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2025-08-04 14:25![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
omnia_mutanturIs petulant the right word for this? I think I'm going to go with petulant for the moment.
I could swear that somewhere in the poetry anthology A Formal Feeling Comes, there's a line that includes the phrase "wail uncritically" or "uncritically wail" that I tend to think about in bouts of what I assume is self-pity, but might also just be depression. Or those more extreme times in parking garages when I just let myself shout in the confines of my car, spilling out things like "I don't want this" and "please make it stop", like bad luck was some adult I could beg for mercy or solace. I don't know why these things have to be in parking garages, but while I can cry silently and remain mostly functional and coherent, noisy and saying weird things is almost only reserved for alone in the car in the anonymity of a parking garage (even if they're not anonymous and I am probably scaring the pigeons when I do).
But I'm not there today, my uncritical wailing is more just grumpy and grumbling, unwilling to figure out what action to take, on the tail end of a cold, on the tail end of healing from a bad fall, looking down the barrel of four appointments tomorrow (I roll from therapy to a med check to an optometrist to a cardiologist), feeling like the lack of things to do is something that should feel better than it does, or my days should be easier to fill, that not working for money is a privilege and I should use it for _something_ even if all my somethings feel a little inadequate, hollow or pro forma.
Go through the motions, omnia, maybe you'll find something to make meaning of?
Uncritically indeed.
I could swear that somewhere in the poetry anthology A Formal Feeling Comes, there's a line that includes the phrase "wail uncritically" or "uncritically wail" that I tend to think about in bouts of what I assume is self-pity, but might also just be depression. Or those more extreme times in parking garages when I just let myself shout in the confines of my car, spilling out things like "I don't want this" and "please make it stop", like bad luck was some adult I could beg for mercy or solace. I don't know why these things have to be in parking garages, but while I can cry silently and remain mostly functional and coherent, noisy and saying weird things is almost only reserved for alone in the car in the anonymity of a parking garage (even if they're not anonymous and I am probably scaring the pigeons when I do).
But I'm not there today, my uncritical wailing is more just grumpy and grumbling, unwilling to figure out what action to take, on the tail end of a cold, on the tail end of healing from a bad fall, looking down the barrel of four appointments tomorrow (I roll from therapy to a med check to an optometrist to a cardiologist), feeling like the lack of things to do is something that should feel better than it does, or my days should be easier to fill, that not working for money is a privilege and I should use it for _something_ even if all my somethings feel a little inadequate, hollow or pro forma.
Go through the motions, omnia, maybe you'll find something to make meaning of?
Uncritically indeed.
