Hecticklish

[CooL GuY] {{a2zRG}}

Current google search: the history of heat.

All sorts of ideas are being bandied about.  After tonight, we know that there’s a violin and a kaleidoscope and possibly a thermocouple ammeter or something to do with a piezoelectric disk.  We’ll just have to see how daringly scientific we aim to be.   The thieves stand at the ready to assist.  And then, on other fronts, armies and ravines and Ace of Base songs I dare not think of as they’ll become instant earworms.

The horizon features a potential breath of air sort of solution on the money front.  We’ll see.  Don’t quite trust it yet, but it is necessary. Even if it doesn’t happen tomorrow, it should happen Tuesday and I think I have things put together to make it that far.   Further quasi-flirting that also got me some health insurance.  That’s a whole…

Out of the office library, I absconded with a book about the Literary Cat.  Mostly because it had artwork from Chagall, we discovered, and a poem from William Carlos Williams, and something from Ambrose Bierce.

Nevermind about any of that.  I ate poorly/but at correct calorie levels again for dinner, but did run around and do extra exercise to compensate for that.  Kind of starting just crave a big salad.  Build the kitty back up and that actually sounds…amazing.  Tonight, though, I spent some time both on the bike and dancing around/walking. We’ll see what the scale decides is just in the morning for this week’s efforts, both intense and lackadaisical.  This is the gift of 2016.  If it ain’t lower, we just keep going.  There’s no appointment set, just a path to tread.  And these hot feet to figure out and how they got burnt.  Because I’m not sure it relates to the pathless journey.

Tomorrow.  Galentine’s Day.  I have the hors d’oeurves’ ingredients thanks to a little short term loan on behalf of ma soeur and will get to see my old friends.  I may have mentioned this.  Delighted that I know precisely where it is and how to get there.   Not quite sure what to do about this very fluffy, very Mary Pickford hair I’ve got going right now.  Might just hang with it in her honor.  Then, coffee with the mentor and the download of all the hot goss.  I will be getting full up on my estrogen-centric life support.   My social bar should be bursting.

My personal roses are getting painted red.  Feeling a bit relaxed.  It’s Friday of a three-day weekend.  I have to work on the novel, the story, the game, the Tribe re-watch, the X-Files, the, the…you start to think about February 14th and your odd, acid-dipped feet and the way the earth is moving so quickly around the sun and there’s so much to do and buy and be and hope for.

It’s getting a little hecticklish up in this head of mine.  I’m wanting old flames that have long since burnt away.  I have old emails close at hand that I could rile myself up with.

Instead, I am just letting myself be.

 

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

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You kind of knew it would be a great day when you go downstairs and your car has a yellow sticker on it notifying that you have expired plates and if you don’t move it in two days, it’ll be towed.  My tags are enroute, though have not currently arrived, and the sticker left big gooey marks and remaining paper on the window.  I am hoping that my printout that tells the authorities I am not outside the law will be readable by punkass parking attendants who apparently have no idea that I’ve parked here for years and years and years and it isn’t even fifteen days after the expiry.  Fffff.   If it gets towed, that’s some…I don’t even want…

Okay.  Sigh.

(Although, this morning I attempted and discovered that another skirt fit – oddly, imperfectly with hemlines not precisely sitting where the designer intended, but the skirt was able to zip and provide body coverage…so maybe these things balance out?)

Then, a bit of focused work for once.  Ate some well-tracked chili because I was too hungry to just not eat anything for lunch the way I thought perhaps I might be able to.  Imagine – a body that requires feeding.  Handled a few things on my checklist and then worried my way to the Dentist where despite being early, everything was hectic for them and grumpy.  The receptionist was lovely in the face of it, but I was trying to determine if I even had enough money for them to do me the favor of telling me to brush my teeth more (and better, and for real, because like, it’s serious) and feeling jumpy because I was not in any of my new comfort zones…and I was at the goddamned dentist when in comes this dude in a hoodie and I can see from my seated position that he has a gun.

I mean, I don’t know this guy from Adam, my appointment should have started ten minutes ago and I’m wondering if I’m supposed to be shouting something to protect the nice receptionist and her obviously less nice colleague.  I actually, uh, stood up and considered asking for a bathroom when they cleared up whatever issue the guy had (it was nothing to do with dental work) and sent him on his merry way.  Then, I got to go back and deal with the overbooked hygienist who could clearly not give two shits about my day or anxieties and basically tells me that my four month delayed appointment means that my mouth is full of evil spirits.   The actual dentist comes in for two seconds, pokes around a bit, yep, evil spirits, take some Listerine and mean it.

I, being me, am petrified at my mouth failings and have already held my cool together as long and as far as I can, swear on anybody’s grave I can think of that I will brush my teeth for hours and floss for years and bathe in Listerine, drink it with my new all-vegan, acid-free diet of calcium tablets and blow.   Whatever it takes to have them not decide they need to suddenly extract the wisdom tooth or add another charge for the privilege of breathing at me.

So. That done, I went and walked a quick mile around my parents house.  I would have done more, but I had to pee to the point of pain and was no longer seeing the positive benefits of alone time if alone time meant time to think.

Because when I get that quiet time lately, I think things like, “Hmm, do I have any opinion on Valentine’s Day?”  And my immediate reply is: “My opinion is fuck you.”

