If I have mastered anything in my life it is the technique of the less than artful dodge. While I should be condensing, packing, sorting and washing laundry at home, I have been avoiding being there. Some of it is the legit pursuit of looking for housing. The rest is this compelling desire to run. I've mentioned that befoere. I want to run until I can run no longer, collapse in a heap and be done withthe race... even if I am only half way thorugh. My sister would accuse me of laying down and dying. And I can't help but think that sounds pretty good right now.
I am tired. I have been running in circles, chasing my tails and smashing my self into road blocks and knocking over hurdles that are to high to clear. I am tired. I need to stop, regroup and decide if I am in the right race. Or maybe I need to run for the joy of the exercise not out of some insane need to keep up. Or out of trouble. I need to stop and look around. So I don't want to do what needs to be done. It seems futile and fruitless.
And yes. A lot of it has to do with Sir Knight, the estate hanging over my head and this overwhelming sense that I have let some things slide so far down the hill that to drag it back up would take many lifetimes. The other part is that with all this running around that was supposed to appease people or shut them the hell up... I've lost sight of how to care for myself. Oh I bathe, I eat, I wash laundry. But I don't take time to tend the soul, really nurture my friendships and talk to the Big Kahuna. Nothing else matters if the soul suffers. But I feel guilty for it. I shouldn't. But I do.