I don’t want to write this right now

I don’t want to write today. I didn’t want to write yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that. That’s why this piece is going up late.

I didn’t want to get out of bed this morning, or the day before. I didn’t want to go to work at the job that I love.

I didn’t want to eat today. I don’t feel hungry lately. I think the amount of cigarettes I’ve been smoking has affected my appetite. The thought of eating made me feel uneasy — even if going to get food meant that I got to go to the little café that I love. Even if it meant I’d get to order my food in french, something I draw pleasure from after learning the language for most of my life. Even if their grilled cheese is fucking tasty.

I don’t want to do anything tonight. I miss my friends. I haven’t been able to make plans with them regularly, and I know that some of them feel like our friendship is on hiatus. But, I don’t have the energy to take the train to see them. I certainly don’t have the energy to make sure my home is in order to have them come over.

I showered today, that was a win. It had certainly been a day or two since the last time. I don’t like being alone with my thoughts long enough to shower when I feel this way. I dread being away from distractions, like the 5th season of Friends and the texts from the people I’ve had flirtations with.

I don’t want to take out the garbage tonight; but, I didn’t last week. I forgot, I guess. I’ll have to force myself to do that tonight. That feels like it will take a lot of energy. Maybe that will be my plan tonight.

“What are you doing this evening, Eden?”

“Taking out the trash.”

That seems silly. I should make dinner. But that seems like it will take a lot out of me too. Maybe I’ll just eat an entire can of whipped cream like I did last night while staring at the ceiling. That seems easier. Dairy is great.

Last week I didn’t want to do anything either, but I did. I went to work and put on a happy mask. I went to my board meetings and stared blankly as I tried to pay attention. I hung out with friends and tried to ignore the fact that I simply wanted to be in bed. I practiced my set, and I worked on my projects.

Usually, making art makes me feel better. So, yesterday I tried doing some lettering and I came up with this:

Last time I felt this way, I came up with this:

The world does not need these things. I make them in an effort to make myself laugh. They do, but it’s temporary. It takes about 15 minutes for me to feel crappy again. I’m not good enough to do the things I want to be doing, and even if I am, I don’t have the energy.

I can sleep for 8–10 hours, or I can sleep for 3, and I feel essentially the same. There isn’t one thing in particular that’s wrong. There’s many, and I don’t want to talk about any of them. Even as a person who writes about talking about feelings, I hate talking about my feelings. I get scared that I’m whining and I have a very hard time talking about them in a non-abstract way.

So, I won’t. I’m not going to write about feelings today. The moment I’m done work, I’m going to go to bed. Tomorrow, maybe things will be different.

Today, I’ll keep trying. Tonight, I’ll take out the trash, I guess. I doubt I’ll feel any better today, but maybe if I eat two cans of whipped cream it’ll be okay.

Smell you later.