I’m still struggling to get back into my routine of writing and reading.

I can’t blame it on poison ivy. It isn’t completely gone but enough not to be so much of a bother. Just a little anti-itch spray can last most of the day. The little sister has returned to Indy and the potential future trip has been canceled because of work. My classwork is still pretty light.

Virtually, nothing has changed but I can’t seem to bring myself to write in the blog or work on the potential book I’ve been pushing since November.

My head feels like it’s full of static – white noise if you will – and it is difficult to pull together a conscious thought.

When I saw Dr. S… or rather Zoom called her… I haven’t seen her in nearly three years… she told me to enjoy the lull. The white noise is keeping me from being upset and angry. But, I told her that it’s impairing my thinking and creativity. That didn’t seem to be that big of a deal to her and told me I needed to find a psychologist and start seeing her or him twice a week.

I used to do that a long time ago – pre-Covid. I’d visit a psychologist, but she had really bad hearing and I’d have to shout at her to get my points across. For some reason, she refused to wear a hearing aid. My shouting, I would bet, could have been heard in the surrounding offices which is not what I want when I when I’m trying to explain myself and share secrets.

Maybe part of my current paralysis is because of Jason’s situation. When he’s working, I feel less strained. Part of it is income, of course. Money is security. But. more important, I know that he’s interacting and active. Instead of just warming the paws of the cat, the interactions with people do him good and help fend off the depression that often accompanies staring at the walls.

He’s been without a job for the past four…. five (?) months. Despite looking, he has garnered little to no job prospects and it doesn’t seem that he’ll find any in the upcoming months. What little financial substance he has left dwindles along with, although I hope not, his mental health.

At mom’s house, I feel insulated from his issues. It doesn’t affect me. Or, at least, I would like to think that they don’t. I can be objective. But, they probably do and I’m not nearly at the distance as I would like to be. I guess it’s part and partial of being in someone’s life for the past twenty years. It’s probably been longer than twenty although I don’t like to think about that.

But… um… I don’t like to think about the years. It makes me depressed as my current situation isn’t exactly what I had pictured from when I was young. I feel that I’m letting myself down – which I probably am. I’m capable of doing more than I do.

I just can’t seem to do it. Or, at least, do it successfully.