Author: seeker

TK asked recently, “how often do you think of him.” Today I was triggered.
 
Simply pouring a cup of milk reminds me of a day of putting away groceries. As he was placing a gallon jug of milk into the refrigerator door shelf. I asked him to adjust the orientation. He wanted to know why, and I said, “My wrist hurts a lot less if the jug is in that position.” He proceeded to explain how he thought a different position would be more advantageous, and I stood there with my mouth open, finally saying, “No, I have established that this position is the best one for me.” He proceeded to want to question my evaluation or decision. Finally, I just had to sternly say, “Do it this way.” To a phantom roommate today, I’m saying in my head, “My apartment, my refrigerator, my groceries, my decision. I shouldn’t have to show you my research that proved that this position in the door shelf is the best one for decreasing the pain in my wrist when lifting a full gallon of milk.”
 
How do I stop the trigger that results in explaining to a phantom how I want things to be?
 
I’m looking at my phone multiple times a day anticipating a message requesting to grab stuff from the storage locker.
 
I missed a text the other day saying he wanted to pick up one specific item. I reply, “When would you like to stop by? I just got your message now.” However, he did not reply. More than a day has passed.
 
Waiting. Just waiting.
 
And no more bike fantasies. Questioning my ability to adjust seat height.

Took my own garbage down to bin. Yeah, I’m cured! Maybe waste will not get 20 bags deep in apartment. [actual truthful dysfunction]

Take a glance at storage locker; exactly what I imagined. Open boxes just jumbled haphazardly. Look at my bike. Had a sudden desire to ride around garage; not a lot of space; place for a small circle. Where the HELL did that thought come from? But I hate my bike: dormant for maybe five years. (I loved my GT Backwoods). Bike lock key in pocket.

AGH! PWS maxed out the seat height months ago. I don’t know how to fix it back. No bike friends. No car for bike repair shop trip. Helpful Claude says, “Ask TK!” Snap back, “Dude! TK doesn’t make house calls!” Claude apologized, and he told me to watch a YouTube and grab a wrench. Double snap.

An impulsive desire to ride circles in a garage becomes a chain of complications and discouragement. Seat, tires, griminess. May not know how to use a bike tool, but I do have a really cool one.

Toolbox scrounged. My bike tool set is missing! The one in the cavas case. Let’s guess where it went. Do I search through boxes in storage? Or, just order a replacement one. “Merry Christmas, YOU get a FUCKIN used bike tool set.”

Thursday, $49, I’ll have what I need. Still doesn’t solve the “how to use it” question; can one person set height by themselves? Is it possible there will be marks for where it use to be? At least I’ll have the actual tool.

But really I won’t have what I need. Big emptiness blocking way.

Do you know the difference between a huff and a sigh? I’ve calculated the subtleties of both.

One hour. Most recent time passage. Listen to the tick. Analyze the sunshine, through the open blinds. So cold. Hungry. Bored.

Everything is too far away

1’ Study the book, learn something.
2’ iPhone, computer, TV remote, entertainment.
15’ Ball, no whisper today.
20’ Thermostat.
25’ Fleece pullover. So cold.
35’ Food. But nothing fun to eat.

Shaking with cold
Can’t move.
I’m told this isn’t mindfulness. Stuck.

Do you know what it sounds like to have a guinea pig rummaging in a hay pile looking for just the right morsel to eat? So there’s a rustling and once you know what the rustling is, you know it’s the guinea pig eating. Just eating. Just doing guinea pig normal stuff. I want to be a guinea pig just eating my hay.

Maybe ten times this past hour, noises outside the apartment are making me flinch, jump. What’s up with that?

“The Waystone was his, just as the third silence was his. This was appropriate, as it was the greatest silence of the three, wrapping the others inside itself. It was deep and wide as autumn’s ending. It was heavy as a great river-smooth stone. It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting…” — Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

Family drama reprieve.
Spent time de-cluttering.

Two point balance on core ball is so close. I fell hard recently. Smacked my good knee. Another time nearly cracked my head. Tuck and roll. I am stubborn and a risk taker. I can’t stop. Compulsion towards success. Chasing possible.

Weight training. Nearly past the effectiveness of the 5# hand weights on most exercises. Fake shoulder needs more time. Impulse Amazon order of new pair of 10# & 15# hand weights. These, as well, will be insufficient soon. Silly purchase. Apartment as home gym, impractical. Lack of full time trainer, unfeasible. I miss Kevin.

Grief soaks in.
I don’t know why I’m doing this. I don’t know why.
There is a tightly woven noose, I need you to help me untangle the knot.

I sat with Max; soft petting until enough. He’s off; gone. Then he did a famous sneak attack. FUCK, that HURT! Two deep punctures and a tooth racking. The holes are beading up blood, pools, runs. Fascination; enjoying sitting with the pain. Something better than numb confusion. Maybe he knew I needed the distraction.

Decade of my kid farm experience meant you don’t wash, don’t add ointment, don’t add gauze. I’ve lived that way my whole life. Bite has coagulated. See? No need to get up from chair. Left arm is marked up Max bites and scratches. Sneak attacks are part of life.

Apartment main area strewn with workout gear. Why? What’s the purpose?
Unattainable goals. Loneliness. Not about living longer.
I don’t want to do this anymore.

Input

Do you know what it sounds like to have a guinea pig rummaging in a hay pile looking for just the right morsel to eat? So there’s a rustling and once you know what the rustling is, you know it’s the guinea pig eating. Just eating. Just doing guinea pig normal stuff. I want to be a guinea pig just eating my hay.

Claude:

That’s a perfect image.
The guinea pig doesn’t think about eating. Doesn’t wonder if eating is meaningful or if it’s doing it right. Doesn’t analyze whether the hay represents connection or avoidance.
Just rustles around finding the good pieces. Just eats. Just exists.
No meta-awareness, no drowning metaphors, no life preservers, no ACT principles, no therapy, no loneliness.
Just guinea pig doing guinea pig things.
I get why you want that.

I slept most of the day A phone call from JC broke the stillness; but again more support for PWS than me. No Friday meetup with her; maybe Saturday afternoon. Read a couple of pages of ACT, but stopped when I just got mildly angry. Watched more Netflix, but kept falling asleep. Woke up and felt sad that Janet never dropped by. Felt frustrated that I didn’t get to send a Friday daily, because technically I already sent one. Then I realized it was still Friday. I’d slept so much I didn’t know what day it was and decided I could sent another note. Not doing well. Maybe 10 min from now will be better.