Ice, Ice Baby


And not the diamonds.

No.

Just the ice.

Actually, let me upgrade.

Ice, ice, peas.

Peas.

Tanks.

Fuck me man.

I am over this.

I am over it and than some.

I am just tired, is what it is.  Worn out.  Sacked out.  Beat down.

And it’s just Monday.

Eek.

I will get through, I am sure I will, but I was tired so quickly today and my ankle was much sorer than I thought it would be, is that grammatically correct, sorer?

What ever it is, it, said ankle was really tender today and all the muscles around it were in protest too, like hey, ankle, snap out of it, we be tired of carrying the brunt of the weight, get on some support.

By the end of the day I just felt like it had all been sucked right out.

And it was a lovely day with the boys, they were sweet as pie, it was great to see them, they were super lovey and I got lots of hugs and even a little down time with naps.

Not as much as I could have used, but I snatched thirty minutes of down time with a moment to put up the foot and chill.

I began to wonder if I was coming down with something, my energy just way low.

And a friend shared his experience around a broken leg and it was an aha moment for me.

He said that it was almost harder when it started to heal because he realized how weak he had become.

That is what I feel like, weak.

And I have felt weak and vulnerable for weeks now, and it just makes me tired.  I have been showing up for work and showing up for commitments and trying to go, go, go, and not like my normal pace, but just a little bit, and I can’t seem to muster it.

I know this will pass and in that there is the relief.

Today just felt interminable.

But it is a feeling and they pass, just like the days pass, time passes, the world moves on and before I can blink I will be onto something else, some other adventure to ruminate on, some other part of myself or my body or being to “improve” something to learn and grow around.

Part of the exhaustion, I must admit, seemed mental too.

I have been thinking about a story piece and working on it and the performance is tomorrow and I just could not wrap my head around practicing more for it, writing more on it, then going and doing it tomorrow after I got done with work, commuting on more public transportation down to the Mission/SOMA border, being there, then commuting back to the beach.

I really wanted to cry when I thought about it.

I had the piece on my mind all day long and wrote and rewrote it in my head and thought about re-visiting old blogs to get inspiration and it all just seemed like too much work.

I might be trying to go to fast here, the intuitive thought, perhaps next month, perhaps not tomorrow.

And.

Maybe just pause and wait until tomorrow and see how you feel.

Maybe I will feel amazing and excited and want to go perform and even if it’s just to be bad, since I have not had a lot of practice telling it, just mostly the writing of it, because bad is better than not at all.

I kept admonishing myself, just show up, that’s half the battle.

That’s where most of the work is for me.

Just showing up.

Sitting down in front of my laptop and opening up the blog page and just letting the words roll down the page like alphabet rain.

I know that part of this too is that I don’t want to disappoint someone who has made the suggestion to me to go and have this experience.  I take all her suggestions, or almost all, I am realizing, if there’s one or two I haven’t taken it’s rare.

This would be me not taking the suggestion, show up and be horrible and have fun with it.

I took the other suggestions she gave me over the weekend about getting a little notebook to jot down creative ideas, I usually carry something with me anyhow, but I picked up a special little guy just for more writing down of the stuffs.

I like the idea of being bad, well, sort of, I really want to show up and be perfect, but I know that’s not possible and the stress of being perfect is not worth the effort, I am too tired for it.

I like the idea of being of service.

“That’s what creatives are, they are being of service by putting their art into the world,” she told me Saturday.  “You are of service to the audience, it’s not about you.  What can you bring to the performance?”

My tired ass self.

I did give her a call today after I got done with work and just expressed how I was struggling with it, not so much the writing, I got that down, at least the bones and musculature, it needs a little fleshing out, but I could extemporarize it quite well, I believe; but the idea of just getting there.

That’s what was exhausting.

And it made me long for my bicycle and that bums me out, not being on my bike, really just bums me the fuck out.

I miss it so bad.

I miss the feeling of being free on the road and the wind on my face and my legs moving underneath me without pain, just moving, like pistons, clocking the distance down Lincoln or through the park.

Exercise is important to me too because it helps stave off that low-level depression that can sneak up on me when I am not as active and that could be some of this too, tiny bit of depression, woven in with a smidgen of self-pity, some physical discomfort and pain, and voila.

Perfect cocktail of “tired the fuck out.”

I will wait for tomorrow to make my final verdict.

Tomorrow is another day.

Tonight is for tea and rest.

And iced peas.

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