I have nothing notable going on. Um, I worked out today to try get rid of cramps and train for the 5k I want to do. I wrote some last night. I plan on writing more tonight. I miss the Viking fiercely, and it’s been less than three weeks since I last saw him. My general well being is good.

<.<   >.>  ^i^ (Eyes looking side to side then a shrug)

I should dig deep within myself to find something profound and word worthy, but fuck that noise. I like it. It won’t last long. I am going to try to start writing my blogs on a regular basis again. Except Saturday, I refuse to make promises about Saturday because those are my Viking days.

My brain is back to rolling around quickly, and I’m getting bored. It is fabulous. It means I’m not completely absorbed by some crisis or depression. It means it is time to get back to work. I had something worked out in my brain for the next phase in the novella I’m writing. I remember I really liked it, and it added another layer to the story. Of course, I only sort of remember what it is. If I still smoked, I would light a cigarette and pace about a bit talking to myself. I don’t smoke anymore.

Oh, I want to keep live bees in a box at the Viking’s house. They would help the planet and plants and crap, and I could steal their honey and wax and make all the things. Maybe next spring…

I could try pacing and talking to myself without the cigarette, but it seem like it would be as effective. I should have probably written everything down, but I didn’t realize at the time I was about to enter a profound depression then life would go nuts for several months. Had I realized that, I would have probably written it down.

I’ve been watching a lot of British television so the voice I primarily think in has British sounding word choices and pacing. It is better than when I watch a lot of Modern Family. My thinking voice turns into a slightly unstable Colombian when excited when I watch several episodes of Modern Family. I think part of my brain might actually be a slightly unstable Colombian.

I might have forgotten where I was going with one element of my story, but I got into therapy. It seems like a good trade off. I think what I’m doing is considered counseling and not therapy. I don’t care what its called, it works. I go and spend an hour a week or every two weeks and talk to the same person about where I am and where I am going. She tells me stories to help me realize things. I can’t explain why it is helpful. I just know it is.

I feel the most sane I have in my life since I asked for help with being something less than sane.

We talk a lot about the fact so much of our ideals of perfection are total bullshit. We talk about how the game of image and fitting in is total bullshit.

It really is a game, the game of image. There is this strange drive to control our image and to fit our selves into these pieces and move around the board. Some of us are really good at it. Some people are given really good boards and good pieces. They are attractive or the right kind of smart or wealthy or have enough common sense to fit in well. Some people just get okay boards. I’m pretty sure my board and pieces came from Goodwill. The board is a bit broken and several of my pieces are missing.

I used to frustrate people because I wasn’t better at pretending to be normal, like I just didn’t want to fit in. In junior high and high school I would have sold organs to fit in and be normal. I just never quite got the hang of it.

Now, as I get older, I realize more and more, how very few people who play the game of image well are actually what they project. I wonder if they ever get to have anything genuine. I wonder if they are any happier than me.  I sometimes think I’m luckier for failing out of the game early in life because it seems to suck the life out of people.

What do I know?

Last week I finally finished the Viking’s wonky blanket. It felt wonderful to actually complete something. It felt even more wonderful when I realized he probably really liked it.

Now let’s hope it doesn’t fall apart. I might buy him some superglue.

Random side note: I found these pictures on my phone while I was dealing with the blanket photo. I think they are kind of awesome.

Now, down to the real business, I had a discussion with Tina and my therapist (the two used to pretty much be one in the same, but I got an actual therapist at Tina’s behest), and I decided some things. Mostly, screw New Year’s resolutions.

My goal is to make an effort to be happy, really genuinely happy. I’m going to work to be healthier. I don’t just mean weight, I mean as a person.

I set myself up for failure by giving myself these artificial goals I never reach. I gather guilt to myself like a mother duck does her babies. I need to learn to release that. I still want to have goals, but they need to be mine, and they need to come without guilt. If I want to be physically more healthy, I need to not worry about counting the food that goes in my mouth or the minutes I work out. I need to reevaluate the way I view food. That will bring far more change to my life than counting calories. Instead of freaking out about how much I weigh or hating my body, I need to change my relationship with my body. I need to work out to take care of this beautiful part of me. I need to exercise out of love for myself, not out of hate and shame for what I am.

I need to stop apologizing for stupid shit. No, I’m not sorry I have emotions. We are supposed to have them. (I do believe apologizing if my reactions to my emotions unduly hurt someone. We are responsible for our emotions and our reactions to them, but we only apologize when we use them to hurt others.) I’m not apologizing for being crazy. I have health issues. I don’t expect a heart patient to apologize for their condition. I shouldn’t apologize for mine. No more shame for my emotional baggage. Everyone has it, and I’m trying to deal with it as healthfully as I can.

My therapist said something about building up a wall around ourselves with “I’m sorry.” I trap myself into believing I am fundamentally flawed with apologizing for who I am. Fuck that noise. I will apologize for what I do. I will apologize for hurting others, but I will not apologize for who I am. 

I will never be perfect.

I’ll fuck up.

No more guilt

Just love

This dog. She is very effective at communication with her face

Okay, it might have been almost a month since I wrote a blog last. I have a really good excuse. Mostly my life went insane again. There were hospital stays (not mine), near death experiences (not mine), and small nervous breakdowns (that one is mine.) Everything is fine now, mostly, but it was pretty bad.

I did learn the doctor gave me the medicine I take at night for a reason. I stopped taking it because I was either staying in the hospital or only home for a short time and didn’t feel comfortable taking medicine that puts me in a light coma for a few hours. By the end of the two weeks of hospitaling, I was having panic attacks every evening and had started my fabulous behavior of picking at wounds. I felt completely sane, calm, cool, and collected. I’ve only missed the medicine once since I got home.

The Viking said something about being amazed that I handled the stress. When I told him about the sore thing, he just shrugged and told me he still thought I handled it well. I plan on keeping him forever. I’m deeply ashamed of the behavior. I feel like it is disgusting and extremely insane. I almost can’t talk about it. He didn’t judge me or think I was gross; he simply accepted it as part of me.

Anyway, there is a 5k run called the Color Run, and I really want to do it. Participating in a 5k has been a dream of mine for several years now, and this one seems like the most fun of all of them. I decided I will find the ticket money somewhere, because I’m doing it this year. I have no illusion of running it. Right now, I would be happy to walk it at a decent pace without having to sit for a few minutes. I just want to finish it. I’ve given up a lot of pieces of myself this past year to take care of things. I’ve quit a lot of things. I want this to be something I do for me. I want this to be a goal I actually complete.

Normal people with my track record of deciding to do things like work out or various other self improvement measure and failing miserably generally stop attempting them, or at least announcing them. Not me. I haven’t decided if it is my flair for life or some twisted insanity. Maybe a flair for insanity? I just feel like the only thing more unbearable than failing at things is giving up on trying.

So, I downloaded a Couch to 5K app (C25K) on my phone. I decided I was going to start yesterday so I put on my hoodie and put my girl dog on her leash. We got to the park and my car told me it was 29 degrees outside. I was determined, so I got us out of the car and started down the path. I stopped to tug on my clothes to get some more warmth somehow, and I glanced down at my dog. She was shivering and calling me an asshole with her eyes. She made me carry her back into the house.

I ended up working out on our stationary bike. I hurt before I was even off the bike. I treated my sore muscles with chocolate wine.  I thought it sounded like a good plan.

Good for what ails you.