"Hopeful for the next, but I'm happy to leave this one behind. Let's leave this year behind."

Oh, the new year (It's possible I'm going to start at least 75% of my lj from this point forward with Oh, X.), when a middle-aged woman's fancy turns towards reflecting on years gone by, and resolving, once again, to do at least half of everything differently next year.

Step One: No more mastectomies.
Step Two: Stop acquiring new animals.
Step Three: Revamp worldview and self-image.
Step Four: Drink tea.

There are things I want to do that have some sort of product. More cooking, more baking, (I've seized upon the idea of assigning myself one of my bookmarked recipes a week.) More cross-stitch.

There are house-bound things I want to do. Try to sweep most days. Research kitchen and/or bathroom remodeling. Buy a new shoe tree. Find some things to throw away. I want to walk the dog more, and brush the cats more often. I want to stay on top of home paperwork and (finally) hang new art.

There's a hell of a lot of emotional work to be done, and I'm not even certain where to begin chipping away at it. I guess the closest I can come to summarizing it is that I want to be more grounded, and I want to use less weasel words when I talk, when I write, and when I think. I'm saying "I think I feel" or "it's possible I believe" and while I really, truly do believe that there's no such thing as certainty, maybe it'll be a good idea to feign it for a bit.

I want to find a steady place from which to interact with people. I want to know that I've found enough favor already, that what I've got is wonderful, and sustainable and I don't need to constantly seek the approval of new people, much less set myself the project of convincing new people I'm worth putting in effort for. But I also want to learn to have occasional friends, people that I do care about and have occasional tea with, or might work with in the future, but for now, they can stay in the diesel once every couple months category and I dcan leave them there.

I want to travel. With friends, with Light, by myself. I want to find silly little dog-friendly day trips. I want to see more parks, more trees, more ocean.

I want to stop buying perfume, and crafting supplies and tea until I work through my backlog. Books, however, are fine.

I want to keep more metrics of my days. Books I've read, food I've eaten, miles I've walked, shows I've gone to, money I've spent, things I've cooked and anything else I can think of. Until I'm feeling more at home in my skin, I want to micromanage my own days and I want to start writing the good kind of stories on my body.

I want to learn to belly dance, to sew, to decoupage. I want to get regular haircuts and try new restaurants. I want more sex, more seltzer water and more squishables. I want to learn things I didn't even know it was possible to learn.

2011. We had some good times, we had some bad times, we laughed, we cried. I think we've both grown, we've both learned a lot about ourselves, got some practice working on our distress tolerances. But it's not me, it's you, and like my asshat of an ex, from now on, let's just cross the street if we see each other coming.

"Hopeful for the next, but I'm happy to leave this one behind. Let's leave this year behind."

Oh, the new year (It's possible I'm going to start at least 75% of my lj from this point forward with Oh, X.), when a middle-aged woman's fancy turns towards reflecting on years gone by, and resolving, once again, to do at least half of everything differently next year.

Step One: No more mastectomies.
Step Two: Stop acquiring new animals.
Step Three: Revamp worldview and self-image.
Step Four: Drink tea.

There are things I want to do that have some sort of product. More cooking, more baking, (I've seized upon the idea of assigning myself one of my bookmarked recipes a week.) More cross-stitch.

There are house-bound things I want to do. Try to sweep most days. Research kitchen and/or bathroom remodeling. Buy a new shoe tree. Find some things to throw away. I want to walk the dog more, and brush the cats more often. I want to stay on top of home paperwork and (finally) hang new art.

There's a hell of a lot of emotional work to be done, and I'm not even certain where to begin chipping away at it. I guess the closest I can come to summarizing it is that I want to be more grounded, and I want to use less weasel words when I talk, when I write, and when I think. I'm saying "I think I feel" or "it's possible I believe" and while I really, truly do believe that there's no such thing as certainty, maybe it'll be a good idea to feign it for a bit.

I want to find a steady place from which to interact with people. I want to know that I've found enough favor already, that what I've got is wonderful, and sustainable and I don't need to constantly seek the approval of new people, much less set myself the project of convincing new people I'm worth putting in effort for. But I also want to learn to have occasional friends, people that I do care about and have occasional tea with, or might work with in the future, but for now, they can stay in the diesel once every couple months category and I dcan leave them there.

I want to travel. With friends, with Light, by myself. I want to find silly little dog-friendly day trips. I want to see more parks, more trees, more ocean.

I want to stop buying perfume, and crafting supplies and tea until I work through my backlog. Books, however, are fine.

I want to keep more metrics of my days. Books I've read, food I've eaten, miles I've walked, shows I've gone to, money I've spent, things I've cooked and anything else I can think of. Until I'm feeling more at home in my skin, I want to micromanage my own days and I want to start writing the good kind of stories on my body.

I want to learn to belly dance, to sew, to decoupage. I want to get regular haircuts and try new restaurants. I want more sex, more seltzer water and more squishables. I want to learn things I didn't even know it was possible to learn.

2011. We had some good times, we had some bad times, we laughed, we cried. I think we've both grown, we've both learned a lot about ourselves, got some practice working on our distress tolerances. But it's not me, it's you, and like my asshat of an ex, from now on, let's just cross the street if we see each other coming.

"And I know this is a never ending process / This growing up thing."

So, the crushing despair has passed. Which isn't to say it won't come back around again, but is proof for future-me that things to pass. And I'm pretty sure with a little bit of will, I can figure out how to extend the times in between the crises. There's a slightly undercooked cake cooling on the stove and a snoring doggie curled up beside me.

I don't need to compare myself to anyone. I don't need to try to be as brave as anyone else, or as pretty or as smart. I need to be as brave as I can be, and I need to learn to look at myself with a slightly more forgiving eye, in both directions. I need to not assume I'm a complete coward, but I need to also not feel like every lapse is a systematic failure.

I wondered for a long time why I couldn't just quit Asshat like I quit drinking. It's no so much that I never looked back (I look back all the time) but I decided, and I acted on that decision, and it was more important to me to be able to do it than it was to try to slowly drink myself into a grave, or use alcohol as a substitute for SSRIs. But it was apples to oranges. I can control what I do, I can put my shoulder to just about any moveable object, but I can't actually make myself stop thinking about anything, I can only try to change my focus when I brood.

Now, I'm off to color code my calendar while my cake cools.

"And I know this is a never ending process / This growing up thing."

So, the crushing despair has passed. Which isn't to say it won't come back around again, but is proof for future-me that things to pass. And I'm pretty sure with a little bit of will, I can figure out how to extend the times in between the crises. There's a slightly undercooked cake cooling on the stove and a snoring doggie curled up beside me.

I don't need to compare myself to anyone. I don't need to try to be as brave as anyone else, or as pretty or as smart. I need to be as brave as I can be, and I need to learn to look at myself with a slightly more forgiving eye, in both directions. I need to not assume I'm a complete coward, but I need to also not feel like every lapse is a systematic failure.

I wondered for a long time why I couldn't just quit Asshat like I quit drinking. It's no so much that I never looked back (I look back all the time) but I decided, and I acted on that decision, and it was more important to me to be able to do it than it was to try to slowly drink myself into a grave, or use alcohol as a substitute for SSRIs. But it was apples to oranges. I can control what I do, I can put my shoulder to just about any moveable object, but I can't actually make myself stop thinking about anything, I can only try to change my focus when I brood.

Now, I'm off to color code my calendar while my cake cools.