I have about seven and a half hours until the Bolognese sauce is done and then I'll serve it over linguini.
The other day I was quite sad about a lot of things and filled with despair. I spoke with a friend and she was even worse. Many people died in flooding that sprung up swiftly without warning.
There is much to say, but often doing something is preferable. I hung up with her at around 4 p.m. and did so because I needed to get to the library to get the book I wanted to get. I read an excerpt after I had the chance to do so and there was a reference to cognitive behavioral therapy. I have used CBT to help control my emotions and steer them. I know it's possible.
When I was at the library, I also got a cookbook for the slow cooker. I have gotten away from cooking, and I remembered how learning to use the cooker last year helped me occupy my mind when I was aware of the possibility of sudden waves that are unforeseen.
My hands smell of garlic for the recipe called for seven cloves, minced. My mind sometimes struggles to continue on a narrative I've allowed myself to write, not knowing who would ever see these words. Some of you read, but only a handful, and I get confused. Is it important for me to tell you about the garlic?
I'm writing this because I need to get a lot of writing done but I have thoughts I want to get out of my head. I'm a person who has been alone for most of his life, even when together with someone. I don't remember those times much anymore except as a warning of sorts.
I'm listening to Of Montreal's first album for the first time and I'm typing these words as I explore this and marvel at how much music helps feel me connected to humanity. I believe many people don't think that they are connected. I don't always. I feel abnormal and strange and in my remaining days I want to challenge that and push myself to throw off a lot of the fears holding me back.
"Holding you back from what?" asks a corner of my mind before circling away.
A good question. I took a big leap of faith five years ago to do the work I do, work that requires me to be somewhat aloof and isolated. A poker face must be worn at all times, and I must keep to myself to avoid anyone finding out what I think.
Because what I think changes as I let ideas wash through me, and I write to myself to stay anchored to the timeline. I make sense to myself and that's enough. And now I will go and get to work trying to explain things in a way that will get people to feel connected to what I see.
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