Action...part 1
It’s strange when you actually really come to think of it ... all the micro bits that result in action, or not.
I think that when things feel difficult, for whatever reason, depression, anxiety, grief, ill health, or ‘simply’ procrastination (which can be overwhelmingly crippling) each of those micro actions somehow become laboured and can be tortuous. They lack flow. They lack a sense of being part of something. Part of a picture, a structure, a narrative. Part of something that moves fluidly from one thing to the next. Instead, each action seems to be painfully conscious and can be driven into the dark corner of existential pointlessness. I think I have written about this before, tediously, in a similar vein...and here I am, again, yet again... You got it, in a way, didn’t you, Dante.... variations on the circles ...

A week and a bit off work now.
It was too hot to move. I spent the day trying to get prepared to head off. There seemed to be so much to do and I have a feeling the garden will be dead when I get back, in spite of putting in egg cartons at the base of the cosmos to try to retain water when I planted them out.
I rang my friend to see if it would be okay to arrive very late and park up as she is at a good midway point but also, would it be okay if I ended up just not making it. Even at the point of heading off I was in tears thinking there’s no point, I’ll just stay home. Why would I do this? Even as I was driving down I was in tears thinking I’ll just turn round and head back. Even as I got very near I thought I can’t inflict this ridiculousness on anyone I’ll just pull into the services, rest, and then keep going...but why would I do that? I could just pull in to the services, rest, and go home again.
I pulled into the services. Midway to nowhere.
I called and made it.