"give it just a little more time."

I'm having a fussy day, and I'm not sure how to pull out of this tailspin.   ETA: I've like half-succeeded.
 

I've mis-stepped in an email and am entirely blocked on another one I need to write.  Work ad a wine and cheese, and I never enjoy those, for half a dozen reasons, but mostly because I have to work late in order to have mandatory fun.  

And there are good things, there are people and words and feelings and I'm really enjoying a lot of them.  I'm trying the tricks, trying to assume the best possible motivations of other people, trying to remember not to assume everything's going to end in tears and fire so why bother.  I'm trying to fingerspell my thoughts to myself, to slow them down, I'm trying to distract myself with cheerful, foolish music and the excitement of future plans.
 

But I'm back to this sick feeling of having fucked something up, of being about to fuck something up, or, looking back at last week's entry, maybe I never left.   There's this prickling in my eyes that I can't parse, and if I can't tell why I'm about to cry, I can't avoid it.    There are days I miss my ovaries, miss having some of the moods be chartable.  But I don't miss having body parts that are plotting to kill me.

 
Someone interviewed me once, about BRCA, and she was awesome, and I got an email from her yesterday and she told me that she'd used some of my language in a role playing exercise she'd written about BRCA, and she totally had my permission, but it was unsettling to see it all laid out like that.  

We drove up to NH last night to visit a beautiful cat, and I couldn't sort out all my feelings, but I basically just wanted Funnyface back, and even though the new kitty had wonderful feet, and set a land-speed record for calming down and just hanging out with us, she didn't feel like she was that interested in me, and I think I thought I'd know, all certainty and love and it wasn't like that at all.

There are all these ways I'm self-censoring, things I'm saying slantwise or not at all, because I still don't really want to filter these yet, decide who gets to hear about the kinky things, the poly things, the medication things, the crazycake things.   There's something about the exercise of it just being out there that appeals to me. 

I don't want to rush to the end of the book,I want to savor each step along the way, I don't want to feel like I have something to prove, it's okay to want things and not know if you're going to get them.  If I'm not actually lonely, if my days are full, if most days pass in whirlwinds of text, public transit and small furry animals, where do these eeyore-esque rain clouds come from?

Mope, mope, mope.  It'll pass.  Tomorrow, I go to Oleana.  Tonight I eat yummy dinner, and then make a sheet cake for community cooks.    Now, I cuddle with Light and watch silly things on the internet.