I spent more time venting online about baseball on Twitter than anyplace else, including this site. It’s a little embarrassing to look back and realize how much baseball has consumed me the past several weeks.
Anyway, I’ve spent more online time elsewhere generally than I have on this site. I probably should change that. The compulsion toward memoir, or at least to record fleeting thoughts and journal as a means of self-care, has been strong lately, so it seems much more appropriate to be here. But I have been so spent physically, emotionally, and mentally over the past year and a half – and yet not really realizing that until recently – that a vague sense of inertia overshadows everything.
(It doesn’t help that I can’t seem to successfully nail down a therapist who doesn’t have a waiting list or is willing to meet in person rather than over Zoom.)
It’s probably best I figure out a way to pour myself into analog means of recollection and self-care; I have piles of notebooks and bundles of pens that I’m eager to spend afternoons with. But how to find time? It’s easier somehow to use a keyboard, since I’m at a keyboard so much for work and parish reasons. And yet it feels so unhealthy, and perhaps unsafe, to work out my fears and loathing for all of the interwebs to see.
And all the while, I’m spiritually numb. I feel torn between the driven, demanding orthodoxy of Opus Dei and more moderate influences that I’m nonetheless not fully comfortable with. I’m not completely home at either part of the spectrum. I’m truly home in the Catholic Church, but – even at a parish I love, an unusually traditional place where I know I am supposed to be – I have yet to find a home within the Church. That said, I could at least pray regularly, and I can barely get myself to do that.
So, this is where I am right now: desperate for restoration of body, mind, and soul – and unable to find a way to even start getting there.