Went to the pool with Espy today. Then a long-ish walk. My definition of long walks has changed–I now feel that there is no distance too great to walk, so long as I have the time. Walking calms my nerves and helps me focus my thoughts.
At the pool we had snacks, did stretches and amateur ballet in the water, napped, read. I giggled like a maniac at an article Lena Dunham wrote for the New Yorker. I texted. My heart raced. My thoughts raced. My pulse felt diluted and unstable. My stomach jumped and settled, jumped and settled. (My appetite has been either nil or voracious lately, with all the acrobatics).
Manic is the word I want to use. I feel all over the place, but mostly I feel high, up, on. I feel unstably energetic, like I’ve had too much coffee.
No coffee, though. Not for this sensitive gal. Just a break-up, a new start, the sudden realization of undeniable freedom. Trying to do the right thing and do right by others. Wrangle in my thoughts.
And walking. All the walking in the world.