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Documenting Cycles
Nov. 6th, 2025 11:13 pmI endeavor to reject Western, capitalistic paradigms of time moving in one direction and instead see it as an infinitely complex coil, folded in against itself and resonating in moments obvious and obtuse. This year felt a lot like that year, this season resembles that other season, etc. It gives me a vernacular for comparison and may be a core tenet of my magical relationship with time.
Currently, November 2025 feels a lot like 2024 in my body. Not quite as bad (I think), but of a type. Like, my sleep is "ugly"; like there will be a spoon cost for sleeping in the wrong position and the right one doesn't exist. Like, I don't lose my spoons to overwhelm so much as sorting. Like, my bones ache if I do too much and writhe if I do too little -- and the range is very narrow indeed. My energy levels show little correlation with how much or how recently I've eaten, and restful activities only bale water out of a sinking ship.
Sometimes it feels like my body has no temperature regulation; it feels like I should be hot, or cold, but my nervous system conveys neither. I have to stop myself from overexertion or suffer for it tomorrow, but I have to guess where the line is -- I don't have a sense of "yellow", like I could just keep going until I collapsed. Earlier today, I could smell the dirt on me (I event tasted it by leaving my mouth open at the wrong moment!), which felt novel because my sense of smell is both reduced and irrelevant as I spend most of my time in the same familiar environs. My head feels fuzzy yet loud, creativity flows but not production, even listening to music takes spoons.
Things got real chaotic over the past few weeks and I'm not sure this "storm" has yet passed, but I'm scrambling to remember everything I did that helped last year. It was a long, slow climb out, and I'm just stunned to be back dangling over that particular cliff.
Currently, November 2025 feels a lot like 2024 in my body. Not quite as bad (I think), but of a type. Like, my sleep is "ugly"; like there will be a spoon cost for sleeping in the wrong position and the right one doesn't exist. Like, I don't lose my spoons to overwhelm so much as sorting. Like, my bones ache if I do too much and writhe if I do too little -- and the range is very narrow indeed. My energy levels show little correlation with how much or how recently I've eaten, and restful activities only bale water out of a sinking ship.
Sometimes it feels like my body has no temperature regulation; it feels like I should be hot, or cold, but my nervous system conveys neither. I have to stop myself from overexertion or suffer for it tomorrow, but I have to guess where the line is -- I don't have a sense of "yellow", like I could just keep going until I collapsed. Earlier today, I could smell the dirt on me (I event tasted it by leaving my mouth open at the wrong moment!), which felt novel because my sense of smell is both reduced and irrelevant as I spend most of my time in the same familiar environs. My head feels fuzzy yet loud, creativity flows but not production, even listening to music takes spoons.
Things got real chaotic over the past few weeks and I'm not sure this "storm" has yet passed, but I'm scrambling to remember everything I did that helped last year. It was a long, slow climb out, and I'm just stunned to be back dangling over that particular cliff.
