(no subject)

So, after putting in a long day and half composing a very important excel spreadsheet that no one understands (woe is me), I have now decided that I am done with with work for the day. Even though I don't leave for my doctor's appointment until 2. So, I've been poking around wishlists on livejournal, and trying to combat the tyranny of too many feeds in my google reader. (eventually, I'm going to give up on processing information at all and read only Catalog Living and Unhappy Hipsters.)

I'm struggling a little bit. With the time of year, with the slew of doctor's appointments in december, with facing going out to my inlaws for the holidays, with figuring out where my time goes and how I want to get it back. I don't talk to people on the internet as much, which I miss, I still haven't taken a class at the artisan's asylum and I haven't even applied for the harvard certificate program (and that's due in thirteen days). I keep cleaning, over and over again, and I sometimes wonder if I'm doing it wrong because nothing ever seems to stay tidy. We've now got two rooms that we've rendered almost completely useless. (Light's room has the treadmill, and a giant pile of stuff we intend to take to goodwill. My room has the shambles of my very nice purple couch that has been peed upon by cats). The doors are closed, but it still freaks me out, but trying to work and cook and clean and exercise pretty much floors me.

Even though I scheduled this appointment, and I have even written down on a post-it what I want to talk about, I always do the same thing when I go to the doctor. I assume I'm bothering her, I assume she's going to tell me all of my problems are either due to my weight or how unkindly I treated my body for many years, and that I should just shut up and cope. I've seen many doctors in my time, and only one of them has said that "You really can't expect your health to improve if you remain overweight" but I remain convinced it's lurking under the surface of every appointment, and so now I feel like I'm fighting myself to get decent care, which adds another layer onto a battle that's hard enough already, and doesn't need any help daunting me.

I'm not complaining, this is a pretty awesome life, I just feel a little bit like I'm swimming upstream.

On the other hand, I got to watch Josie and the Pussycats last night (the movie, not the cartoon) which contains priceless Alan Cumming moments, and I'm managing to let go of all those unread books that I've had for years, and am keeping because I really should read them/like them. It's time for me to confront the fact that I'm never, ever going to actually read the master and margarita, because the first time I started it was during a very bad period of my life, and the book is tainted forever in my memory. I'm not going to read Dorothy Dunnett, no matter how highly she comes recommended. If I've bought it recently, I'll try to read it, if it's moved from Northampton to Somerville apartment to Somerville house, it's probably staying unread. Margaret Drabble will always seem like a cut-rate AS Byatt, and I don't even like reading Byatt novels that much. (though I have plowed my way through everything she's written, with the exception of The Biographer's Tale and The Children's Book. My to-read list has hit the ludicrous point, and I might as well chip away at it with things I'm excited to read, rather than punish myself in some dour new england way by reading books I don't actually want to.

In my facebook, I've been remarking on whether or not I or the day won for most of the week. This has not been my finest hour, or even my finest week, but I'm totally wiping the floor with next week. Just you wait.

(no subject)

So, after putting in a long day and half composing a very important excel spreadsheet that no one understands (woe is me), I have now decided that I am done with with work for the day. Even though I don't leave for my doctor's appointment until 2. So, I've been poking around wishlists on livejournal, and trying to combat the tyranny of too many feeds in my google reader. (eventually, I'm going to give up on processing information at all and read only Catalog Living and Unhappy Hipsters.)

I'm struggling a little bit. With the time of year, with the slew of doctor's appointments in december, with facing going out to my inlaws for the holidays, with figuring out where my time goes and how I want to get it back. I don't talk to people on the internet as much, which I miss, I still haven't taken a class at the artisan's asylum and I haven't even applied for the harvard certificate program (and that's due in thirteen days). I keep cleaning, over and over again, and I sometimes wonder if I'm doing it wrong because nothing ever seems to stay tidy. We've now got two rooms that we've rendered almost completely useless. (Light's room has the treadmill, and a giant pile of stuff we intend to take to goodwill. My room has the shambles of my very nice purple couch that has been peed upon by cats). The doors are closed, but it still freaks me out, but trying to work and cook and clean and exercise pretty much floors me.

Even though I scheduled this appointment, and I have even written down on a post-it what I want to talk about, I always do the same thing when I go to the doctor. I assume I'm bothering her, I assume she's going to tell me all of my problems are either due to my weight or how unkindly I treated my body for many years, and that I should just shut up and cope. I've seen many doctors in my time, and only one of them has said that "You really can't expect your health to improve if you remain overweight" but I remain convinced it's lurking under the surface of every appointment, and so now I feel like I'm fighting myself to get decent care, which adds another layer onto a battle that's hard enough already, and doesn't need any help daunting me.

I'm not complaining, this is a pretty awesome life, I just feel a little bit like I'm swimming upstream.

On the other hand, I got to watch Josie and the Pussycats last night (the movie, not the cartoon) which contains priceless Alan Cumming moments, and I'm managing to let go of all those unread books that I've had for years, and am keeping because I really should read them/like them. It's time for me to confront the fact that I'm never, ever going to actually read the master and margarita, because the first time I started it was during a very bad period of my life, and the book is tainted forever in my memory. I'm not going to read Dorothy Dunnett, no matter how highly she comes recommended. If I've bought it recently, I'll try to read it, if it's moved from Northampton to Somerville apartment to Somerville house, it's probably staying unread. Margaret Drabble will always seem like a cut-rate AS Byatt, and I don't even like reading Byatt novels that much. (though I have plowed my way through everything she's written, with the exception of The Biographer's Tale and The Children's Book. My to-read list has hit the ludicrous point, and I might as well chip away at it with things I'm excited to read, rather than punish myself in some dour new england way by reading books I don't actually want to.

In my facebook, I've been remarking on whether or not I or the day won for most of the week. This has not been my finest hour, or even my finest week, but I'm totally wiping the floor with next week. Just you wait.