A note from myself to myself on a morning when I feel like I’ve hoped to feel

Grey skies, certainly, but only outside – and, though I know that this sensation (or lack thereof) is one brought on in pill form, this is how I’ve hoped to feel: neither elated nor numb, just here, doing my thing. Able to concentrate, to focus, truly, for the first time in years.

But I also know that, thanks to insurance, this is could – and probably will – change. Perhaps irrevocably but perhaps not, perhaps for the better, perhaps otherwise.

But I’m prepared for it. No choice, really.

Writing this Informality, then, as a way to remind myself that I am capable of getting here, to this space where I don’t feel guilt for doing what I love and where, even though I have no clue where this story is going and have only an opening line ahead of a self-inflicted deadline less than two weeks away, I am, nonetheless, enjoying myself for the first time in years: I have no imagined fictions and caricatures of past and future perturbations screaming at me with every word I think, with every word I type – or, if they are there, they’re nonetheless quieted to the point that I can simply be and do. My blood sugar is normal for the first time in over a year and my nerves over the afternoon’s interview are settled: I’m ready to listen, I’m ready to learn.

Writing this to myself as a record of when I reached a point where I was ok with being myself, a record what it, this wonderful quiet, felt like. I’ve gotten to this space once now, breaking through the illusions of my mind’s perceived notions; I can do it again – I can make it the regular, default baseline rather than a joyous exception.

Totally off the subject, but I started replaying CRIMSON SKIES (thanks GamePass) last night and that game is still fun – and beautiful – as hell. A remaster/remake would be most welcome.

Listening: OCEAN SONGS (REMASTERED), by Dirty Three.

Tyler W. Weaver @twweaver