It's 2 a.m.
L— and I spent the evening together because she is emotionally crumbling. Yup, another kid falling prey to genetics. This is cyclothymia for sure. She's stuck in feeling, and she's miserable.
I'm halfway through my project for creative non-fiction. I'm lost in it right now, not certain where to go because there are so many ways I could go and indecision is winning out.
Empedocles is a ball of anxiety. I've about had it with him. Do I meet him for coffee tomorrow morning or do I just give up on figuring him out? He's a mess; worse than I am kind of mess. I think he needs a friend, but maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I need to back away and just let the kid/man breathe, even though I'm around him once or twice a week max. Damned recluse. He reminds me so much of myself when I'm not well. And he's not writing. My mistake today was that I offered to listen, showed concern that his creativity well wasn't producing. He shut down and didn't respond. I should stop caring.
Why do I care? That's what I don't get. Is this all retribution for my past self, again? Not everyone who I think I can relate with actually feels like I think they feel. I'm clueless in this case. He is immensely talented, and off the wall quirky. Caring what happens to him is contributing to my level of exhaustion, that's certain.
I'll go to bed and figure it out in the morning.