Deficient

According to my doctor, I have a slight Vitamin D deficiency.

What has Vitamin D? Sunlight, mostly…which is tough, because it’s winter and there is none to be had.

Also, fatty fish…which might explain my periodic, ultra-specific cravings for lox-avocado-and-red-onion sandwiches.

For those who care, the bread — whether in bagel, roll, or loaf form –must incorporate a variety of seeds, including but not limited to sesame, poppy, sunflower, pepita, and fennel.

And this could just be nutritional imbalance talking, but I feel deficient in other ways as well: mentally, physically, emotionally.

The job is killing me slowly, the way paid labor does, through a combination of overwork and personal neglect. On the domestic front, life appears to be an ongoing to-do list, with a corresponding pile of chores and obligations. It’s hard to muster the effort, let alone the enthusiasm, to deal with either sphere.

I have no leisure activities at the moment, since winter is not conducive to being outside and growing things; since my career involves reading, which occasionally feels like a benign curse; since the increase in freelancing opportunities has taken away the time and energy I once would have devoted to fun writing; since my lack of disposable income does not permit much in the way of going out and doing stuff with people.

Tho’, when I think about it, my interactions with other people tend to revolve around what precisely they need from me and when; there’s not much room for reciprocity, especially since all I’d ask in return — at this point, at least — is to be left alone.

This is the point at which someone usually jumps in and advocates for “self-care,” but I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know what I need to feel better. And why should I even bother?

 

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