• Lucia Joyce

It Is What It Is


I sit in my bedroom window under the newest full moon. All my emotions swim together like Koi in a crowded pond.


The spectrum of insecurities and resentments mill about in my mind. Old bullshit in fresh new packaging: I'm incapable. I'm late. I'm inadequate. I'm dissatisfied but not ready to level up. I'm too old, and also too young. I'm so tired of caring about money. I'm tired of carrying my torch of optimism around, tired of standing guard, not wanting to be taken advantage of for my deep empathy and desire to be liked. I'm tired of being in the beginning phase of all my goals. I want to finish... anything, even though I know that's not really how sh*t works. Nothing is ever finished, but that doesn't mean I don't want to be. I'd love to tie a few things off with a bow, a nice 'Happily Ever After' for the kids. But instead, I have to be OK with whatever this is, right now. I have to let it be imperfect, and frustrating, and a little hopeless, so I can appreciate the better moments. I have to be OK with letting my posture droop over like it did in the 9th grade. I have to let this day be what it is.


It has been a draining couple of days, for no obvious reason. I've been struggling to wake up, struggling to stay up, struggling to keep my neck straight and not bent forward: it's a tricky thing to balance a 10 lb head atop an upright body with earth's gravity pulling it down at the slightest angle forward or back. The transition from Pandemic Summer to Pandemic Fall probably isn't helping, nor is the state of things in America in general. Am I supposed to work harder and push past my pessimism or just lie down and take it? Sometimes the answer isn't there, but when sleep is an option, it tends to be one of the better ones.


Sleep is my option tonight, and a homemade aloe vera hair mask, and a cold dip in the tub (Shane's sounds of torment echo behind me as he attempts to get into the ice bath I've curated for us). Cold tends to cleanse. It shocks even the ego into silent awareness of now. It sends fresh oxygenated blood everywhere in the body. Cold will help me let go of all the things I've failed to do and am too scared to try. Cold will reset my overworked wiring so I can wake up tomorrow and see the light streaming in over all my window plants, instead of an intangible, unforgiving list of priorities.


I'm sleeping in tomorrow, too. Sorry priorities.


From Jeanette Winterson's Memoir: Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?


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