(no subject)

It feels like it's probably always more of the same when I'm posting.

I'm continuing on trying out this project about being nice(r) to myself. I was told by someone that even though I believe I take perfectly appropriate (or possibly excessively lenient) stance towards my own minor fuck ups and tragedies, I'm actually overly critical. Even typing this out makes me anxious, like the very idea of being nice to myself exposes me to some sort of externalized scathing criticism, and while I'm okay (for certain values of okay) with internalized scathing criticism, I think hearing it from a source other than myself might devastating.

The other piece of advice was that I need to practice failing, or I'm never going to get any better at it. I both crave change and fear that I will shatter at the smallest failure, and the two don't really go hand in hand. I'm not exactly sure how one practices failing, exactly, but I'm trying to wrap my mind around it.

I've developed a new fascination with knee socks, though I have yet to cave to the desire to purchase the knee highs with hook-and-eye backseams from Sock Dreams (it's a close battle). I also picked up a fetching new gray coat from the Garment District, which seems to be serving me well. On the list of things I have yet to master, dressing weather-appropriately when leaving the house for hours on end on a trip that spans walking, public transit and my final destination falls somewhere near the top. This coat helps, somewhat. And I think it's darling.

Light's first back ailment cleared up, but somehow in the healing process he ended up with what the doctor is assuming is a slipped disc (the xray was fine so it's definitely not skeletal) and the MRI will eventually confirm. The main difference is before, he could stand and lie down but not sit, and now, he can sit but not lie down or stand. I've started on a sleeping med, (so I can sleep through the tossing and turning) so I'm getting a little more sleep, but my dreams are odd and I'm fuzzy-headed when I wake.

I had a chockful of awesome weekend, first a lovely visit by some of my favorite people, a visit that involved a cathartic if weepy conversation on my couch, a damp but productive ramble around Harvard Square, and mediocre sushi with strangers, followed by a new and fun card game. I might be forgetting something, but I'm pretty sure Sunday was completely inert.

I've fallen in love with Lush's Bob soap. I finished the book The Big Girls I was slogging through and can move on to more fun things. I made absolutely stunning cranberry bars. I'm volunteering with MassEquality tomorrow. Things go well, though I still feel rather disoriented. Winter's coming, and it doesn't seem like it's going to find me any more settled than I was in the fall. We're going back some time in the next couple weeks and I'm getting all my holiday decorations, my crockpot and my ancient sewing machine. We're going to hit a furniture store and find a table I like well enough to keep forever, but small enough to be able to fit into my future house. I'll feather whatever goddamn nest I end up in, in other words.

(no subject)

It feels like it's probably always more of the same when I'm posting.

I'm continuing on trying out this project about being nice(r) to myself. I was told by someone that even though I believe I take perfectly appropriate (or possibly excessively lenient) stance towards my own minor fuck ups and tragedies, I'm actually overly critical. Even typing this out makes me anxious, like the very idea of being nice to myself exposes me to some sort of externalized scathing criticism, and while I'm okay (for certain values of okay) with internalized scathing criticism, I think hearing it from a source other than myself might devastating.

The other piece of advice was that I need to practice failing, or I'm never going to get any better at it. I both crave change and fear that I will shatter at the smallest failure, and the two don't really go hand in hand. I'm not exactly sure how one practices failing, exactly, but I'm trying to wrap my mind around it.

I've developed a new fascination with knee socks, though I have yet to cave to the desire to purchase the knee highs with hook-and-eye backseams from Sock Dreams (it's a close battle). I also picked up a fetching new gray coat from the Garment District, which seems to be serving me well. On the list of things I have yet to master, dressing weather-appropriately when leaving the house for hours on end on a trip that spans walking, public transit and my final destination falls somewhere near the top. This coat helps, somewhat. And I think it's darling.

Light's first back ailment cleared up, but somehow in the healing process he ended up with what the doctor is assuming is a slipped disc (the xray was fine so it's definitely not skeletal) and the MRI will eventually confirm. The main difference is before, he could stand and lie down but not sit, and now, he can sit but not lie down or stand. I've started on a sleeping med, (so I can sleep through the tossing and turning) so I'm getting a little more sleep, but my dreams are odd and I'm fuzzy-headed when I wake.

I had a chockful of awesome weekend, first a lovely visit by some of my favorite people, a visit that involved a cathartic if weepy conversation on my couch, a damp but productive ramble around Harvard Square, and mediocre sushi with strangers, followed by a new and fun card game. I might be forgetting something, but I'm pretty sure Sunday was completely inert.

I've fallen in love with Lush's Bob soap. I finished the book The Big Girls I was slogging through and can move on to more fun things. I made absolutely stunning cranberry bars. I'm volunteering with MassEquality tomorrow. Things go well, though I still feel rather disoriented. Winter's coming, and it doesn't seem like it's going to find me any more settled than I was in the fall. We're going back some time in the next couple weeks and I'm getting all my holiday decorations, my crockpot and my ancient sewing machine. We're going to hit a furniture store and find a table I like well enough to keep forever, but small enough to be able to fit into my future house. I'll feather whatever goddamn nest I end up in, in other words.