"counted cards and covered bases"

For a week that contained good news, and really nothing disastrous, I'm totally stamping fail on this week and washing my hands of it.

I can't find a good mood. There was a break in the clouds on Wednesday, I had an awesome time volunteering at Artisan's Asylum, I had an even awesomer time going to Oleana with Light and eating amazing fancy food and even better, Media's baby is going to be fine. But for all of that, it feels like one flustering failure after another, crashing into each other and creating some perfect storm of suck, until I weep with frustration at the dog that wants to go out, the state of my couch, my inability to motivate myself up off said couch to do anything.

I canceled a bike lesson today, having had an absolute freakout at Porter Square when I briefly lost my footing because of the rain-slick stairs. I didn't do the dishes. One of the cats seems to have covered every inch of our house (including me) in urine-footprints. I didn't cook, I barely cleaned, I didn't go to yoga, I didn't write any of the emails that I should of/have to. Yesterday included, among other things, two interviews that made me feel like an idiot (I was interviewing, not being interviewed), dog pee on my face as I woke up, a gym class I bullied myself into going to and then hated and a spontaneous crying-until-I-gagged jag that swept over me while I was sitting at Crema, prompting me to skip my extension school class and come home, curl up under a blanket and do nothing.

And I don't feel like I know how to let go of anything, I keep reining myself in. It's my fault that it takes an hour to get anywhere, because I chose not to drive, I chose not to learn how to ride a bike. And I should consider myself lucky to be able to work part time and spend all this time waiting for buses. I should consider myself lucky that I have a incredibly easy going husband who will drive me where I want to go if he can.

I should cherish the invitations I do get more, rather than be upset about the signals that get crossed, get dropped. I should know that I'm too messy for other people to cope with, and it's no wonder that I make all these missteps and mistakes, that I never know where to put my hands.

I've said to myself, to lj, to my therapist that I never hated myself so much as when I realized I had desires I couldn't self-fulfill. And it's probably too melodramatic to be true, there are all sorts of things I hate about myself, but one of them is this clumsy puppy-eager desire to be liked that I can't seem to put down.

None of my jeans fit, and instead of being happy that I'm healthier than I was this last time, I'm just daunted and uncomfortable, unable to handle thinking about my body long enough to buy anything new. I feel like I'm poorly balanced on a tightrope stretched over an abyss populated with issues about BRCA, about the decisions I've made and the ones I'm stalling on, and everything keeps coming back to it.

Media's decision not to get tested before he and his wife have a baby? About me. I've always known that my family believes I make big deals out of basically nothing, I didn't actually need to have the surgery, and having made the decision to do so, it's a little bit attention-seeking of me to have ongoing issues with it, but choosing not to get tested feels like proof, like dismissal. Reminders that I'm occasionally attracted to other people? Cues for immediate self-loathing, not because of any monogamy/polyamory issues, but because I can't imagine ever getting comfortable enough with frankenboobs to let anyone see them.

But, we're going to screeeeeeemfest tonight and hopefully it will be awesome and maybe I'll spend the whole weekend crying and playing computer games and that will be fine too.

"counted cards and covered bases"

For a week that contained good news, and really nothing disastrous, I'm totally stamping fail on this week and washing my hands of it.

I can't find a good mood. There was a break in the clouds on Wednesday, I had an awesome time volunteering at Artisan's Asylum, I had an even awesomer time going to Oleana with Light and eating amazing fancy food and even better, Media's baby is going to be fine. But for all of that, it feels like one flustering failure after another, crashing into each other and creating some perfect storm of suck, until I weep with frustration at the dog that wants to go out, the state of my couch, my inability to motivate myself up off said couch to do anything.

I canceled a bike lesson today, having had an absolute freakout at Porter Square when I briefly lost my footing because of the rain-slick stairs. I didn't do the dishes. One of the cats seems to have covered every inch of our house (including me) in urine-footprints. I didn't cook, I barely cleaned, I didn't go to yoga, I didn't write any of the emails that I should of/have to. Yesterday included, among other things, two interviews that made me feel like an idiot (I was interviewing, not being interviewed), dog pee on my face as I woke up, a gym class I bullied myself into going to and then hated and a spontaneous crying-until-I-gagged jag that swept over me while I was sitting at Crema, prompting me to skip my extension school class and come home, curl up under a blanket and do nothing.

And I don't feel like I know how to let go of anything, I keep reining myself in. It's my fault that it takes an hour to get anywhere, because I chose not to drive, I chose not to learn how to ride a bike. And I should consider myself lucky to be able to work part time and spend all this time waiting for buses. I should consider myself lucky that I have a incredibly easy going husband who will drive me where I want to go if he can.

I should cherish the invitations I do get more, rather than be upset about the signals that get crossed, get dropped. I should know that I'm too messy for other people to cope with, and it's no wonder that I make all these missteps and mistakes, that I never know where to put my hands.

I've said to myself, to lj, to my therapist that I never hated myself so much as when I realized I had desires I couldn't self-fulfill. And it's probably too melodramatic to be true, there are all sorts of things I hate about myself, but one of them is this clumsy puppy-eager desire to be liked that I can't seem to put down.

None of my jeans fit, and instead of being happy that I'm healthier than I was this last time, I'm just daunted and uncomfortable, unable to handle thinking about my body long enough to buy anything new. I feel like I'm poorly balanced on a tightrope stretched over an abyss populated with issues about BRCA, about the decisions I've made and the ones I'm stalling on, and everything keeps coming back to it.

Media's decision not to get tested before he and his wife have a baby? About me. I've always known that my family believes I make big deals out of basically nothing, I didn't actually need to have the surgery, and having made the decision to do so, it's a little bit attention-seeking of me to have ongoing issues with it, but choosing not to get tested feels like proof, like dismissal. Reminders that I'm occasionally attracted to other people? Cues for immediate self-loathing, not because of any monogamy/polyamory issues, but because I can't imagine ever getting comfortable enough with frankenboobs to let anyone see them.

But, we're going to screeeeeeemfest tonight and hopefully it will be awesome and maybe I'll spend the whole weekend crying and playing computer games and that will be fine too.