(no subject)

A long, long day. And a lot of text, now.

Today I went to the gym, met with my personal trainer who ran me through a bunch of "let's find out what I can do" exercises. I continue to want her to be my new mom, and when she praised me on my kinesthetic memory and called me a diminutive of my name I never let anyone call me, I almost swooned.

Going to the gym continues to be weirdly fraught and relaxing all at once. I know for a fact I won't see my ex there, but I'm still so unfamiliar with the etiquette. I have yet to shower there, chosing to return home rather than figure out how to negotiate the whole thing, and it feels like I'm the only uncomfortable one in the whole group. Let me clarify that it is not the naked women that make me uncomfortable, only the sense that everyone else knows what they're doing.

And then my mom came over, and we regrouted the tub. Well, she regrouted the tub while I steamed all of Light's shirts. Then she re-taught me to knit. And then we went to Davis Squared and I bought yet another silly thing for my hair.

And then I went to therapy. Which, even though this therapist and I are probably going to part ways because she wants me to get help from someone more qualified in the facing-cancer part of the equation, was a little bit useful.

She told me the end of my relationship was not my fault, which triggered a veritable storm of tears. And she made the observation that I crave relationships, which is very true but a phrasing I hadn't put to myself, and gives a certain light to everything I do. Part of what I am having such a hard time getting over is the feeling of safety that X brought, that I didn't have to chase anyone anymore, that my need for intimacy was sated entirely, and that I could go meet new people, but there wasn't the sense of urgency to it.

So, things go apace. I'm still having a hard time getting over the ex, but I'm trying to self soothe. I say things like "I am done with X." or "He's a baby." to myself on a fairly regular basis. I read his twitter feed, which was weak, and it was all drinking and bars and his new girlfriend and other members of the burlesque troop, and it didn't hurt as much as I expected. He is younger than me, and he wanted to skew even younger. That doesn't mean I'm not awesome, and that doesn't mean my life isn't awesome. Not being worth keeping to one man, who is possibly making an error in judgment, doesn't make me worthless to everyone.

I tell myself time brings everyone who isn't a tool back. which means either he's a tool, or someday we'll talk to each other again. I hear rumors that I'll heal from this, and I hope them to be true. I'm processing it intellectually, but I still feel like there's a band around my chest that keeps me from breathing and it gets exponentially worse when the sun goes down.

In the meantime, Arisia probably, and turning 34 on Sunday, and gorging on episodes of Supernatural. Looking, halfheartedly, for a volunteer opportunity, and trying to convince myself going to the gym will be a fine hobby, even if Porter Square is super-awkwardly located for my purposes. Onwards, upwards and all that.

(no subject)

A long, long day. And a lot of text, now.

Today I went to the gym, met with my personal trainer who ran me through a bunch of "let's find out what I can do" exercises. I continue to want her to be my new mom, and when she praised me on my kinesthetic memory and called me a diminutive of my name I never let anyone call me, I almost swooned.

Going to the gym continues to be weirdly fraught and relaxing all at once. I know for a fact I won't see my ex there, but I'm still so unfamiliar with the etiquette. I have yet to shower there, chosing to return home rather than figure out how to negotiate the whole thing, and it feels like I'm the only uncomfortable one in the whole group. Let me clarify that it is not the naked women that make me uncomfortable, only the sense that everyone else knows what they're doing.

And then my mom came over, and we regrouted the tub. Well, she regrouted the tub while I steamed all of Light's shirts. Then she re-taught me to knit. And then we went to Davis Squared and I bought yet another silly thing for my hair.

And then I went to therapy. Which, even though this therapist and I are probably going to part ways because she wants me to get help from someone more qualified in the facing-cancer part of the equation, was a little bit useful.

She told me the end of my relationship was not my fault, which triggered a veritable storm of tears. And she made the observation that I crave relationships, which is very true but a phrasing I hadn't put to myself, and gives a certain light to everything I do. Part of what I am having such a hard time getting over is the feeling of safety that X brought, that I didn't have to chase anyone anymore, that my need for intimacy was sated entirely, and that I could go meet new people, but there wasn't the sense of urgency to it.

So, things go apace. I'm still having a hard time getting over the ex, but I'm trying to self soothe. I say things like "I am done with X." or "He's a baby." to myself on a fairly regular basis. I read his twitter feed, which was weak, and it was all drinking and bars and his new girlfriend and other members of the burlesque troop, and it didn't hurt as much as I expected. He is younger than me, and he wanted to skew even younger. That doesn't mean I'm not awesome, and that doesn't mean my life isn't awesome. Not being worth keeping to one man, who is possibly making an error in judgment, doesn't make me worthless to everyone.

I tell myself time brings everyone who isn't a tool back. which means either he's a tool, or someday we'll talk to each other again. I hear rumors that I'll heal from this, and I hope them to be true. I'm processing it intellectually, but I still feel like there's a band around my chest that keeps me from breathing and it gets exponentially worse when the sun goes down.

In the meantime, Arisia probably, and turning 34 on Sunday, and gorging on episodes of Supernatural. Looking, halfheartedly, for a volunteer opportunity, and trying to convince myself going to the gym will be a fine hobby, even if Porter Square is super-awkwardly located for my purposes. Onwards, upwards and all that.