A Rinse, A Wash, and A Dry

It’s been a few days over two months. Time keeps on slippin’ (slippin’, slippin’) into the future. And, not a writer by habit, I'd forgotten to keep this blog alive.

I’ve been trying – sometimes succeeding, sometimes failing, generally struggling – to slip back into the stream of life, get my feet below me, regain my balance, and move on. For the most part, it’s going about as expected: if I don’t think about the future, or the past, if I keep my eye (as it were) on the ball, getting thru the day isn’t entirely impossible anymore.

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My lifelong reaction to waking up has been to fight it, to try to extend my sleep until it becomes untenable. For the last couple months, nearly entirely, I’ve gotten out of bed shortly after I’ve woken up. Now, when I wake up, the thinking starts, forcing me out of bed – to get up, get showered, and fall into the distractions of life. The alternative is becoming overwhelmed with the deep, abiding sadness I'm subject to. But today, because of this cold, I managed a couple more hours of sleep and it felt truly good. But my bones started to hurt, I increasingly desperately needed to pee, and my clothes needed washing. I got up.

The last couple months have changed me.

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I’m sitting in a laundromat waiting for my clothes to finish washing so I can transfer them to a dryer, then take them back home, change, and, in time, head off to work for my, probably easy, three lessons. The caffeine I had a little while ago (from Lipton’s milk tea) has started to kick in, increasing my heart rate to a level about matched by normal people's. This is Day Three of my cold. I’m exhausted. I have work later, but no clean clothes, so I’m remedying that, at least, by being here. I'm seated on a bench, my backpack, and a bag containing a box of Kleenex and various cold-related implements, to my left. To my right is an unopened apple juice; behind it, a plastic bag containing the wrapper of a danish I just inhaled, an empty milk container, and some used Kleenex. (The bag is free if you want it.)

I have no energy. Hopefully the sugar-and-caffeine double-punch gives me just enough of a nudge to make it through the day. I should be okay.

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I've opened the apple juice.

I don't typically drink juice. Once, in a conversation with my paternal grandmother (now deceased), she obtusely talked about not knowing which foods are recommended for/to be avoided by diabetics. This was of course untrue, a way she rationalized eating ice-cream. But she asked if I could find and print lists of foods she, as a diabetic, should/shouldn't eat.

I did so. Orange juice and white bread topped the list. I stopped having either. Juice, being primarily suspended sugar (and little else) isn't something I've really had since then. Except when I have a cold. So yesterday I had some apple juice, and I'm doing so now.

It's delicious. But I’m tired.

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It’s been two months and three days.

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