(no subject)

Today was a preparatory day. We bought a ludicrous amount of the kind of groceries that won't go bad, some disposable flatware, I set up some needlepoint for me to do, ranging from very hard to very easy. We browsed a bunch of stores looking for some elusive thing-to-buy that would make me feel better, which ended up being an 8 dollar ice cream cookbook. And I found something at B&N that I'm going to order from Porter Square. I played a bunch of Katamari, we saw Cowboys and Aliens, returned the defective Gilmore Girls and Light made us artichoke and feta pasta and a salad for dinner.

I've started to imagine disaster. Well, truthfully I never stopped, but now it's more focused. I imagine slipping down every staircase I descend, dropping every glass thing I pick up, mishandling every knife I use, all the possible things that could run into me, or me-in-the-car.

I just took my ativan (whee!) and am somewhere between feisty and nostalgic.

Here are the things I want to do: I want ride this out. I want to be as calm as I can manage. I want to be easier on myself, even when I feel like I'm already being too easy.

I want remember that anything can be the new normal if I work at it. I'm doing this intentionally, which is powerful, even if right now it feels like none of the power is in my hands.

While this is fucked up, there is nothing about this surgery that is going to fundamentally change who-I-am. It's not going to make me illiterate, or take away Light or the animals, it's not going to undo all the progress I've made on all the fronts that I'm making it.

On our fridge is a chalkboard. Under the grocery list containing only "pants" and "more cats" there was a to-do list. Now the two items on the to-do list are "survive" and "wash windows".

holy crap, ativan works fast.

(no subject)

Today was a preparatory day. We bought a ludicrous amount of the kind of groceries that won't go bad, some disposable flatware, I set up some needlepoint for me to do, ranging from very hard to very easy. We browsed a bunch of stores looking for some elusive thing-to-buy that would make me feel better, which ended up being an 8 dollar ice cream cookbook. And I found something at B&N that I'm going to order from Porter Square. I played a bunch of Katamari, we saw Cowboys and Aliens, returned the defective Gilmore Girls and Light made us artichoke and feta pasta and a salad for dinner.

I've started to imagine disaster. Well, truthfully I never stopped, but now it's more focused. I imagine slipping down every staircase I descend, dropping every glass thing I pick up, mishandling every knife I use, all the possible things that could run into me, or me-in-the-car.

I just took my ativan (whee!) and am somewhere between feisty and nostalgic.

Here are the things I want to do: I want ride this out. I want to be as calm as I can manage. I want to be easier on myself, even when I feel like I'm already being too easy.

I want remember that anything can be the new normal if I work at it. I'm doing this intentionally, which is powerful, even if right now it feels like none of the power is in my hands.

While this is fucked up, there is nothing about this surgery that is going to fundamentally change who-I-am. It's not going to make me illiterate, or take away Light or the animals, it's not going to undo all the progress I've made on all the fronts that I'm making it.

On our fridge is a chalkboard. Under the grocery list containing only "pants" and "more cats" there was a to-do list. Now the two items on the to-do list are "survive" and "wash windows".

holy crap, ativan works fast.