I sit in a malaise as grey as this mesh-backed chair. There are words on the wall:
-Who is working on it?
Communicate with everyone. Outcome focused.
When I read them I feel a memory from last week when I drank a full pot of yerba mate and felt compelled to write on my wall.
Pema Chodron would say that it is important to sit with these grey feelings. Feelings need space. Anxiety needs space. But I want movement. Fast, rigid movements. I want to brush my teeth, eat a bag of sour skittles, and watch a TV series while surfing the web, but mostly I want to fill a cup with ice, and bourbon, and tonic, and I want to drink it until I feel well enough to send an insensitive text message.
Life comes together and falls apart. Constantly. It’s inescapable. I think I’ll put on a pot of tea.