A wasted day

I had an interaction with someone on Tuesday that sent me spiralling. The details don't matter; I doubt I'll reveal them to a soul. What matters is that said interaction caused me to retreat so far into my turtle shell, I almost got lost. I emerged yesterday only to talk to S and go to my church small group full of familiar, friendly faces. This morning I rose from bed at the almost-unheard-of hour of 8:30AM and proceeded to return to bed for most of the day to watch episodes of Justified. It was only in the afternoon that I bolted up, remembered that I had things to be doing and a life to live and began to attack small tasks with a sense of purpose. Clothes were folded, my eyebrows were tweezed and I sank into the couch to read Hemingway's A Moveable Feast. I wandered upstairs to find my flatmate, L, at home, and together we embarked on a twilight walk around my new neighbourhood, taking in the barren trees and glowing windows of old villas. We settled on a movie for the night (Chalet Girl, a modern classic) and agreed to regroup at 7pm to begin the evening's leisure. 

I did not spend today in a way that I would typically find acceptable. It contained the longest single-TV-viewing I've had this year, and the latest time I can remember rising in a long time. My nutritional choices were questionable and my productivity non-existent. I don't condone slothfulness, and today I was slothful. But somehow, I am trusting that in the grand scheme of things, this wasted day is okay. The interaction brought up a lot of things that have been painful for me for a very long time; it left me feeling woozy and vulnerable. I had a vulnerability hangover that left me with a physical headache and the urge to burrow into the covers and never emerge. It is winter, which compounds feelings of vulnerability and loneliness, and it came on top of an already-trying period filled with moving and a car accident and so much uncertainty about the future. 

Lying in bed and watching TV isn't the way to deal with problems, I know this. But, for one day, it is okay. It is okay for me to have had one day of this, and to rise from bed sometime after 3 with a small, but firm sense of resolution to try again. I was knocked down, but I am rising, slowly, turning my face towards the next thing and moving my hands once again.