I feel yucky again today. The melatonin and/or Indian food gave me bad dreams. My bronchial infection/irritation/HORRIBLE MUTANT DISEASE THAT WILL SURELY KILL ME is still around and making my chest hurt. Despite my recent extra efforts at the gym and attempts to eat regularly and sensibly, it looks like I have gained 2 lbs.
But I did go to the gym, and the trainer said that I'm on one of the hardest programs and that I'm doing a great job and that I'm making progress.
And I did take my car to the mechanic, finally, and it is only one month overdue for its inspection, as opposed to last year's three months.
And I am doing some work. And I have something to do tonight.
Could be worse.
I reset my body and brain yesterday with Buck Rogers, fluffy movies, water, bed, and some emergency and barely ever used chill pills. All the agitation and stress of the past month or so had me so wound up, I felt like I was going to pass out, all the bloody time. No fun.
Today is better, though, and I went to the gym and have been toodling around and watching Firefly and writing emails. It really does feel like I hit a Reset button in my brain. Such sweet relief.
But now I'm bored, and I want to play hooky and go to Six Flags or the beach or maybe just Lush with someone.
Although, I guess it's not really hooky if I don't have anywhere else to be or any deadlines to meet... Aaahhhh.
I think I will read on my porch for a bit and then go to Lush and then sit on my porch again, perhaps with an iced latte, and read some more. And wait for things to get busy again.
Sometimes it really does tell me exactly what I need to hear:
"Dear Rob: I like to take my daughters to the playground. While they hang out in the sandbox, I've often tried to make it across the monkey bars -- you know, those overhead bars where you go hand over hand while your body dangles below. In hundreds of attempts, I've failed every time. My hands hurt, I feel heavy and out of shape, and I give up quickly. But last Saturday the spell was broken. I asked the gods of the playground to help me out. As I jumped up to grab the monkey bars, the idea popped into my head that I should bend my legs instead of leaving them dangling down. I got a swinging motion going, and made it across easily. After all those years of frustration, I couldn't believe such a little change made such a big difference. -Cancerian Reporting from the Trenches." Dear Cancerian: Thanks for your testimony. I think it's exactly what your fellow Crabs need to hear.
I did go to yoga last night. I am so out of practice, but it wasn't as bad as I'd feared. And it took me out of my head for a while, which helped a lot.
I also managed to go to the gym this morning, even though I slept badly (sore throat and fussy, strange dreams). So I've already accomplished something today.
Still no work to do, though I have some lined up. This puts me a little more at ease.
Errands today, if I can manage it. I am excited to buy a good electric toothbrush. If this sounds dumb to you, obviously you haven't experienced one. They're like magic.
I feel like I'm out of practice with my life, but I'll struggle through, and I'll be better at it than I feared I would be. I know this. And I know that all is flux, for better or for worse.
For the first time in a long time, I don't have any work. I feel relieved in a way, and I should feel happy that I can focus on other things for a bit, but really it's making me feel nervous. Cause now I'm down one more distraction, one more anchor, one more demarcating fence post, one more hurdle, one more excuse for not doing more with my life.
"Damn, I can't go to yoga / go to Six Flags / buy new pants so I have at least one pair without holes / clean my room / ride my bike / make some jewelry / write a story / cook a feast / plan a vacation / and so on, ad nauseum -- I'm too busy / sick / exhausted / stressed!"
I know this seems ridiculous and perverse, but there's a certain comfort in being limited in this way. Running out of justifications for... I know it's not failure, exactly, but it feels that way to me sometimes... yes, I suppose it is failure. Failure to be my best self. And if I have a tangible reason for this failure, that makes it OK. When I don't, I feel like a lazy piece of shit.
So, right now I feel like a lazy piece of shit who has let her life get dozy and slovenly, and I don't have the energy to whip it into shape right now, and I feel bad. And I can't relax, even though I think that's what I need most right now, because I am thinking about all of the things I should be doing.
It is totally crazy-making, and I know I'm incredibly hard on myself, and I know this isn't helpful, and I know I can't do everything, and I know I need to find balance. But it's hard. But I'll keep trying. But maybe I'll make it to yoga tonight. That would be something.
Sometimes my life feels like it's on an endless loop. Concentric circles, spiraling, turning back to the same points. Variations on the same themes that hurt my heart and my head, over and over.
I feel like getting unstuck is my holy grail. I wonder sometimes whether I need to change myself beyond recognition if I ever hope to find it. Or maybe just some small piece has to change. Or maybe just some bit of luck needs to click into place.
I really don't know. The first seems unbearable, the third unlikely, the second obscure.
I try harder and fail better every day, though. Maybe that's progress.
Things that are stressing me out right now:
Things that are not stressing me out at the moment:
By 11:30 this morning I was starving, and my crankiness was at its peak. "Soup, I'll have soup." However, I couldn't find the can opener, so I had to use the sketchy electric one that I've never seen anyone use (because we had a perfectly good manual one). Mission accomplished, but it made me so fucking pissy, I want to punch someone. This incident came after a morning spent fuming about how dirty our house is (I am the only person who has vacuumed, ever, or cleaned the bathroom) and an alarming realization that all of the plates but one were missing (they were in the dining room for whatever reason). Also, there is still a plate of food and three beer bottles on my porch, left from a roommate's 4th of July BBQ. It offends me and encroaches on my porchly peace, but I will not clean it up, on principle.
Work is also making me angry. I've been doing the same book for forever, and it is so bad, and I am so sick of it, I can feel my blood pressure rising with each missing article I insert and each randomly capitalized word I lowercase and each query I make that simply reads "???".
I would rather think and write about puppies and unicorns, but all I can see is red.