Last night things seemed okay but today’s a day closer to Friday — the end of this freelance gig — and I feel sad and panicky and lost and unfashionable and self-conscious about everything from my weight to my hair to the bag I carry. Looking at my budget didn’t help; knowing I’ve got enough for five weeks, no less, even if I constrain myself to $15/day for food and transit… well, let’s say that there are less precarious places to be perched.
My ankle also still hurts, nearly two weeks since the pain mysteriously appeared and 10 days since my trip to the ER. It also doesn’t help my mood, which today has wavered between dejection and hopelessness. Fear, pain, the unknown: a bad combination.
Yet. Like so many other fear- and pain-filled days in which I’ve faced the unknown, all I need to do is get to the day’s finish line (bedtime) and hope that tomorrow will be better or at least not much worse. I’m tired, so the finish will likely come early tonight, despite the pain and 90° heat and needing to finish my book club reading for tomorrow. It is what it is, as I’ve heard… but that doesn’t mean I like it, just that I’ve done all I can do to change things today (and a thousand yesterdays) and I’m letting go what’s left over.