Oy. Been busy. Massively. Small things, big things, things I should’ve done but didn’t, things I shouldn’t but did. Did invisible writing, read a lot, mostly to get away.
The house looks disheveled, even with the soft lights and dimmers I use to hide the disarray. I let music flood our house. Silence can be cruel; it underscores thoughts unwelcome. So many things happening the past weeks: mostly happy, but some immensely hurtful. And it’s bewildering how the world marches on, remorseless, and doesn’t wait for me to marshal my thoughts, for me to be whole before I, too, move on.
Can’t really bother The Coach right now. His baby, the UP Fighting Maroons, plays its first UAAP game tomorrow. He has other things to mind. Besides, other than listen, there’s not much he can do to help me with my, well, funk. Worse, he might be too cheerful, like he almost always is, with his attitude of gratitude, which I know is true and honest and noble and right—but I don’t want cheer right now. I want to feed this glumness.