Work is a salve in a time of crisis, distress, loss and mishap.
I like my dishwashing job no more than I did yesterday and no less than I shall tomorrow, which is to say I like it not at all. However, I welcomed the unending stream of work and tasks that it is on this particular day when my home imploded, officially before my eyes and despite my very best and sincere endeavors toward prevention in the form of positive solutions.
If idle hands are the devil’s playground, then Lucifer was certainly nowhere in the vicinity of me at the job today. As mindless and mind-numbingly dulling the job is, I was grateful for the mountains of plates, pots, pans, flatware, etc. etc. and etc. Depression is a frequent visitor and the busyness of my job kept him from barging through the door and overtaking my psyche, as he is wont to do and extraordinarily capable of doing.
Though I’ll never disclose publicly what transpired at home that led to its rapid deterioration and subsequent unplanned and unanticipated move, I am processing it. My intuition, quite solid as it is, is further strengthened by the collapse, in part because it was foretold to me in a dream (nightmare, actually).
At the time, I’d held out for it being “but an extraordinarily horrible dream;” my deeper/higher self knew otherwise, a truth brought to bear in the light of events and unfoldings.
Expressing with broad strokes exclusive of details is a somewhat foreign practice yet necessary under the circumstances. Nonetheless, it does not diminish or obscure the heaviness on my heart and sadness in my soul.
Today I began looking about for residence number 6, on my 7th-month (plus a day) anniversary of arrival in Denver.
Oh the sentimental fucked-up twisted irony.
I want to cry but have not been able to as yet. I wish for time to just pull the tears forth for cleansings. It’s not healthy to internalize and hold this heavy distress inside.
I’ve had a full day. I’m tired. I’m calling it a night. Sweet dreams to all.