Sunday In The City With Brain Fog

I promised myself I would start somewhere. “Just begin the damn thing,” I’ve told myself.

I’ve been paralyzed by inaction for a while. Sure—I can blame this on my condition, but I think there’s more to it. I’m considering that my ability to work might be hindered by some personal project that I have yet to complete.

I’m convinced that the only real path to restarting my life will begin with speaking some truth. It feels like something needs to come out before I can do anything else. I require a personal/spiritual/psychological purge. (That sounds gross.) A “cleanse?” (That term is also just…ugh. Nope.)

Forget about the terms. It’s a bad joke anyway.

Ok. I’m going to ramble because I have to get on with it.

Trying to find my place in the world (as ever, and once again) where I am now definitely is not it. I am sitting in a Pain Quotidien at 5 pm on a damn Sunday, sandwiched far too closely between two talkative couples: one hardly pretending to enjoy a truly painfully banal date, the other holding an ESL tutoring session. The student breathing down my neck is clearly sick, coughing and sneezing all over the place, right next to my food (which, naturally, is driving me nuts). This dude’s teacher has seized the opportunity to impart all of the appropriate English phrases for his condition (e.g. “I have a runny nose,” “I have a sore throat,” “things are coming out of my nose,” etc.)

It is disgusting.

Sigh…gluten-free avocado tartine, I weep for thee.

I also sort of weep for myself (more like want to smack myself) because I’ve just written such a terrible sentence. But alas, I can’t help it; I love writing and saying ridiculous things. We’re all seizing opportunities here.

Seeing as I have no immune system, I can appreciate the irony here…but can’t stand this situation at all.

Why’d I even go out?

It amazes me that people wonder why I’m not-so-secretly loathe to go anywhere anymore…at least to anyplace where I’ll be too close to other humans.

Oddly: public rallies for important social causes are excluded from this loathing. If I can stay awake and upright long enough for those, I go. Always. (Great! I’m doing great things…!)

Ok, I’ve changed tables. What was I going to talk about?

I guess this is the part where I explain this eccentricity. I have to admit that doing so seems strange and altogether unnatural for me, since I’ve (mercifully) come to the point of feeling that anyone who thinks I owe them an explanation of my life can. fuck. off.

My mother doesn’t like when I use the F word. I don’t know why—it’s an excellent word.

I digress again. Ok. The goal was to tell you why I’m writing this and why you’re reading it.

Whatever. I’ll do it later.

Time to pause on this whole thing because I’m boring myself and finished my food like 10 minutes ago. I know I won’t remember having written this and will wake up tomorrow with the same nagging itch to just start something already.

I’m a chronically ill insomniac, so what else can I say other than: here’s hoping I’ll be more equipped to conquer everything after a good night’s sleep.