The weekend started out pretty well but kind of fizzled after that. Some ladies came over on Friday and we had wine and cheese and everyone was sweet enough to bring gluten-free food, which was a nice surprise. That was the good part.
Eh, Saturday. Stephen didn’t sleep well, so yet another race we didn’t do. We had a lunch date, and our company said something that inadvertently pressed up against one of my sore spots.
Today has pretty much been a lie-around-and-wait-for-the-weekend-to-end kind of day.
Intellectually, I know that the day after my birthday I will wake up and not feel any different than the day before. I’ll go get a cup of coffee, head in to work, and go through the routine. But heading in I feel like I’m digging my heels into soft infield dirt the way I never could manage to when I actually played ball, sliding toward the edge of some precipice. Like if I can’t arrange things the way I want them before then I will be flung headfirst into a reality filled with all the ways I’ve disappointed myself and been disappointed by others, with no way out.
From this point it seems like I can keep fighting this nebulous dread of a worst-case future and allowing myself to be dragged through the dirt, or I can let go and lie low and just work on myself for a while, and see what’s (and who’s) around when the dust clears. The latter seems most likely and the most productive.