"All straight lines circle sometime"

Writing outside of livejournal makes me less likely to write in livejournal. And when I do write on the internet, it's in the worst kind of moods, needy and greedy and lost.

Today, I think I'm on what serves as my feet again, for a little bit at least. And while it's not lucky exactly, I'll take it, because Light's back is acting up today. (I, of course, think this is my fault because I said something to my personal trainer about how Light's back had been really good for a long time.)

My long weekend was pretty awesome, even if I had a little bit of migraine narcolepsy on Monday. There were many people, much ice cream, and even some singing. Next year, you all should come. We have the subtitles for the people who don't know the words, and the volume very loud for the people who can't sing. And I am declaring it tradition by fiat.

I'm dithering these days. There are all these things I want to do pre-surgery, but spending too much effort doing them makes me feel like I'm intending to never leave my house again post-surgery, and I really should have things on the other side to look forward to as well, even if I can't plan for how long recovery will take and I won't actually know how I'll feel until I get there.

I need to figure out how to ask for help, I think. Which means first figuring out how to be okay if I ask for help and don't get it, which is the thing I get stuck up on. Or maybe I don't really need any help, just patience and sympathy-without-pity?

In my perfect world, someone could take the dog for a couple days, someone could come in and feed the cats, someone would take over our farm share, someone would come over and make sure that Light's not going mad because of the horrible behavior of his drug-addled wife. Someone would bring us food we could eat cold on paper plates, someone would bring me paperback novels of little redeeming value. Someone would keep me from posting rage-drunk or pity-drunk posts on LJ, or keep me from googling old lovers because I'm already feeling ugly. Someone would convince me I can still be interesting above and beyond my struggles with BRCA.

(In my perfect perfect world, I'd need to eat nothing but raspberries and dark chocolate, and I'd drink always-perfectly-brewed tea, my dog would walk herself and scoop her own shit, all the trim in my house would match, and the internet would be full of videos of hedgehogs eating things, and all of my laundry would have the same wash conditions).

So, typing that out, I think Light and I can pull each individual thing in the perfect world off. I'm just not sure we can do all of it.

( They fuck you up, your mum and dad )

"All straight lines circle sometime"

Writing outside of livejournal makes me less likely to write in livejournal. And when I do write on the internet, it's in the worst kind of moods, needy and greedy and lost.

Today, I think I'm on what serves as my feet again, for a little bit at least. And while it's not lucky exactly, I'll take it, because Light's back is acting up today. (I, of course, think this is my fault because I said something to my personal trainer about how Light's back had been really good for a long time.)

My long weekend was pretty awesome, even if I had a little bit of migraine narcolepsy on Monday. There were many people, much ice cream, and even some singing. Next year, you all should come. We have the subtitles for the people who don't know the words, and the volume very loud for the people who can't sing. And I am declaring it tradition by fiat.

I'm dithering these days. There are all these things I want to do pre-surgery, but spending too much effort doing them makes me feel like I'm intending to never leave my house again post-surgery, and I really should have things on the other side to look forward to as well, even if I can't plan for how long recovery will take and I won't actually know how I'll feel until I get there.

I need to figure out how to ask for help, I think. Which means first figuring out how to be okay if I ask for help and don't get it, which is the thing I get stuck up on. Or maybe I don't really need any help, just patience and sympathy-without-pity?

In my perfect world, someone could take the dog for a couple days, someone could come in and feed the cats, someone would take over our farm share, someone would come over and make sure that Light's not going mad because of the horrible behavior of his drug-addled wife. Someone would bring us food we could eat cold on paper plates, someone would bring me paperback novels of little redeeming value. Someone would keep me from posting rage-drunk or pity-drunk posts on LJ, or keep me from googling old lovers because I'm already feeling ugly. Someone would convince me I can still be interesting above and beyond my struggles with BRCA.

(In my perfect perfect world, I'd need to eat nothing but raspberries and dark chocolate, and I'd drink always-perfectly-brewed tea, my dog would walk herself and scoop her own shit, all the trim in my house would match, and the internet would be full of videos of hedgehogs eating things, and all of my laundry would have the same wash conditions).

So, typing that out, I think Light and I can pull each individual thing in the perfect world off. I'm just not sure we can do all of it.

( They fuck you up, your mum and dad )