A solitary Thanksgiving

I'm alone today, by choice. There have been many people who have invited me to be somewhere, but I want to be by myself, and to allow myself to be as productive as I need to be on this day off from work.

I don't like to take breaks. But I do like to have days where I can let my mind go and see what happens. At the moment as the day begins I am watching a World Cup match and updating cvillepedia with information from the Daily Progress from the past. I find this particular work soothing and constructive.

Of course, I am not alone. I have a cat who wants my attention and meows at me loudly. I am glad he is here as he is the avatar of one of my estranged children. Today I am at peace regarding their absence. I am alone because it's easier to keep my thoughts to myself if it's just me in my own company.

I would prefer that this were not the case, but I know the world is safer if I am not around people. I am convinced that I am one of the worst people in the world and it's better for me to just keep apart. 

This is not a plea for attention. It's a statement of fact. I am quite happy. 

Now, back to 1909. 

The pulsing: a definition slightly

I often wonder what other people with anxiety feel. How does it manifest? Mine usually hits when I relax and begin to feel okay. Voices kick in and remind me that I'm a horrible person. It's a voice I can't shake, in part because I've lived a life where other people manipulated this to get what they wanted. it's this last part that has me a recluse as I approach 50, completely and utterly unable to take joy from anything.

All I need is myself and being alive and the ability to think, and to find a way to live with that voice which I never have to believe. It's just there, squawking at me. Sometimes it gains control of my nervous system and floods my system with a pulsing sensation that I have to breathe through.

Ironically, writing can create these feelings, too. But writing can also push them away. The main obstacle is a voice that tells me no one cares, no one should care, and that I am a mistake who was never supposed to be here in the first place.

This is why I work all the time. There will be no joy in Tubbsville, as there is always another day to get up and write things quietly, once again posting this to "Only Me" after about a minute. It's better for me to be contained and away from people. I've always known that.

First few hours on the brand new keyboard

My keyboards take a lot abuse, and today I bought a new one for the main computer I use. I'm on that now. These sorts of things aren't discussed very often, or noted. But here I am, feeling the keys and wondering what I'll type on these new polite jackhammers. 

I'm watching Kids in the Hall on one of those new television apps that just shows the same shows on the same channel, an endless amount of nostalgia to dip into. I'm doing that while I'm trying to get some background work done. I didn't write a newsletter today. 

Well, that's not true. I did an installment of Fifth District Community Engagement.

It's a busy time. Too busy to finish blog posts.