10.33 | August 18th, 2019 | Lightbulbs
In the living area of my apartment, there is a track lighting system with three fixtures spreading light in all directions. One of the lightbulbs burnt out. This is a problem.
My ceilings are high, and I cannot reach them without a ladder of some kind. Which I do not have because why would I have a ladder? Plus, the bulbs are a specific kind, and I can’t buy a new one until I figure out what kind they are. I can’t do this without taking down the burnt-out one. I piled a side table on to a cushioned chair and climbed on to the kitchen counter. Stopped when I was about to jump on top and thought: This is not a good idea.
You get the idea.
I’m at a point in my life where I am simultaneously trying not to metaphorize this kind of thing too much, and also make sure I am paying attention to decipher whether this is actually a sign. I wonder if by thinking - Oh no, this is a sign, a beginning of something bad that is going to happen - am I not manifesting it in some way? Asking for it? Conjuring it? Making some kind of self-sabotaging self-fulfilling prophecy? So, I ignored it. Figured I’d just have to survive with one less lightbulb until I got around to it.
Then the game of dominoes started happening. Work stuff. Personal stuff. The brain fog descended. I can only describe it as feeling like I am perpetually hungover. My head is too full, too many things knocking around that do not allow me to do anything. I’m functional, but accomplishing stuff through some type of brain muscle memory.
And then the second lightbulb went out.
Upstairs in the hallway that leads to the bathroom. Cutting down the already spotty bathroom light by 50%. Only a recognizable standard lightbulb this time, but still hanging from a ceiling that was too high. So, I piled the bedside table on top of the other bedside table and thought: This is not a good idea.
My apartment was getting deeper into the darkness. The brain fog took over further. I have to tell you, it’s really terrifying because when I’m inside the fog, I really do believe that I will not come out of it. That even though I’ve come out of it countless times before, this time is different.
Something happens. Or I make something happen. It could be a small thing. I figured out a way to reach the lightbulb in the hallway that leads to the bathroom. I needed to create a shift, no matter how slight. The fog lifts, and I feel more myself again.
The lightbulb is still burnt out in the living area, but sometimes you just need to take it one thing at a time.