They call it 'brain fog' and I thought it's just because I sleep too much or don't go out much, but turns out that your brain does it when there's something you avoid doing in your to-do list that's weighing on you, or when there's something heavy on our heart which we're pretending is not there. Brain fog, heart fog, procrastination fog; all the same. Good to remember.
Solutions: Do that thing; confront that emotion; and, at any case, always, do half an hour of exercise. That, they say in the guide I found, always works. I believe them.
I dreamt about Meegy again.I don't think he knows how much he means to me. I don't think I knew, either, locked as those feelings were when we fell apart years ago. I put it in a box and it was a niggle I could ignore, but when I sleep my brain springs it out on me; there's a battle, or a LARP, there's many people I don't trust or enjoy, and there's Meegy and because my brain is subtle that way, Meegy is glowing bright white, as if lit by moonlight. Thank you, brain. Such finness.
So I wrote three resolutions for today:
- Finish that gnome commission which I committed to finish last Saturday
- Work for one hour only on that Scarlet commission (it's how you do stuff you don't feel like doing; you limit the time you have to spend on it. The hardest thing to do, says my teacher, is to generate motion; take the first step, only one, and that's progress).
- Write that bloody emotion letter and confront that sadness, dammit, and just the thought of that scares me. I thought I'd go and look at pictures of Xhusband, and the thought made my chest feel as if it's imploding. Oh, it's there. How could I have pretended it's not? I'm so scared.
Sleeping for only ten hours felt like progress. Woke up, determined to fulfill my obligations; had a missed call from daddy so called him. Oh, my. Oh, this was. The best thing in months. The best. So best I want to highlight it in animated Geocities pink.
Daddy is seventy five. He's obese, and a lonely widower for the past 13 years, and a soldier with some stuff that should really have given him PTSD but didn't. Daddy is also the most passionate person I have ever met, and he just got a streamer and youtubed his favourite music to his huge screen TV, and when I called him he was simply high, tripping without chemicals, exploding with excitement and passion. 'I can't stop dancing!' he yelled, Yanni exploding in the background. 'WOW! WOW!!' and we spoke for an hour, during which he melts, and laughs, and bursts out with exclamations when Vivaldi starts, and I can hear him moving, erratically as my daddy always does, obese or not; he's been at it for an hour before, at it for an hour more as we spoke and I listened to him, knowing well that nobody in the world understands the way he feels the way I do, that nobody in the world knows how I feel the way he does; when I get up and dance because I can't help it, as if it's some primal spell, I've been doing it all my life; and so has he, only for years he didn't feel like it; but now, with the music visualized on the screen, he does. He was utterly high; it was... the best. The best.
We hang up and I discovered that during that phone call I'd done the dishes, cleaned the kitchen, made tea, prepared two hookahs, cleaned the hookah paraphernalia, swept the floor and made the bed. I was also crying half the time, because joyed as I am to hear him this way, Ed removed my wall with that one sentence of hers and I know I'm sad, so deeply sad, and it's weird to be so awed and happy to hear daddy like this while simultaneously feeling like there's a pit of tears inside my chest. Now everything is ready; I'll finish the gnome picture; I'll work for an hour on the Scarlet commission; and then I'll sit and write that sadness, and maybe look at pictures of Xhusband - gods, that's so scary, I'm so scared - and perhaps manage to clear the fog from my mind.