Sometimes I think that my fibromyalgia is actually a physical manifestation of my soul: burning, deep-seated, restless, unpredictable, painful, solitary. That doesn't help me swallow the fact, though; it makes me wish - harder than ever, more fervently than I did in the beginning - that I could find a way to make the pain an ally, to make it work with instead of against.
I'm having one of those days: nothing is the way I need it to be, or want it to be. I need it to be autumn already; I need it to be Thursday. I want a job to be available for me in New Orleans. I want to move to New Orleans; I taste her keenly today, on the tip of my tongue, on the edge of my thoughts. I am grateful to have a job in this state in this economic environment; don't get me wrong. But I'm tired of being here; tired of being anywhere but Home.
...I'm just tired and bored with myself...
...I wanna change my clothes my hair my face...
It's true, oh so true: it's not that I hate myself (I don't, most of the time), I'm just ready for a change; the current me is dissatisfied and dissatisfying. Not that I think a "new" me would be better - it would just be different, and that would be a change, and that helpless, vague feeling of misplacement would be assuaged.
It's difficult to describe, this feeling of misplacement, this hunger in the bones, this...unease in one's own skin and one's own life. How do you solve a problem you don't know the numbers or variables for?
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