Lyme disease is the worst for someone who is anxious to have. Actually any disease or thing with the word disease attached to it is worse for someone who is anxious. Lyme in itself has not been bad. I likely caught it early by knowing I go to tick infested woods, had a tick on me that I gave nice showers to for 2-3 days then developed a rash right where this tick was washing and eating daily. I had a dull annoying headache last night. Enough I didn’t sleep. Then I couldn’t breath either because I was anxious about a bug disease trying to take over my body or I couldn’t breath because a bug disease was trying to take over my body. My heart beating increased with each labored pained breath. I was making it worse by wondering if I was about to die. Then got up and ate a sandwich so I wouldn’t die on an empty stomach. So they could see I ate a sandwich at 1 am. Not that they have a reason to look at stomach contents but just in case. So it’s notes when or if they look that I followed the directions and ate something with my antibiotic. Then I sent a message so someone had a last message from me before I die. Even though he would always have a last text message from me before I die no matter when I die. It is the importance of the moment. I thought of you, right before I died. Here is a map of where I wish I were going instead of being dead.
I could have a headache for so many reasons. It could be just my pony tail was too tight today. Or i could have a brain tumor. One or the other. Likely the other. The first one. But maybe the other? I could be mildly dehydrated. I could have squinted too much. I’m not supposed to even be in prolonged exposure to sunlight with my bug disease antibiotic. I could have stress. I could have a cluster headache form my new perfume I bought so someone thought I smelled good not like just me.
I am spending time with someone I likely shouldn’t be. And I know it. Just so I have company. I am keeping a distance but it’s getting strained I can tell. I’m starting to become curious about things that I don’t want to be curious about. I will grab and hang on too hard and too tight with my feeler like tentacles like an octopus has. I find someone and when I do I never let go. I fall fast and hard and I hang on for dear life. In case it’s about to end. It’s the saddest and most romantic thing sometimes at the same time. It is also my biggest shame I feel. I try too hard to keep people in my life that the universe just plopped in to show me one thing then be done. I don’t listen to anything well let alone the universe. Which is really me. And when I talk to myself it says hang on forever and ever. I can’t talk myself out of this, I fight the universes plans.
I’ve read about letting go. I can’t read about it. It feels like forgetting and giving up. I hang on. What if I was holding on to someone over a cliff edge? I wouldn’t let go. These are the images I have that come when someone says let go. I hear. Don’t hang on. I need to hear how to slightly hang on and encourage the other to never be over the cliff edge or don’t hang on so tight take care of yourself. If you say let go I think of my daughters movie frozen. I sing the song in my head while ai picture dropping a human off a cliff. I feel no freedom from letting go. I feel I forgot or gave up still even with an encouraging song of feeling lighter and being who you are.
I’ve become obsessed with would you rather questions. Just finding them to ask someone. I won’t ask anyone. I learned what happens. Not just once but lots of times. People don’t like to be drilled like they are being drilled. But it says these questions are great ways to start conversations. How else do people start them? How can you have a conversation if it doesn’t first start with a question and why do I struggle with this concept in general?
I want to hike alone. I wanted to not hike alone for awhile but now I want to again alone. I don’t want to say I want to hike alone. After saying I want to not. I contemplated lying. I don’t lie and won’t but I literally thought of a lie and then decided I don’t lie I tell truth. But I avoid telling it if it’s too hard when it comes to my personal boundaries I just barely have set for myself.
I am not letting some bug bite stop me from going back to tick infested woods. It’s the cost of the business of backpacking. I share the woods with the creatures. If I can eat them they can me. It is a mutual bond. We love the same places. I won’t be anymore careful. I won’t learn anything from having Lyme disease other than I should check myself more thoroughly daily for ticks. I don’t even know if I can get it again if I currently have it. Will my antibiotic also act as a bug repellent. I won’t taste as good? I haven’t googled it enough. I googled the images of the rash enough to know I had a tick like rash and then I turned google off and let my imagination take me over the edge. I don’t need google to.
My sister and her husband have turned the corner of the corona. He is getting better but picked up additional illnesses in the hospital. She got worse then got better. We were all so focused on him that she is the one who actually got worse. I said out loud what if she dies? What if we all focus on him and she just dies? Why would I imagine my sister dead? It just happened. I stopped it quickly. I know it’s possible and not thinking it wouldn’t stop it and thinking it won’t stop it. But thinking it and if it happens gives me relief that I thought it. It’s a vicious cycle to live.
Would you rather have whatever you are thinking appear above your head for all to read or have everything you do live streamed daily?
Easy. No way anyone could keep up with the thought bubbles above my head for all to read and see. No one could keep up. Maybe that would be better then? Maybe I would want this. What if someone tried? What if someone said, oh I get it. Or no wonder she can’t sleep. Or no wonder she is so quiet she is trying so hard to listen to what she is saying or sometimes is so loud. She can’t hear herself over all that noise. No wonder she is so busy. She is so busy. Busy like a bee. Maybe that’s why bees are so busy. Their business is not what does it it is their little bee minds. Keep me busy because it’s all too busy up here. Let me go from flower to flower to collect so I’m collecting and collecting and not just thinking and thinking. Ok not easy. I chose, then talked myself into a story about bees. I actually didn’t even chose one.
It’s scary to like someone. To want to know things about them. Then you know things about them. Then they go. I don’t know that I feel abandoned or that I feel everyone goes but you know, they do. I’ve never been asked on a second date. I’ve been stood up 6 times. I’ve been what people call ghosted. This all happens to everyone I imagine. But I don’t like the feeling of it. Then I hang on to it. Real tight with octopus leg number 7 and never let go of the feeling that everyone leaves. So that when someone new comes along I raise arm 7 and remember the last time. So I bite my tongue of the questions to ask. The desires I have. The feelings I felt and the desire to know more. To be with someone more. Leaving them feeling abandoned.
I know I’m doing it. I am doing it right now. I want to spend time and yet I am avoiding it. So I don’t accidentally suffocate who I am spending time with with leg number 8. It’s the last empty one I imagine. I don’t have room for more than 8 things to hang tightly to. I avoid anything else so I don’t let go of the other things. I’m an octopus in my head today. I don’t know why they need so many arms or legs. What do they grasp to all day long? Or are they just for show. To let the other sea creatures know. I have enough legs and arms to smother 8 of you. Back off. Are they tentacles? Not legs and arms like people have since they don’t need them like people do? Maybe it’s to help them float and swim only. To ride through weird sea currents below water quickly. Shooting through the water with their tentacles arm legs things back. I sort of want to braid them. It would never work. 8 isn’t divided by 3 equally so I would have two braids and two left out. Also I bet you can’t braid an octopus, too slippery.
This is not where I imagined my thoughts to go this morning. Imagine reading this above my head all day. And night. Live stream thoughts of braiding an octopus.
Aspenleaf 