What did she eat today?
For breakfast, she made herself a smoothie: a cup of water, a handful of almonds, a big spoonful each of flax seed meal and oat bran; a small pineapple, de-crowned, peeled & cored.
For lunch, she had two small avocados, one kiwi, and a berry juice drink. For a snack later, she had another kiwi, and half a sea salt & almond dark chocolate bar.
For a later snack, she ate three pieces (not all at the same time; at intervals) of whole grain and seed bread, bare. For dinner, she used the same bread to make herself a grilled cheese & tomato sandwich, and a mayonnaise and tomato sandwich. It’s about an hour past dinner and her tummy feels stretched.
Yesterday she had a leaf from the garden and a bite of – what? – maybe it was an almond, and then for dinner she had some fried tofu & mushrooms, and some steamed frozen broccoli with butter. Also a very tiny amount of red wine – maybe a quarter glass.
She felt better yesterday.
Today she went to work; hour and a quarter commute time; some time spent creekside, standing barefoot in the grass and on the rocks. Before that, she did some Yoga & made the smoothie & said good-bye to M, who was headed for Wellington Lake to camp for two nights. The plan is for her to join him after work tomorrow, unless she’s too tired. She’s already so tired, and it’s only today, that she seriously doubts she’ll feel like a two-hour drive into the mountains after work tomorrow.
Today (at work) she tried to make meaningful contact with a lot of different people, with indifferent and infrequent success. She stood in one place for most of the day, though she did get to move around a little. She got off work at the peak of rush hour, so she went to N’s (currently absented) apartment to rest up a little – that’s where she had the three slices of bare bread – and collect her wits. She spoke a little with B as well. Wound it up, locked up, and drove home – easy drive, as they go, less than forty minutes, but she arrived home horribly tired, and lonely – here she is all tired out, and all by herself.
Writing the last eight paragraphs backs her away from the abyss somewhat; she no longer feels desperate, merely tired and physically uncomfortable in various ways. She thinks maybe what she needs is a good night’s sleep. Her hand bothers her, it’s a little sore, which is worrisome. The condition of the psyche is dull, rather than acute (does that revert it to chronic, technically? An interesting thought.).
Now that an idea has actually caught her constructive interest, she becomes more aware of how tired she is. She really should sleep, she thinks, if she can get feeling good enough to drop off . . . she heads off to bed to give it a try.