Mostly, I’ve been grumpy about the short-term financial stuff that I really can’t talk to anyone about either because they don’t need to know because they’ll wig out at me and tell me their opinion of what I absolutely have to do right now without any background detail.  All solutions I don’t need and am not willing to do.  Or they already know and they can’t do anything about it and it’ll just be upsetting and frustrating to be told it can’t be helped yet again. And they’ll be worried and sad themselves about it, like a fresh scab picked at too soon.  So I’ll see that energy and I will try and cosset and calm them down about it and again…don’t want to do that at all.

So.  Yeah.  I don’t have what I need right now.  I want to get things…like food…and I’m contemplating getting them and I keep realizing I can’t and how painful and exhausting this would be for someone to have to live with every single day instead of the few more days this month I have to do it.

And maybe this will keep me from running to eat something inappropriate to deal with life right now.    Instead, rice, chicken, some kind of magically present vegetable and a bit of hope that the milk hasn’t gone off.

And Somewhere, Out There, Summer

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Thursday: we go to the therapist.  Still mentally working that one out.  The driving has gotten really bad lately.  Too much nerves to do little, simple things.  The one thing I do miss about the old job is that it at least forced me to be in the car an hour a day five days a week.  I have to make myself just sit in the driver’s seat and right now, there’s no requirement of life to do that.  There should be a requirement of my life going forward to that.  Right now I think about getting up and just walking outside for five minutes before we go to work, and immediately, there’s such mental pushback about the idea of fresh, outside air and muscles working against the pavement and a schedule bending just slightly off-course that I want to throw up my hands and shout, SO I AM JUST MEANT TO SIT HERE, IN THIS BED, FOR FOREVER, UNTIL DEATH?!  To which Mildred responds, without any irony, with utter delight: “Now you’re starting to get the picture!”

Therapist questions:

How to put Mildred into some sort of coma so I can get things done I want done.
Driving.  Yes.   Being a grownup about life tasks, house organizing amongst them.
The email situation.  The writing person thing that continues until the moment it doesn’t.  How to proceed/deal/not fail it or him or myself.
Other things I will…figure out some other place to write down because I feel a bit uncomfortable just spilling them here.

I think I might be feeling better.  I, at least, have forgotten about feeling unwell.  Not so ruddy feverish or whatever it is.  One more half dose of something, knock it out or down another peg.  If the threat of feeling really unwell is what it takes to feel better, I’ll wirrah, wirrah, wirrah my way to salubriousness.  My mother today didn’t think as though I was the strawberry version of Violet Beauregard.  No one thinks my tongue is particularly outsized.  I wasn’t in a good mood, listless, but I think that’s been this past two weeks of less than great eating.  It makes me just very icky-feeling regardless of any tacked-on illness.

My plan is to finish this post, write a few words on a few projects that are crying out for them, watch The Lady Eve because I’m all inspired to watch an old movie and this looks just up my alley after continuing to read, get some clothes together for the morning, take that shot of medicine, check maybe once or twice for an email, maybe read a few more pages of the book, actually get ready for bed and not just pass out here and be a bit UNFYH about life.

April 1st is a restart day.  A day of focus on the body.  It is also a day that we’ll be visiting my aunt, I think.  Trying to get my head back up to the level of the water.

 

The Ventilation Shaft

Day 3.

I am having really serious, blinding, scary stress at work.  I hope that’s coming through.  I am taking things on my own and it’s taking a toll.  Luckily, there’s some sort of light at the end of the tunnel, but I don’t quite know how to get there or to get there without being in massive trouble.  And I can’t and won’t explain further to people who aren’t actually in my life.  So I’m just bearing down.  And I know it’s impacting a thousand other things.  Like this page.  I am just spitting words at it and calling it good because I don’t want to vent.  I don’t want anything written down.  I just want to walk around with a pain in my back and my side and my neck and currently my stomach until everything explodes or gets resolved peaceably.  It’s my fault.  That’s all I can say.  It’s my fault and I’m trying to make it right while not risking everything.  So I’m not playing guitar because I might enjoy that and I don’t feel like I deserve to enjoy it – it’s either that reasoning or that I’ll just fuck it up so I shouldn’t even try.  Ugh, I’m so destroyed right now.   It is a certain agony that I have no one to confide in, to curl up into, to be physically comforted by.  I endure, like some kind of terrible cockroach, outlasting nuclear explosions but not the heel of a boot.

Somehow, though, for right now, it’s helping me in one area.  I’m not feeling like eating.  I’m not feeling like I want to fix this with food.  Because, possibly, I understand it’s bigger than food could possibly put a band-aid on.   And I can just stave off eating a bit longer and eat a bit less and on Day 3, it’s helping.  Could all be water weight, but it’s off me and I can continue onward making the sacrifices I can make.  I am not entirely stupid.  I’m not giving up food or anything.  I just am remembering I want to lose 50 pounds and making a choice that is different than what I’ve chosen in the past because, holy moly, I’ve done some stupid things.  It isn’t perfect, though, all this talk and I glance up at the waffle iron and can feel the buttery syrup on my tongue.

Gotta eat.

It won’t always be like this.  I have to continually remind myself that.  I have my vacation with my friends in a few months. A whole week! Huzzah!  And from there, I plan my escape.  Some job closer to home, with people my own age, with other people in charge of other things.  I get frightened and then I think about the hopefulness of the future.  The inevitability of change.   The way that if I just keep going through hell, I’ll eventually get through to the other side.

I want to keep caring.  Keep my head up.  Keep Commander Sheparding my way through this and try and start going a bit more paragon than renegade.