Joy (cithra) wrote,

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Flush with victory from my box-packing yesterday morning, I failed to get any more packing done yesterday, and now I'm feeling stressed. Movers coming at 10 tomorrow, plus work today doesn't leave a whole lot of time to get the rest of my crap gathered up. Aargh. I haven't had a procrastination attack like this in a long time - I'm feeling quite the irresponsible fuck-up...

[Maybe it's like that healer on Star Trek who took the wounds onto her body then healed them. If that's the case I don't mind so much. Just need to get moving and 'heal' myself, now that I've helped suck the poison out of the other person's wounds.]

I certainly enjoyed the company I was keeping - no regrets there. It was the attack of self-castigation whilst waiting for the bus home I could do without. Those are rare enough these days that I caught myself off-guard.

[side note - amazing how much longer my coffee stays warm if I heat the mug before pouring. The benefits of washing the dish just prior to using it...]

Fortunately sleep - even only four hours or so - is a tonic, and I feel better this morning. The packing stress is something I can examine, cut loose and discard by logic (not having a time machine) much more easily than I can dodge pointed self-accusations about the (in)advisability of certain feeling-sets.

Ben and I were discussing metaphors - the heart as a city, for example. When a relationship goes sour, it's like the neighborhood going bad... Some neighborhoods you can revisit, even if you never want to live there again - some are burnt-out, blackened wastelands that you avoid; you've got your red-light district and your upscale parts of town, and so on. I like it, and it works pretty well - though I'll let him elaborate any further. It doesn't exactly fit me, though at the time I couldn't come up with a better one.

This morning I think my heart is more like a herd of cats, or several really rambunctious small-to-medium-sized dogs. I have to work to corral it, to keep it on track - it wants to wander off and get into things it shouldn't. You can tell it "no" fifty times in an hour and it will do its level best not to listen. It follows its nature; it makes the same mistakes again and again. It refuses to stop chewing on that one old pair of slippers that I've taken away from it, even though it has plenty of other chew toys - even though I need the slippers for wearing, it thinks those particular slippers are for chewing, and no amount of convincing otherwise has been successful. Not just any slippers either - only this particularly comfortable set will do. The slippers don't want to be chewed - they're not comfortable being chewed - they'd much prefer to be worn and fulfill their proper function. I can see the slippers in both roles, but I understand the desire not to be chewed - after all, slippers are usually better at being slippers than at being chew-toys, no matter how admirable of chew-toys they might also make.

Hmm... I don't usually think of myself as a dog person, but I'm finding the dog metaphor especially apt. I love my heart, but I wish it would spend less time rolling in carrion, and I'd be delighted if I didn't have to follow it around and pick up its feces...

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