Yuk

It feels like the most productive thing I can do today is go back to bed. I can't quite convince myself that feeling has any fact to it, but each time I review the long list of things I *could* be doing, I find myself spinning in panic that the contractor is, indeed, a con artist who took the money and run. My own incompetance strikes again. That panic spins with natural ease into my doubts about this entire lonely endeavor, all the way back to the White Trash insecurities of my childhood. Holding myself in stasis in front cinematic productions feels far more productive than going there.

My muscles strongly disagree with the notion of going back to bed. They are tense from inactivity and crying for movement. My dog is, too. The conflict between mind and body equals a yuckery that is hard to endure.

Looking for the hidden benefits has long been a theme of meditations during the most uncomfortable phases of my recovery. I donae believe it is possible to accurately identify those hidden benefits until after the phase is past, but the contemplation soothes me with a quiet comfort that, even if I canae see it now, there is gain in enduring the pain.

Stepping small, praying big and keeping the faith.