"i have no way of knowing if it's all in my head"

Somewhere, something in my house smells horrible. Rotting food horrible, not cat urine horrible. I have no idea what's died where, and no idea how to find what's making the smell.

I fell getting off the bus, tore up my knee and my elbow, spent the day hobbling around, using a binder clip to keep my skirt from sticking to my knee. I also let myself not go to the gym today, since the idea of sweating into an open wound just seems like more pain than profit.

I'm getting anxious about readercon, though weirdly enough the thing making me anxious is not any of the con itself, but the sleeping without Light or any small furry animals on Thursday. I may end up bringing Mr. Kitty, even though I judge myself a little bit for using stuffed animals as actual comfort rather than cheerful collectibles. (Mr. Kitty is the small-scale squishable that comes with me to surgeries)

My college roommate came up to visit and it was amazing, and she's amazing, but it picked at lot of old scabs. Missed chances, failure to remain in academics, people who aren't in my life anymore, things that I still don't know the right way to talk about. I try so hard to put up the good show, to talk about my past like it's funny, like it's more story than history, and I find myself wishing I stayed silent on a fairly regular basis. I want so much to be understood, to explain and then I'm embarrassed by my assumption that anyone's interested.

Things yet to learn, I guess. I feel very wobbly, teetering back and forth between trying to stay open to new ways of friendship, things that involve less contact than I like, invitations rejected or unanswered, and sometimes it works (see: Delight) and sometimes, it just makes me feel like I'm scratching at a door that's never going to open. There's something worthy in persistence, but there's also something worthy about recognizing that walls are walls and will never be doors.

"i have no way of knowing if it's all in my head"

Somewhere, something in my house smells horrible. Rotting food horrible, not cat urine horrible. I have no idea what's died where, and no idea how to find what's making the smell.

I fell getting off the bus, tore up my knee and my elbow, spent the day hobbling around, using a binder clip to keep my skirt from sticking to my knee. I also let myself not go to the gym today, since the idea of sweating into an open wound just seems like more pain than profit.

I'm getting anxious about readercon, though weirdly enough the thing making me anxious is not any of the con itself, but the sleeping without Light or any small furry animals on Thursday. I may end up bringing Mr. Kitty, even though I judge myself a little bit for using stuffed animals as actual comfort rather than cheerful collectibles. (Mr. Kitty is the small-scale squishable that comes with me to surgeries)

My college roommate came up to visit and it was amazing, and she's amazing, but it picked at lot of old scabs. Missed chances, failure to remain in academics, people who aren't in my life anymore, things that I still don't know the right way to talk about. I try so hard to put up the good show, to talk about my past like it's funny, like it's more story than history, and I find myself wishing I stayed silent on a fairly regular basis. I want so much to be understood, to explain and then I'm embarrassed by my assumption that anyone's interested.

Things yet to learn, I guess. I feel very wobbly, teetering back and forth between trying to stay open to new ways of friendship, things that involve less contact than I like, invitations rejected or unanswered, and sometimes it works (see: Delight) and sometimes, it just makes me feel like I'm scratching at a door that's never going to open. There's something worthy in persistence, but there's also something worthy about recognizing that walls are walls and will never be doors.