30 Day Focus Challenge: Day 3

Parking Lot Whirlpool

My insight timer app on my iphone is recording this streak of meditations; this is an example of hijacking the additive, gamified, interruptive nature of the smart phone / watch for health purposes.

So I guess… it’s okay. Big Brother is nudging me to be healthier, instead of going into fits of adrenal rage at the stupidity of my friends friend’s and family who think COVID is a liberal hoax.

Beware the Feed.

My pathetically easy, ten-minute a day rule is hardly something to brag about. But here I am, doing it anyway.

I realize I went the full ten minutes without thinking of my dead parents this time, even though I am again being sucked into their tax stuff. I had a few interactions with the accountant today about deductions. I need a form from a doctor that dropped dead during COVID, ironically, from an unrelated heart attack. This is a perfect encapsulation of the estate process. Not impossible. But in no way straightforward.

Again, this stuff is only a pain when there’s money involved; this is a first world problem.

Every problem I have is really like this. I try to remind myself of this. I try to be grateful. I model gratitude. God knows how good I am at it. Having never been anyone else.

Bipolar 2 and ADHD. And my own decisions, and capabilities, as dictated by the three things interacting. The extant of all my issues.

I am a whirlwind of petty symptoms and partially realized potentials; I am a stack of yellowed paperbacks; I am the voice that chatters endlessly; I am the silence that settles when the voices are stilled. I am the voice that is about to emerge, again, when the last bell chimes. I am a voice like a billion others. I am conscious. For a time.

I am an illusion with delusions of grandeur.

I am getting back to work.

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