A Blue Sun: Day One Hundred Forty-Nine

Minolta DSCFood diary done, check.
30 minutes on the stationary bike, check.
Hot bath, fairly soonish.
Clean living room, check.
Groceries procured, breakfast and lunch is ready for tomorrow, check.  Unless lunch is being bought and I have to find some way to not make a really bad choice for myself.

So why do I feel like I’ve wasted this whole weekend?  I don’t know.  I do feel that way, and can probably attribute it mostly to the fact that the weight didn’t move again today, but as I’m talking with my friends and trying to be funny on the internet, I guess I feel alright today.

Imperfect, but alright.

My boss sent about 10 emails for me to address tomorrow, but I ignored them.   I didn’t send out the mass email.   Nobody would have read it, I reasoned, because it’s a holiday and it’s my weekend and I’m not getting paid unless I put down for it which we’ve collectively decided we’re not doing.  I don’t even remember all of them but at least a couple made me throw up my hands in awe, despair, joy, indifference…mostly indifference to the new paradigm.  Everything’s on the table, it seems, and I want to be invested in home life and just skate by with work life.  I don’t want to be part of the slicing and the dicing.  I don’t really want to be part of any of it.

It feels, to me, like it’s time to get my boat out of the docks, to worry about my business and that means not pouring myself into these questions and problems.  Not anymore.

I miss my friends and being wicked and funny with them and planning what books I’m to read and writing my story in a notebook and wandering about without being tethered to nines and fives.  Everything is better, but better means that it’s clearer that I don’t necessarily want the circumstances I’m living in right now to be my circumstances for now and for forever.  My little sister is now flying on the red eye, or will be soon, to Colombia for a wedding of a friend.  She and her boyfriend are going and weren’t sure, I’m sure aren’t sure even at this very moment, what they’re getting into.  But they’re going and they’re going to see what happens.  I think that’s a good way to be.  To not back out even if you’re pretty sure that you’re going to be uncomfortable and unsure of yourself in foreign climes.   I’ve been freaking myself out about going to Italy – like what am I thinking – but at the same time, this opportunity, when is it going to come around again?

In that vein, getting the panic dealt with  and this mild aversion to the idea of not being in panic and anxiety when it comes to the areas of my health and future, of getting better are becoming writ large in everything I do.  I’m like a doll sometimes, just dragged about.

Lots going on in my head, but the tasks go first.

Lost a Poesy Ring: Day Thirty-Seven

Oh, the thoughts whirling in my head.  I am well-pleased, well-pleased.  The weather is changing from today’s treacherous -9, to tomorrow, they expect it to be almost 40.  Warm enough to melt away the few questionable patches on the road and warm enough to begin to think again of spring, of summer, of the future.

The boss was out more than in again, and as I have been empowered in so many ways, and am not chained to the copier to print out nearly anything any more, I felt like I accomplished quite a bit.  I felt like I was interested in actually crossing things off the to-do list rather than worrying about its completeness before beginning.  Getting to listen to music as I worked helped me to destress and keep focused.  I actually walked out of there feeling better than I had in an age…hopeful, that if I could work at this pace, with having these weights lifted off of me, I could find an exit strategy.  That maybe this was my exit strategy unfolding in front of me.   I didn’t worry that the new boss didn’t come back when she said she would.  I didn’t worry that old boss might be waiting for her.  Those things were out of my control and my workday was done.

Now, it’s time to be back on the low-carb ball.    This is more and more critical, in the light of the reading, in the light of the fact that I am not so crunched in to the fetal position (at least today) and I’m not so overwhelmed (at least today) and in the fact that I look on OKC and find guys that I could like and everything’s matchy matchy and wouldn’t we like one another, isn’t he cute, I could maybe tolerate this guys face, and then the question, can overweight people be attractive and they answer no and I go, okay, well, mark that one off the list.  They can’t even try to be, apparently, for this guy.  Fuck me, of course, I can’t just choose you because you won’t choose me and I’m not going to stand on the firing line when all I want is a toe in the water. And it’s not just that I think I need to accommodate that one particular guy’s tragic inability to see beauty in all its variant forms, but because I can’t see it, either.  Apparently not when it comes to me.  I have an evil, hard, unfair double standard.   Aside from the whole body security/probably help the vertigo/I want to fucking do it to strike it from the list/because I want to feel pretty when I go to Italy.

Because late October of this very year, I am going to Italy.  It’s pretty official now.  I keep thinking that someone would stop me and say, hey, this is kind of weird or dangerous or not acceptable or not allowed.  And then, I wonder why I need someone to talk me down from all my best darings.  And it doesn’t matter at this point if they do, because there are parts of me that are completely fearless when it comes to this.  When it comes to travel, and I need right now to identify those parts and places and be there for a while.

