly or finish a thought; my mind draws a blank or reaches conclusions I KNOW are not right. 

I know I have a lot on my mind, and it feels like I'm juggling tasks and plans and thoughts and priorities and mundane distractions, so maybe I should go easy on myself if my attention span is almost non-existent. But I really don't like it. I'm not really used to it. Not like this. 

I always used to take pride in my mental/intellectual capabilities, and I'd joke about getting dumber but I most always knew what I am: among many other things (good and bad), I'm smart. So I feel that pang when I act dumb or irrational or spaced out. I feel it, I recognize it, and I try to justify it to myself. But the frequency of it lately feels unprecedented... And rather a bit humiliating.

I need to get my shit together. (Or do I need a break? But a break from what exactly?) 

So is this middle age? I just turned 38 a couple of months ago. Is that even a thing? Is it stress? Chronic fatigue? Or who knows... Maybe my all time joke is true and my IQ IS actually declining 🤷🏻‍♀️ I mean it CAN happen.

Please make it stop. 

Dec 9th, 2023

As I walked the long corridors, I felt my left leg slowly numbing up. I wasn’t sure if I was only imagining it or if it was actually growing tired. I felt heavy, dull, and rather desperate. I knew I would eventually find the place, but as I walked back and forth trying to find my way, climbing three flights of stairs up then down then one flight back up, walking what seemed like an endlessly long corridor, I grew angrier by the second. Why would they send it that far out? I cursed beneath my breath, hoping I wouldn’t have to waste more than the twenty minutes already wasted trying to find the so-called pharmacy. 

The corridors I walked were mostly empty. An old hospital, partially abandoned. I came across a patient or two in one hallway on one floor, but that was mostly it. A couple of nurses walking lazily with no sense of real purpose, and the occasional security guard every 12 meters or so. I walked past large windows overlooking the hospital campus, letting me know that I’m crossing the distances from one building to other extensions. I walked back that first corridor when I realized I was heading the wrong direction, only to make similar trips through other corridors on another floor. Hours later in the day, as I thought back on the long trips through the empty abandoned hallways, it felt like a dream. A very random dream; the kind where one wakes up confused and upset for no apparent reason. 

It felt futile. It felt like a punishment. I just didn’t know what I was being punished for. 

My anger turned into resentment for everything these institutions are and represent. For everything that could’ve been a million times better but is  not. For the status quo and for how I’m supposed to accept it because it is what it is and there’s no easy way around it. And all the while, a voice in my head reminds me that “hey, you know you have it easy… you know you’re privileged and you know millions go through worse EVERY DAY”. But that didn’t make me feel any better. If anything, it made me feel worse. And why should I feel better only because I suffer less? Why should it be enough that I’m not the only one suffering? Why should it be tolerated at all? Why am I expected to feel okay by telling myself that some people have it worse? I do not want anyone to have it worse… I do not want to be the privileged one among many, that is if you call walking and climbing stairs clueless for 25 minutes - after wasting two hours waiting for someone to sign a piece of paper -  privilege. Why should it be strange for me to feel like shit afterwards just because I eventually got what I went there for? 

And yes, today it took me forever but NEXT time it won’t because now I know where the office is. But the fact that there’s a next time, and a time after, and a time after…. Even if I will know my way around… it feels like nooses being pulled tighter around my neck and arms and my entire body. A trap. And I go there willingly.

I couldn’t help thinking “What if I actually had trouble walking? What if my condition was significantly worse? How do they expect people with possible physical disability to walk endless corridors and climb whole flights of stairs? What is this fuckery? Who the fuck is in charge? Why is everything in this shithole so fucked up?” 

The image of the hospital yard from the large windows and the empty corridors haunts me. It felt surreal. It was nothing. A drop in the ocean. But it felt like some sort of mental torture. Like some evil psychopath was behind it all. But it’s more likely that whomever is behind it is simply a thoughtless idiot; someone in charge who did not think it through quite enough. Isn’t that the way it is in most governmental matters? All it takes is some bureaucratic ass who wanted things done a certain way without thinking it through. 

