This is real progress for me. It shows that my anxiety level is dropping off markedly, and I am better able to manage my impulsiveness.
When I am in bad shape, one of the first things I do to take the edge off my ragged- ness is go to the library, wander through the stacks, and walk away with am armload of books, all of which I have every intention of reading cover-to-cover. And that rarely, if ever, happens. Which leaves me feeling worse afterwards.
All those ideas and words lost… It’s sad. And I chafe at the lack of time and the way fatigue gets the best of me before I can dig into the good stuff of a nice sturdy book.
Oh, well. I’m alive. That’s something. And I’m comfortable in my own skin, which is a novelty for me. All new. This I can enjoy — so much so, that I don’t miss the books.
At least not as keenly as I used to.