The gist

A friend of mine said today that she could feel that I was unhappy this week, even though I hadn't told her. I hadn't seen her or talked to her, or IMed with her, and at least twelve hours went by before I remembered she'd texted me last night and I hadn't responded yet.

I suppose the lack of communication is a clue, but I have the feeling she'd known even without that.

I don't know why, but sometimes the couple of people who are my very closest friends seem to know without being told when I am feeling like shit.

I love them for that, of course, though I still feel like shit anyway.

It's a complicated thing, the reason that I feel like shit, and I don't want to talk about it, tangled as it is with various shades of green and flavors of jam and some yarn that looks just like black hair and is really just impossible to count stitches for a gauge swatch on.

There's this cat sitting at my elbow washing so loudly I can hardly think straight, and I drank some warm milk with the avowed intention of putting myself to sleep with it, but really just because I wanted to taste something sweet and mild.

Kitwich knew what it was, and meowed for her cut. I'd already finished it off, but laid the mug on the floor so she could pull out the dregs with her paw. She is so clever. I have to think that most cats would try futilely to shove their big heads inside the mug. She merely sniffs, assesses the situation, and uses her foot.

It may be that I am doing the big-head-inside-mug thing myself, but I cannot stop, because, well, I simply don't want to. And all the thinking in the world isn't going to make me feel differently than I feel. In fact, it just gives me a headache.

I bought the wrong coffee and cried over it. I need a haircut again, though I swear I just had one two weeks ago. All my laundry is always dirty because I can't seem to get my back operational. I never did put all those millions of knitted gifts in the mail, and they are stacked in my house, awaiting wrapping paper and large envelopes and a trip to the post office which I never want to make.

I think of taking a bath but then remember that I never have the patience to see one through. Most of all, I want what I want, and I want above all to feel that I deserve to have what I want. Whether or not I have to actually get what I want in order to feel that I deserve it is a question that's yet to be answered.

I know that's a lot of openwork sentence structure to wade through up there. But that is the gist.