Prophetic Proximates…
Any good day I have is, invariably, followed by a bad day. It seems that the two are paired and cannot be separated. Anytime I have a good day, I sigh and tell myself I shall make the following day pleasant – though I fully expect the next day to bear terrible fruit.
I cannot remember having two good days in a row, but often experience multitudinous bad days piled upon themselves. It’s not that the days themselves are good or bad, it’s my emotion that makes the day feel good or bad.
Today, I’m having a difficult day. I have that sick feeling of worry in my stomach, an ominous sense of foreboding. I feel anxious. I feel insecure. I feel confused and tired and weary of life. Yesterday, in contrast, I felt great: carefree and lithe and confident and optimistic.
Last night I was very tired and worn out before bed, and I slept well for about 5 hours before I woke up for a 3am toss/turn session until I was able to fall asleep for another couple of hours. Undoubtedly, it was the interrupted nature of my nightly snooze that has caused me to feel strange today. Well, that and the utterly disturbing series of dreams I experienced in my return to slumber and from which my alarm roused me upon the morn.
When I examine my true feelings, I feel singularly healthy. My body is not in pain, my clothes are properly fitted, my hair is tame, the weather expresses that fresh chill and vibrance only autumn can hold. I feel neither bloated or dehydrated, nor do I suffer any ill. I am irrationally hungry, but that is in keeping with my primal autumnal urges to prepare for winter famine.
Yet, I have a knot in my stomach – a gnawing bit of stress – causing me to feel like something is amiss. It may be that the dreams from which I woke disturbed me more than I can comprehend, or it may be just that I am more predisposed to anxiety on days I wake immediately from an unpleasant dream. I do not know. I know that in my dreams, I felt troubled. Very troubled and vigilant and I remember actively wanting to leave the dreams that disturbed me so greatly.
I feel worried and upset and unsure of myself. I am overanalyzing everything, attempting to placate my concerns with realistic understanding, and wanting (more than anything) to be calm – my wits collected and cataloged for reference.
What is going on with me? Why do I feel out of control? Where have these emotions come from?
I do admit that I am tired of feeling and expressing these emotions – these mysterious bouts of anxiety or melancholy which have no apparent source and whose meaning I cannot discern. My only other option, though, is to turn off my emotion and become the automaton I wish to avoid. As I refuse to withdraw again, I must needs face the trembling discourse of my enteric nervous system – what is it trying to tell me and why has it presented its complaints thus?
Only time will tell. I shall continue, in earnest, my search for truth and resolution of this gloaming internal conflict. Perhaps this day shall end yet in peace.
(I have been listening to 18th century novels on audiobook while on my morning hikes & bus rides. Beg pardon if my language doth not heed our common speech pattern.)