A Cambric Shirt

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OK.

I hate when I don’t feel well because I freak myself out about it so much.  I try and not feel well and I try and talk myself out of it and so anything that is off feels like evidence of imminent death.  Every story I’ve heard, every recent dental struggle, suddenly has become my own. It is not excessively painful.  It is just painful.  I am just aware that it is not right.

I know it is important to take care of.  This was exactly what happened the first time.  Sort of.  And sort of what happened the time before except that time I got it checked and then it went away on its own.  But now it’s in my head, so to speak, the worry.  And I’m starting to find myself willing to go even if they’re going to talk about the wisdom tooth/teeth extraction and that’s spinning me into a bit of a whirlwind conceptually even if it doesn’t remotely hurt on that side right now at all.  So.  Okay.  I’m just starting to find myself capable of being an adult about the issue and dealing with it, but then I’m deflated about the work dental insurance and if I can’t use that, it’s a huge financial deal and I can’t just hi-dilly-ho to the dentist and rack up a bill that I can’t easily pay.

Maybe part of that is just a delaying tactic on the whole “deal with the hard places” wherein I have to go to the boss and say, hey, I don’t think I have insurance…can you check?  And then if I don’t, then, figure out about getting some and then deal with this idle thought that hell is going to break loose if I get myself taken care of.

And I’m now on vacation.  Sort of.  So I don’t know.

I’m pushing a lot these days and suddenly, I find it hard as fuck to push.  I gotta call my mom.  I texted before the test and heard nothing and I have this idea in my head, that fits so neatly into the drama of everything going wrong now, that it’s because something is so bad that nobody’s talking about it.

My sister made biscuits.  Cheddar biscuits and I am wanting to sink into the sheets and fight my way through these short-term blues.  Just loll my head around and moan and twitch and eventually crash into a sleep laden with dream.  The hypochondria is the worst.  It’s the worst.  If you can sleep, you can at least stop wondering if it’s the last sleep and you are just idly typing away your last post, laughing to yourself at how silly you are when Death and his unforgiving scythe is hanging out in the periphery of your view.

I know that it’s just an aggregation of aggravation.  It is not my life or me or a new paradigm.  It’s just asking me for more than to watch it happen and that’s okay.  Sometimes I like to be engaged in the business of being.

 

The Bathmobile

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Feeling a bit of a mess.    The feet reaaallly bothered me today and my legs are sore from the exercise I have done for reasons that are not entirely clear to me.   They are feeling marginally better now with my legs up and extended, but mostly, I just feel off and weird and all my hypochondriacal tendencies are asking to be let loose and I simply CANNOT allow this.  Not for three more weeks when everything insurancewise is re-situated.  SO.   As long as I can feel “better” – I am letting myself relax about it.

Feeling a bit zing-y all over. Maybe I’m just getting sick.  I feel like that could be the case.  I did get really sick after this happened in Italy.  That would be excessively NOT ON if that’s the case.  Flying over the Atlantic Ocean with an open faucet coming out of your face.  Ah, well.  Hot bath, that’ll fix it.

What else?  What am I ready for?  Nothing.  Okay.  Well, we are going to have to work around you, asshole voice in my head, because life is happening regardless of whether or not you feel safe and or happy.

I have no real reason to complain…well, yes, but I have a lot of reasons to be pleased as well.   We went to dinner, the sister and I, and I found something I think was dietarily acceptable even at a Mexican restaurant.  I continue to be aware that I need to clean it up more, to look more closely at more than just the calorie count, but for now, for today, I know I ate less than I might have if I weren’t doing this.

After last night’s post which reflected it, I spent some time working on the novel.  If I have the tiniest of tiny frames to focus on, this helps.  It’s a bit hard to have a co-writer on one thing when you’re used to figuring everything out on your own.  To be so full up with someone else’s ideas, to just incorporate them as your own – they don’t cling to me in the same way.  Even when we talk or I read the new plans, I have to exert focus and effort.  It feels ridiculously good when I do, but this, too, I find easy to forget.  Too much time spent inventorying twinges.

I have another assignment now on a couple fronts, but I know a bit of what I’m doing and aim to start from there.

Also spent a bit of time today reading this article by the excellent and erudite Caissie St. Onge: http://www.vox.com/2016/2/15/10980830/oprah-winfrey-weight-watchers reflecting on her weight loss experience and what it means if someone with all the money and means and mettle in the world like Oprah is still struggling, like we’re ALL still struggling, to lose weight. I know that I can do more than I’m doing.  I have a lot of body image issues, but I haven’t really put in the time and effort to see about just eating better, just taking care instead of treating my body as a garbage dump for the physical manifestations of my feelings.   So it doesn’t make me want to stop, per se, but it does make me think about the mental side of this.

Suppose I can make all of this happen and get sleek and svelte and great and then I fuck it up.  Because I will.  Be it one pound or every last one of those I’ve lost in this drive.  I mean, who will I be on the other side of this if there’s only one successful outcome?

That’s why I am trying to adjust my thinking.

…more on this.  I am really starting to feel achy all over.  To the bathmobile!

 

Fudge: Day 1 of 30

It is is a good day now that we have the power back on.   This morning , I arrived to find that sometime over the weekend a bird blew up our transformer and knocked the power out.  The power company came and the city hauled off the bird, but for a minute there, I was concerned that somehow I was to blame for what was a pretty miserable prospect of unhappy tenants who couldn’t access the internet and my inability to move my hands with all that unholy cold.   I’ve got to let go of that without swinging too far the other way where I’m not responsible for anything, not down to brushing my teeth in the morning.   Corrosive slippery slopes.  Run down them too many times and suddenly you’re spineless.

My body is playing its usual tricks, though.  Usual third day, thirteenth day, middle of anything tricks.  So, I walked yesterday A LOT, unexpectedly and intently for at least an hour.  I felt  good enough afterwards to get on the bike for a while, too.  You know, that I can lose all this weight in 8 hours if I just apply myself kind of feeling.  And today, consequently, my legs feel like rubber.  Simple cause and effect.  But my head is telling me – hey, muscle weakness – you are probably dying.  You are probably having thyroid issues.  You are probably going to pass out whilst driving home.  You definitely need to eat some bread, maybe all the bread that ever was, and stop this silliness.   And definitely don’t work out tonight, that would be madness!   You can almost see the wheels turning in aghast struggle against the whole idea of trying to lose weight/diet restrict for a minute, much less 30 days.

While I do feel weak in my legs, I do feel okay otherwise.  Pinned up my hair all Edwardian style and ignored the fairly idiotic panic attack I had while driving (the brakes, the duct tape, riding around in a time bomb + I was going to die just for general death panic purposes) I had a shake for breakfast, some coffee, some salad, and a bar, and plan to have a pretty substantial taco salad (sans tortillas) tonight or chicken something something depending on where I land tonight but, honestly, it’s almost amusing to watch myself attempt to undermine this.  Almost.   I spoke with a colleague today who was talking about making an appointment to see the doctor because she was so weak over the weekend and miserable and she’s fairly sure that she has a thyroid issue.  So guess who automatically has a thyroid problem and is probably going to die momentarily? This girl.

Ugh, hypochondria is such a sexy motherfucking issue.

But, inasmuch as I am complaining and inasmuch as I’m hearing the rallying cry of the carbohydrate: today, 163.2.  Which, yeah is 2.8 pounds down since yesterday.  Which means that I have to consider the accuracy of the home bathroom scale, that the loss is water weight, and that I am alright to be pretty fucking excited about that.  Weight loss happens when you don’t stand in the way of it, you fragile flower.

Start: 166
Today: 163.2
Goal by 6/16 (concert!): 155