Waking up feeling like a dump truck was a familiar feeling.
This morning was not pretty. It was one of the worst I remember...
I woke up in tears.
Immediately I thought of her. She was everything the previous night.
Everything.
Then I looked at the weird scribblings - or what I called a drawing of her.
I had sent them to her on the Line App.
It was pointless.
I know that she wouldn't like it. It looked creepy.
*Unsend *Unsend
Crumpled old pimple-inducing blankets all around me. Smelling, not badly but enough.
Here I lie, stale and isolated.
Feelings can be overcome, but then what next? What does one do?
Lolling around in bed, I'm scrolling through the YouTube, and the IG.
I saw stuff on Trump, things on the future that scare me.
But what does one do with these feelings? All the pain?
It's clear they're there for a reason.
Pain is there for a reason. It's not some weird made-up shenanigan.
But WHAT DOES ONE DO!?!?!?!?!?
If you're like me, you think too much.
You're wondering why Christmas was spent alone again.
In fact, it was too much to write about. So yesterday I said nothing on this blog.
Then I go to the bathroom and high five myself.
"Don't get stuck in your own vortex."
"Get up."
"Clean your room."
"Get into the sensory realm.
Out of thoughts and feelings.
Remember that your mother won't be here forever.
Make a sincere effort to do her memory justice, before it's a memory.
This is how we honor those who are still alive.
Do things that they would do: In my mother's case:
It's bringing order to the physical world.
Your surroundings matter.
The people around you matter.
Sometimes we forget this. . .
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