In which I surrender
I’m wiped out. Mentally and emotionally. Doing the caretaker thing isn’t physically hard, but it’s incredibly draining emotionally and it’s interfering with my ability to write and generally function. I’m trying to work around this. I have to sort it out and figure out a way to get through and make words. I am having trouble focusing. I can do tasks like errands, cleaning, even tax stuff, but the creative part of my head is tough to access. I want to bang my head on my desk sometimes and try to knock it loose inside. I’ve been walking and trying to take time by myself (that doesn’t really happen well), but even when I do sit down to write, my head is fragmented and disjointed. But it is my job, and my job needs doing. So I have to do it. Put my head down and one step at a time, no matter how hard.
Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I’m surprised by this exactly. I get that stuff is going on. It’s just that I feel like I ought to be able to deal with it–compartmentalize and keep on keeping on.