recent april post on cronopio.se
Nödbulletin: This is a cry for help. I can not even shave myself, but some mental preparation. The home is like a snitslad path to be navigated in a certain way. Okay, it is now more or less of the spine what can be touched and not (or at least not without washing hands afterward), but it is still significant, with the force, including exercise, it will take.
I realize now that, despite the economic necessity, could not do the job full time. That would be an uphill battle not unlike that of many roller-coasters, before the fall precipice right down. After some stabilization, and then it's not as hard the second time. But of course this is a rather choppy metaphor. Yet it is in metaphors I understand that I am doing my best understood. It is sometimes funny and sometimes it's boring, but it is always true.
As I procrastinate: Wash up, take out the trash, wash, buy a new washing, vacuuming, mopping the floor. Fold the laundry? Rarely. Iron? Forget it.
Between The closet in my apartment is infected. Dirty. It has been so since I put the laundry basket that first time and then dumped my underwear there when they become ... unclean. I can not even take the handle to the closet door without having to wash your hands afterwards. To say nothing of the absurd and inconsistent chain of thought associations my brain created over the years to protect me.
This is still just a small selection. If I wrote down everything, really everything, there would be a thick book and I would be exhausted. More than I already am.
There are bright spots. They are: Music. Walking. Some people who understand and respond, and care about.
Unfortunately, none of this save me from eventually end up on the hill. Care will not pay the bills. Still, I feel calm most of the time. Others suffer for me. It is not fair, but nothing I can do something about. I wish I could. As I desire it.
Not ungrateful and humble. Above all, humble. That's my guiding light, as I want to be.
