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This process of coming back to myself continues little by little. Some of it is still coming back slowly from school, from the years without friends or gardens. Some of it is coming back from being very busy at work previously. Some of it is coming back from the startup or transition mode of relationships where more energy gets directed into interpersonal shaping what will happen. Some of it is coming back from the shock of working with normative folks in an office now that I'm working from home a bunch. Some of it is coming back from office-only work as I start to rack up the field days. Some of it is... I don't know, there's a lot of coming back into myself. Some of it is coming back from the world of the internet and the place where folks try to fix issues with enough cruelty to the correct people, and where empathy can only be directed in approved channels.
I'm living in the garden. I don't want to leave it. I am captivated by all the day-to-day changes and comparisons and reactions it has for me. I have enough of it that I can't reach the end of my interest in the time I have: there are always so many things of interest to me. I come in to sleep and to work and sometimes to eat.
My connective feelings are waking up, and that's allowing me to connect to my own feelings too. Living in my emotions is a lot like settling into a papasan chair full of cushions and blankets. It's comfortable; it allows me rest and ease but if I need to get out to do something else for whatever reason it's a struggle. Whatever I was doing before felt like sitting in a high-backed hardwood dining chair: I could easily jump up into action but I could never relax or feel comfortable. I'm surprised at the amount I need to reassure myself that my feelings are ok. I'm not entirely sure where this struggle came from: they used to be such a welcome and integral part of me.
The idea of talking to people, to certain people and in certain circumstances, is starting to feel a little welcome to me. Just cautiously, just around the edges. I'd felt so left behind when the couple people I'd been depending on jumped into reopening and started getting their social nourishment from other people; at the same time I still didn't like or want any people other than those, I hadn't yet built back meaningful connections with my people. Now I can feel, at least, hope or desire for those connections. They'll take time but it'll come. And the thing is, a big part of me is really really loving people. It still feels like the pins and needles of blood coming back into a sleeping limb.
I'm playing with food, or at least with mostly drinks and sauces because it's hot: golden turmeric milk, ube milk, moroccan mint/green tea, champurrado, all sorts. It's a good start.
I'm living in the garden. I don't want to leave it. I am captivated by all the day-to-day changes and comparisons and reactions it has for me. I have enough of it that I can't reach the end of my interest in the time I have: there are always so many things of interest to me. I come in to sleep and to work and sometimes to eat.
My connective feelings are waking up, and that's allowing me to connect to my own feelings too. Living in my emotions is a lot like settling into a papasan chair full of cushions and blankets. It's comfortable; it allows me rest and ease but if I need to get out to do something else for whatever reason it's a struggle. Whatever I was doing before felt like sitting in a high-backed hardwood dining chair: I could easily jump up into action but I could never relax or feel comfortable. I'm surprised at the amount I need to reassure myself that my feelings are ok. I'm not entirely sure where this struggle came from: they used to be such a welcome and integral part of me.
The idea of talking to people, to certain people and in certain circumstances, is starting to feel a little welcome to me. Just cautiously, just around the edges. I'd felt so left behind when the couple people I'd been depending on jumped into reopening and started getting their social nourishment from other people; at the same time I still didn't like or want any people other than those, I hadn't yet built back meaningful connections with my people. Now I can feel, at least, hope or desire for those connections. They'll take time but it'll come. And the thing is, a big part of me is really really loving people. It still feels like the pins and needles of blood coming back into a sleeping limb.
I'm playing with food, or at least with mostly drinks and sauces because it's hot: golden turmeric milk, ube milk, moroccan mint/green tea, champurrado, all sorts. It's a good start.
