Spent most of last night staring into the darkness and listening to the radio inside my head. After finally dropping off, I surfaced somewhat blearily with Kehlani’s Gangsta on repeat inside my skull. I’m still whistling it softly as I type.
I’m sure there are people who don’t have music constantly playing in the halls of their grey matter. I’m told there are people who shut their eyes and have nothing but blessed silence. I can barely imagine what that must be like–my own head always has a tune playing somewhere, not to mention a hamster wheel constantly revolving with story ideas, plot tangles, and story architecture. The third thing perpetually grinding in there is a low-grade hum of worry, speculation, weird facts, funny things, and a stream of self-talk both vicious and amused, all underlaid with constant hypervigilance.
It’s a wonder I get any rest at all, frankly.
I’m waiting for one last distribution platform to propagate the price drop for February’s sale; I can’t blame anyone for it not being ready since I basically decided what I was going to do at the last minute. It still adds to the discombobulated feeling. I’m never quite inside myself during morning hours. Every bit of me cries out to go back to bed; given my druthers, I’d be up from about 2pm to 1am, spend an hour or so winding down, then sleep the rest of the time. Unfortunately, the dogs have their schedule and I must keep to it. Years of two toddlers being Morning People and then their attending school during hours most convenient for daywalkers have left their mark. I always wonder how much more I could get done if I wasn’t continuously fighting my body’s natural sleep-wake cycle.
And today is Imbolc, so there’s a tonne of cooking to be done. The bread dough wants attending, and I should play around with making Instagram graphics. (Like this one.) Ideally I’ll get a system down for book ads and the like, since I’m supposed to be using Insta more. I had left because the platform was “liking” posts for me–unethical, as well as nerve-wracking. I don’t hit like or favorite buttons anywhere because it sends me into an anxiety spiral; the instant I touch it, I start thinking someone will be upset because I fave’d one thing and not another, and it gnaws at me until I want to burn down my accounts and leave every form of social media forever.
It’s just not worth the wear and tear on my nerves. I’m sure the algorithm hates me, but that’s fine. The gods know I give it enough food elsewhere.
Oh! On a more pleasant (hopefully) note, I have the first Tea with Lili up. I’m still playing with format and the like, and I dislike all the filler noises I use. It’s all a skill, and learning will be pleasant once I get into my groove. I should do up a list of subjects for teatimes; it’s always better to have structure about so one can depart from it at will.
The dogs are most eager for the day’s ramble, the bread starter is ready to be turned into dough, there are things to roast for soup later in the day, and I should really think about breakfast. The coffee is beginning to soak in, and that’s a mercy. The light is returning; I thought winter would never end, since time has become both elastic and immobile during the plague.
Tuesday beckons. Keep your limbs (and head) inside the gondola, folks, and try not to make eye contact since weekdays often interpret it as a sign of aggression.
See you on the other side…