Gift Reserved

Had to cut short my run this morning because of my damn heel. I’m doing everything right–icing, rest, gel inserts–but I have to run, goddammit, and what’s the point of doing everything I should if it doesn’t work? My body is not doing any favors by trying to cut me off from the one thing I like doing at the moment.

It’s true I’m in somewhat of a deep funk. I need the endorphin hit from running to keep the rest of me stable, and my dissatisfaction and frustration are starting to gouge under my skin instead of just scratching lightly.

It also seems to be a year for people who stabbed me in the past to believe they’re entitled to some sort of forgiveness or just another shot at the whole deal. It never ends the way they want. I have become somewhat unforgiving–no, that’s not true. I’ll forgive, certainly, in my own time and for my own reasons.

But I don’t ever forget. I can be gracious and even polite. But I’m not going to be open or trusting. That’s a gift reserved.

I suppose some of my ill temper has to do with the weather, too. There hasn’t been rain for a good week or so, and I’m tetchy. It would be nice if I could run, for once, and work everything out inside my head. As it is, I’m stuck with tiny glimpses of peace that only serve to underscore how the rest of me feels.

My reading material lately–serial killers and police procedurals–probably haven’t helped either. I’m also working my way through The Eagle Unbowed, and I have to say I don’t blame Poland for being intransigent at any point. They had absolute and utter reason to be, and I’m cold all over reading history that will almost certainly repeat itself.

In short, all sorts of things seem to be unraveling. Hopefully, come Samhain, the “sleave of care” can be knitted up afresh; we just have to get there.

I’m not even enjoying writing all that much at the moment. Oh, I don’t stop, of course–nothing short of death will halt my scribbling, and perhaps not even that. But now it’s more like scratching at a mosquito bite than usual, I scrub until I get a trickle of blood and then can rest, semi-satisfied. I’ve been pushing myself at a murderous pace for a long while.

Writing is a need instead of a want, especially when I’m edgy and dissatisfied.

Anyway, I’ve RJD2 playing and the world outside my office is hideously bright. The giant yellow Elder God is burning in the sky, and its hissing almost makes me nauseous. I suppose I should swallow more coffee, wash away the sweat from my aborted run, and get to work.

It won’t satisfy, but at least it’ll fill the time until I can call it a day and crawl back into bed. Probably shouldn’t have left this morning, but then, that’s true of all Mondays, isn’t it.

Let’s endure the day together, my friends. I’ll hang on if you will.

Oh, and today is the last day to enter the October Valentine Test Giveaway. At least the prospect of giving presents cheers me up.