Chickabiddy: Day Thirty-Three

Or is it thirty-four?  It must be thirty-four because there were thirty-one days in January. I will have to go back and edit in the correct numbers since we crossed over into February.  Anyway.  I was thinking on the ride home, the relatively calm, relatively controlled ride home that what I really wanted to talk about was titles today.  Less talk about them, actually, and more just generate a 500 word list of titles that I could foresee using for posts.  Sometimes picking out the title is my very favorite part, often, it is.  Somehow, every day, there’s something that catches in the net of my mind and is reeled in and picked out as intriguing or interesting, or fitting in some way to play off of the writing that follows.  Today’s just came to me unbidden, and I remembered Walk Two Moons, and the temporary building our classroom was set in that year and the teacher’s voice as she read that book to us.  It clung to me like a burr in a sweater.  Which is to say, forever.

I need to eat, I’m starting to be very unsure about what tomorrow will bring weather-wise and I’ll have to get gas in the morning.  Bratwurst or eggs and bacon?

…I’m sitting here and trying to explain to myself, yet again, that I am getting hyper about something that will happen whether or not I choose to get hyper about it.  It is no defense at all.  It does not keep one flake of snow from gathering on the ground.  It does increase my anxiety and fear so that it seems like the only logical solution is to avoid experiencing the petrifying possibility of losing control and dying on the road.  I keep thinking – is that what I’m afraid of happening – but that’s not even it, though it plays a role.  It’s more a fear of being in someone else’s way, of impacting someone else’ life, of not knowing the rules in every instance and in my ignorance causing an accident, or even down to just frustrating people around me.  I seem to be able to project my frustration and anxiousness out on the cars around me and then, via this ever-loving empathy, soak it right back in, double-time.  This is not new news, this is just me breathing through crazy.  Recognizing that I’ve been able to overcome this day after day, night after night, but the crop sprouts up anew.  I still feel like this is being done to hurt me.  A really ridiculous, self-centered thing to believe.

Maybe the smarter thing to say is I don’t like driving in the snow and it’s frustrating to have to do something I don’t like, but I can only do the best I can to handle my life requirements and often this means I will have to drive in and on and around snow.   And as I do it, I’ll feel better equipped.  Probably I’ll never like it.  Ever.  But life is not WonderBread, you get the hulls and the shells and you just have to use your tools to get around that.

So, yes, there’s that plus going to the psychic, all of which is doable.  It’s not like I’m not going to go.

Red Eye: Day Twenty-Five

I am here, not just because you haven’t had your daily dose of my fucking crazy, but also because my thumb is starting to throb from my hardcore gaming today and I need a break from that.  So I’ve got Winnie’s radio show on, a cold glass of water and a bigger sense of the world.   It is okay.

I feel marginally better today. Spent the majority of it in front of the tv and the rolling waves which I think is definitely giving me a real vertigo.   That’s happening.  What’s harder is the question of how do I reason with irrational thought, the skulking devil on my shoulder trying to freak me out.  Right now, I’m at least recognizing that it’s very silly.  It may be happening and terrible and awful and scary, but…it’s also silly.   Very rather silly.

I’m going to tap tonight and tomorrow morning.  I know that will help calm all this fire and waving about.  If I don’t do it, I will only have myself to blame.    But, ugh.  If yesterday, I had to talk about it – today, I guess, I don’t.   Nothing changes the fact I have to drive myself to work tomorrow and I have to drive myself home, so that’s it.  I’m annoyed that this has even gotten as far as it has.  If I get uber-panicky again, which hopefully the tapping will help control, I might have to call the therapist to meet earlier.  Because this is not something I can let get out of control.  I want my life to keep progressing.

Very happy to report that my friend who was dealing with some very serious depression has re-emerged on Twitter today.  She’s been away for the better part of a year, not responding to texts and calls and our group has really missed her.  We’re going to Skype soon and probably talk about going to DragonCon, costumes, and make each other pee laughing.  That’ll be good for me as well, I think, for her.  Our group has been such a buoy for me through all of this.

So, while I’m concerned about the coming and going, I’m totally excited about the week passing by quickly.  I’ve got Friday off.  And I don’t know how long it will take to finish this game, but hopefully, we’re getting close.  Probably on sequence 9 of 12 since I’m trying to get the majority of all the collectibles and such, but I’m not fussing over it.  The game is just immense as I may have mentioned.

Food/diet, etc.  cannot go by the wayside just because my mind is a bit of a tangle right now.  So I’m going to go to the grocery store for lunch tomorrow and get a few things so that I can increase my carbs, but still eat healthily.  Because again, I can see what I’m trying to pull.  Mildred’s working on a coup here, and I’ve got to put my foot down and say she’s not getting away with it this time.  If she’s the Templars, I’m the Assassins and we’re just sneaky enough to slow her roll.

