We all have memories of our past - good and bad. One series of memories for me are tied to a smell that I'd have when I was really ill: hot dogs. In particular the scent of hotdog water - in the land before microwaves (being common), we would cook hotdogs in the winter by boiling them in water. Yay. When I would have really high fevers and in the midst of a cold, I could smell hotdog water.
I don't smell hotdog water today - the past few days I have had the smell of my step-father's parent's cottage in my mind. His Mother was a wonderful cook and the whole cottage would smell like whatever was being cooked. On weekend mornings, there was no escaping the smell of bacon. Endless bacon. And that is what I have been smelling and yet there is no bacon that has been cooked.
This smell reminds me of times that really weren't great. In many ways, I'd almost prefer to smell the hotdog water. At least I would know that I was seriously ill but that I would feel better soon.
With this, it drags up unpleasant memories, annoyances, and a seemingly lack of control of my own destiny.
This is all despite a weekend of working hard to study, learn, do stuff, try to reach out, chores, and keep myself physically active.
I bring this all up on a Monday morning as it's the reboot of the week: back to work, try to give a shit about what I'm doing, try to ignore the things that I'd rather be doing, and just soldier on.
I'm tired.
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