I made soup. I didn’t feel like making soup. Grumpy as I chopped the hell out of the onions, grateful for the sting and the tears, I took frustration out on the carrots, slicing into them as though they’d argued with me. And I’m glad I did.
I never thought I’d get out the door but I walked. I walked into the wind, and with snow blustering into my face. I’m now sweaty and with a cold-stung face but I’m glad I walked.
I made myself write. I threw open the window to let in frosty air as the room felt stuffy. The snow came down gently in little icy balls, falling on the slanted roof window with a tappy noise. I thought it was the birds walking on the roof tiles. And I breathed fresh air, and I tapped back from my keyboard. And I’m glad I did.
I feel dull and blunt inside. Its ok. It’s my seasonal normal. My blood is still pumping fast inside my veins from pavement thumping, and I have splurged out my grump in keyboard thumping. And I’m glad I did.
Tomorrow we go again. Step on. Walk on. Cook on.
Whatever you know you need to do, keep on. It is what makes the difference and we can do it together. Soup time.
The room above the garage
A Moodscope member.