Rainy Sunday

12,691 Days Alive

I’m home from J and Bill6’s house. Freshly showered and slathered in my favorite full moon oil, rose and bergamot.

It’s the full moon tonight. The Rede says “When the moon rise at her peak, then your heart’s desire seek.” It isn’t often I have something to seek, honestly. I’m fairly content with how things are right now, Covid-19 fuckery aside.

I have a great job with awesome, supportive coworkers. I’m writing again in my downtime, though not as fluidly as I want. I even got to watch Hamilton this weekend, and discovered a new comedian I like.

But I feel underfoot. Unwanted, still. Like no one needs me around. I know, logically, it’s likely just the gremlins of a chemical downswing. I have friends and loved ones that want me around. But damn do I feel lonely lately.

Working alone is hellish. And I’m likely to be doing so for at least the next four months. The lack of proper social interaction was getting to me. So I’m glad for J and Bill6’s hospitality this weekend.

Maybe I’m just maudlin. I’ve been thirty five for a week now and I feel still unaccomplished.

This too shall pass, I suppose.

I’m going to go write, or crochet, before bed.

Take your meds, folks.

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