I used to think I’m done getting angry over things like that. I know it will always be irritating, but I actually thought that by now I’m beyond it. Turns out I’m not. Those fucking hallways. 

And the thing is, while walking, I wasn’t completely oblivious to the old architecture of the hospital. It felt like a museum of sorts. If I wasn’t furious, I might’ve paused to admire what’s left of the old building. The high ceiling, the caged elevators, the walls with an ancient smell… But I was too frustrated. 

I hate it when I’m incapable of seeing the beauty in the ugliest of things, and today was a reminder that this ability has been escaping me lately. Rather, I feel robbed off of it. 

I felt powerless. I now think of my all-time self-proclaimed super powers, and I mourn them. 

It just didn’t have to be like this. It could’ve been better. All of it. All of life. 

I'm disciplined in the art of doing things.

A Blessing in Disguise

 

That’s what I told myself. The thought brought relief and a vague sense of triumph. Finally: a good reason to be out of reach; unavailable and exempt. A blessing dressed up as an affliction of sorts. An excuse. A ticket. I thought “hey, it’s not all bad; maybe I can use it”. At least that’s what I’ve been told.

But I cannot seem to unlock my ticket. I’m still stuck, only now with an added burden.
I’m starting to think maybe there’s no ticket. There’s no great advantage. I still have to do the work. If I want to have it my way, I will have to do what I always avoided. Either that, or suck it up AND have to bear with an added pile of crap. There’s no shortcut. No conflict-free route. No easy way out - not that the cost is easy or insignificant.

Maybe it doesn’t quite work like that. Maybe it’s not a ticket per se, but more like a sign to do something. A sign to take action and learn to do what I detest in order to be able to get where I want. To get loud and visibly angry and unaccommodating and difficult. But all I’ve managed to be so far is uncomfortable and awkward and resentful and still only inwardly angry. I don’t know how to break out of it. I’m trying to learn, but it’s not easy, especially if I don’t see any of it having any real impact.

I read something today, completely irrelevant, but it says we shouldn’t worry so much about the impact and only concern ourselves with the effort. I don’t know if it applies here. How can I not worry about the impact? If the effort will go in vain, what’s the point? What’s required is excruciating. If it won’t lead to anything, then why go through it?

Why can’t it be easier? Why are they such self-absorbed shitheads? Why am I the way I am? Oh we’re not gonna go there… we know why. We can trace it back to them being self-absorbed shitheads. At least in part. I’m to blame for my afflictions, and they’re to blame for me. At least in part.

I know what needs to be done, theoretically, I think. I just can’t bring myself to start. I don’t quite know how.

As for my “blessing”… It’s not so bad… But I was really hoping it’d also be my break.

Back to Blogger

 

This is my third attempt at a blog, not counting my two abandoned tumblr accounts. 

I shared my first Blogger blog with my friend, back in 2016. Moved on solo to WordPress in 2008. Kept at it for a few years before discovering tumblr. A couple of more years later, I abandoned my WordPress blog. The last post there was published April 2012. (I just checked).

I abandoned writing circa 2015. I had decided to let it go, to just stop. To keep whatever words I thought I had left to myself. I had started to believe that they are of no real value, and that maybe it's better I just shut it. Now I don't know if my words have any value at all, maybe not, but I cannot keep them all sealed shut inside my brain anymore. They're growing like mold and leaking out of old worn out spots in my brain. What oozes out isn't verbal, the words are still trapped and all what comes out instead is salt and tantrums and frustration. 

I figured maybe I need to open that jar a tad bit and give them a chance to breathe. Maybe I shouldn't worry too much about who I offend (myself included) and how repetitive and common and mediocre my thoughts would feel. Maybe it's alright to pour it all out - or at least try, even if none of it holds real value or none of it is unique and unspoken. Maybe chill, Hagar? 

So, here we go again.

هنشوف هنكمل ولا هنفكس.