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update from sparkleup

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Madison Scott-Clary 2021-07-17 16:35:04 -07:00
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writing/sawtooth/limerent-object/53.md
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@ -2,7 +2,7 @@ I had to stop, yesterday. I had to stop writing.
I don't know why that memory left me in tears, paws shaking too much to write. I don't even know why I decided to commit that memory to this journal. I started this project with the goal of trying to suss out my thoughts and feelings surrounding Kay, and yet I keep writing about this. I keep writing about God or the Church or leaving Saint John's.
I walked around the hotel afterward, trying to calm down, breathe deeply, be present. I did all the things I tell my patients to do when they panic, and I suppose some of it worked. I was at least able to look at the ground, look at the sky, look at the grass and trees and buildings and not feel this unnamed emotion.
I walked around the block afterward, trying to calm down, breathe deeply, be present. I did all the things I tell my patients to do when they panic, and I suppose some of it worked. I was at least able to look at the ground, look at the sky, look at the grass and trees and buildings and not feel this unnamed emotion.
If I had any doubt that Jeremy was right in suggesting journaling, I think it has been well and truly dashed by now.

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writing/sawtooth/limerent-object/choose-fear-1.md
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@ -18,6 +18,12 @@ Following the bookstore, we walked a block to an Ethiopian restaurant. I had nev
The rest of the day was spent lounging at Kay's place, reading. She parked herself in her computer chair and insisted that I just use her bed --- those being the sole pieces of furniture within her apartment --- so I propped myself up against the wall with her pillows and poked through my haul.[^books] It wasn't the most comfortable of seats, and I had to dedicate a small portion of my mind at all times to ignoring the scent of Kay clinging to the sheets and pillowcases, but it was enjoyable arranging and rearranging the stack in what order might be best to read them in.
Kay, for her part was doing much the same, and whenever I would look over, she would be chewing on her cheek or a claw. She kept tapping out rhythms on the page of whatever page of a score she was looking at, humming arpeggios, and at least once I caught her nodding and tapping her tail about behind her, and when she looked up and saw me, she smiled bashfully and mumbled an apology.
It was a pleasant afternoon, all told, and we followed it up with a simple dinner of chicken that she cooked on her ancient stove and more shared videos, as has long been our habit.
Now I am back in the room that I'm staying in
[^scent]: It can get rather close to the scent of mildew, which makes me quite uncomfortable. Scent is complicated.
[^books]: I picked up a few commentaries, a few more pop-theology and a few that were dense and reminded me strongly of my time at St. John's to the point where I could almost smell the study room I spent so many hours in, the scratched desk and rickety chair. I also acquired a books on psychology that I'd heard about from colleagues and had been meaning to read. Of note were two books on shame and vulnerability. How appropriate.