Like Weasels and Celery

Gotta start here.  Use the words that count.

Of course, you can be blamed for it, Ms. Atwood, you can be blamed for everything.

Instead of having written a post somehow during the day, we once again have thirty minutes with which to expound on the state of the universe.

I am post-bath, which continues to be a rather gauche turn of phrase, as proper, diligent, modern ladies take showers and then go on to attack the issues of the day. Me, I take baths at nearly midnight, like some luxuriant character in a Tennessee Williams play. It isn’t to make any sort of statement, of course. I just find it…relaxing whereas showers, for whatever reason, make me tense. I don’t understand it, either. That’s just how it works with me and of all the areas about myself that are outsized and troubling, I’m not concerning myself so greatly with converting over to being one of those type-A, shower-takers.

But the bath has reminded me, as it offers a quiet spot to think, of some important revelations. The tub is the greatest revelator, in my experience, of things you already know.

It’s reminded me that the best tool for anxiety is self-care. It should be ingrained, common knowledge, but with anxiety comes this frantic set of spinning blades that run around my mental processes. It makes it really challenging to come back down to center and remember that I’m capable of not just surviving, but of properly engaging and handling the facts of reality. Self-care, spending the whole two minutes to brush my teeth with the Cision Pro Mark IV industrial toothbrush, shaving the old fence posts (that’s an awkward metaphor), combing out my pink streak, I re-connect to my sense of body. Of place. It eats the sourceless, homeless fear right up and I get goals.

It makes me think about how I waited for ages to get this pink color added to my hair. It was never the right time, people would think things, it wasn’t “professional.” But I do it and I only get compliments and the oddly granted ones are ignored. I can still surprise them and as it fades away, I only want to replace it with fresh and more pink. The raspberry with more cotton candy or dusty rose, more carnation. More whatever, because it reminds me that is who I am. A bit off-kilter. A bit weird. A bit girly. Someone snidely asked what happened to my hair…and instead of lightly answering “vacation” like I have been doing, as though it’s just this odd tear I was on, I said I decided to let it go natural. And it’s a bit snarky to someone who needs to be handled with sarcasm rather than the adoration he seems to think his opinions should generate, but the natural and best part of myself is a bit of a fairy girl.

So I think of that instead of the fact I had to stop in a parking lot and breathe because the panic was starting to take over me.  I think of the champion spirit, the storybook girl with a steel spine, I think of all I’ve overcome and I refute the anguish clutching at my ankles.

I draw back and break its neck.


You never know.

All day I was planning my vent post.  My frustrated, goddamnit, how come the world is picking on me post.  It helped, I guess, to know that even if there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about the reasons I had to vent, I at least has the ability to get rid of that anger and frustration.  And now it doesn’t seem so vital or present in my mind.   There was a lot of positives, actually, like me checking my bank account and seeing that I got my refund and I went and got a giant cart load instead of just getting what fits in one of the little baskets and I got vegetables and meat and pasta and yogurt and sauce and wheat bread and apricot preserves to make peanut butter and jelly (preserves) sandwiches and low-sodium pretzels and all sorts of things that felt like real food as opposed to…opiate of the masses, pizza.

I really wanted to not get any food that would be full of stuff that I didn’t necessarily want to eat.  I’m not perfect at this and I don’t know that I’ll ever be the type of person who could shop at Whole Foods for all or even the majority of her groceries, but I am, now that I am in this groovy mindset, at least thinking about it.  I think maybe walking by the pop aisle and seeing one of the store brands of pop listing vegetable oil as an ingredient made me think…hey, that’s kind of disgusting and you don’t even think twice about swallowing that garbage, gulp after gulp because you (me, all of us) like the idea of a fizzy, lifting drink so much that we don’t care what’s in it.

So, I tried to be thoughtful in that regard and not hulk around the store like the chip on my shoulder was actually a whole rock quarry.   It is completely draining to keep taking on work and projects and doing favors for everyone so that they don’t have to be frustrated themselves and then listen to people who should be on your team down in this hypothetical, metaphysical Slate, Rock & Gravel quarry loll on and on about how they’re just going to decompress on their cruise and how they’re already in vacation mode and you think, privately, secretly and in a manner that makes you consider locking this post that they are always on vacation mode and as much as you peddle your smile, you’re just one person.  One of the associates we work with on a project reminded me of that today.  Of course, there, I shrug my shoulders and say things like “Oh, but it’s the little things that make the big things run smoothly.”

I don’t disbelieve that…I just have to stop taking it out of my hide (my hypothetical, hyperbolic hide) when I don’t do things perfectly.  I am trying once more and if that’s not enough, well, sometimes, you just have to pack up and go home.