Day 281–Whirlpool

Making Sense of a Feeling

I had a slightly rough morning.  I woke up a little late, around 7:15am—and last night, for some reason, I couldn’t fall asleep until after 2am.  My eyes, as I sit at my work station, are a smidge bloodshot, swollen and itchy—the type of swollen where a few more hours of sleep is most likely the only remedy.  I’ll consume a few cups of generic coffee, which should provide enough energy to trudge through the first day of the work week.  I’ll avoid my colleagues until I overcome the denial that a long weekend has concluded—and a long work week has begun. It’s unusually quiet in my work-space, with the exception of the Classical New Age Piano station I often play on Pandora …to me, the piano is peaceful and thought provoking.  As I listen, my imagination depicts sheets of paper that display, not musical notes, but an organized cluster of thoughts, feelings, words and emotions that I must put on paper.  I must put them on paper now—or they may become lost in the random corridors and pathways within the mind.  The last thing I want or need are the spurts of anxiety that may ensue due to unexpressed feelings that aimlessly travel my thought process with no true destination…becoming pent up only to become unconfined through a rapid heart-rate and shortness of breath.

I suppose I have a lot on my mind—thoughts are swirling around, kind of like how I envision a whirlpool spinning and spinning.  If you look closely at this whirlpool you can see me, just a little spec, treading relentlessly—I’m exhausted, but my head is still above water.  I feel that way from time to time. I work so hard on a daily basis just to keep my head above water–to make it to land, so I can turn around and say “fuck you” to the whirlpool.  A whirlpool that I am subjected to less frequently without alcohol in my life.  A whirlpool that once symbolized a fast paced downward spiral—a story that was destined to end catastrophically, but is now in the process of being heavily revised.  A story where a sad ending was once inevitable—but now has the potential of generating tears of joy and pride throughout the audience as the credits roll.

Reasons Behind a Feeling

Lila and I had a wonderful weekend together—and yesterday I dropped her off to her mother.  After being with her for a few days, I am always a bit down when I wake up alone in our room.  I get used to a little voice saying “daddy, daddy—wake up.”  I get used to making her breakfast—usually an egg, bacon, a waffle and a side of fruit.  Lately, she has been asking for a second helping of bacon.  I suspect she is hitting a growth spurt.  I get used to her footsteps running across the floor, her giggle and the way she loves drawing pictures.  I get used to walking through downtown San Jose, holding her hand and talking about our day. I get used to the “Daddy, what is this? Daddy, what is that?  Daddy, how do I spell this?  Daddy, can you buy me that? Daddy, Daddy, Daddy?” I get used to the beautiful noise of a child…my child.  It is so quiet when she is gone and the fridge is a bit empty…the apartment is too clean.  When she is gone, I just wish she were here, and that is the honest truth.  I’m not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, in fact, I am quite imperfect—but I am better when Lila is by my side.

On day 281, I need to find happiness within myself—I need to better utilize the time when Lila is with her mother.  I need to get some sleep tonight—and wake up on the right side of the bed on day 282.

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