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the progress of process

November 27, 2012

I ended up not doing Nanowrimo this year. I do have ideas swirling around in my mind, but they’re not ready to be written about.

I’d planned to go to the library yesterday to return a bag of books. Since my car wouldn’t start, I stayed home. It probably needs a new battery.

Spouse has a milestone birthday this week. He does not like making a fuss over getting year older (like I do). This weekend we hope to go somewhere, though, and enjoy spending time together.

It really feels like November lately. It’s been cold. Today it’s rained all day.

It seems like my studio ought to feel lonelier, now that I’m aware, when I enter it late at night, that the light is not waking anyone up. But it doesn’t. The room is really cold though. So even though I have lots of ideas for creative projects, I haven’t been in there much. Once the weather turns cold, I’m pretty much too cold every minute I’m awake. Today I’m wrapped in an impromptu flannel skirt, but my legs are still freezing. My  t-shirt and sweater are not sufficient to keep me from shivering. So Spouse’s forest green wool blanket helps, even as it excludes me from an Amelia wyxzi.

The Gang of Four were still part of my household 16 days ago, but it feels like it’s been months. I feel disturbed and unsettled by how little my life has changed without them around. It feels horribly disloyal, but I don’t miss them at all. In contrast, when I let go of my 2 stuffed animals last summer, I felt like I’d made a terrible mistake for the first 6 months. It was almost a year before I got my equilibrium back. So I expected this to be a rougher transition than it has been.

Many of my potager plants on the balcony are still alive, to my surprise, but I don’t know how much longer they can hold on. I emotionally disengaged from them three or four weeks ago.

It feels really strange to not talk to a plant or plants I’m living with. To know I’m in the apartment quite alone five days out of seven.

I’ve been having really odd dreams lately. Last night I dreamed I was back in Chicagoland, where I met people from The Pervocracy and Captain Awkward blogs. They didn’t like me very much. One of them walked away from a conversation with me midsentence. In a different dream, First Boyfriend met Spouse and Spouse’s friend. I was nervous about how they would get along, and babbled something about how they would probably enjoy talking philosophy together. In waking life, First Boyfriend has been dead for years; he and Spouse never met. They definitely would not have liked each other, and philosophy is probably not a topic that would’ve come up.

I’ve stopped reading a bunch of blogs. And I don’t have replacements.

My lack of companions has me turning inward. My conscious mind resists doing so, but the rest of me seems to know something that my conscious mind doesn’t. I feel like I’ve been stumbling in the dark, and now I’ve found myself at the edge of a mine shaft. I fear falling in, and not being able to escape. My conscious mind is scared to death, perhaps literally, now that I think about it. That is, I don’t think I’m going to literally die. But I do think my conscious mind is undergoing a sea change of some sort, so it probably feels like death.

I’ve had a migraine for parts of three days. I feel dull and stupid. (And cold, of course.)

Intellectually I know that I have to first do things differently. They will only make sense afterwards. Still, I resist doing them. I want to understand first. I want something to make sense. But nothing does.

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