Saturday, February 28, 2015

this has got to stop

Last night I dreamed I was running, in my racing flats, and I felt light and strong and nothing hurt. I kept marveling how my feet felt ok even in flats.

Ran six whole miles this morning (not in flats), calf tightened a little at 4 miles but eased up. Saw lots of dogs, wanted to hug them all. Mostly held it together until I got home and speedo was not there, of course. Now I need to clean the wall where I leaned against it, sweating and crying.

I am not actively thinking of speedo all the time. It's worse when I do. But even when I don't, it's still bad, like being in a hole I can't climb out of. The only things that get me away from it are work (constructive, maybe) and self-medication (definitely not).

 I wish that throwing myself into viola practice would help as much as throwing myself into work, but there is too much emotional trash there. It would be nice to say fuck it, I'm going to practice every minute anyway, and it will sound terrible, but maybe by the time this depression lifts (whenever that is) something good might have come from it. Yes, that would be nice. But not possible at the moment.

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