![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Jun. 20th, 2019 07:55 pmThere's a bit in the book I just read that talked about the easiest and hardest ritual.
Get up.
Do the thing.
Get up and do the thing again.
If I'm too harsh with myself I'll just stop journaling and that's not what I want. But I also fear that if I'm not harsh enough, I won't start. I know the first to be true and I believe the second to be true.
It's been a bit of a week. I don't even remember what we did, if anything, Monday night. I'd lost my keys and spent some of the night frantically looking for them, and then more of the night staring vacantly at a computer screen. Tuesday night was a late-running cona meeting, wednesday was helping Prof pack. Today was a scary doctor appointment.
Sevenish years ago, I had a complete mastectomy and reconstruction. They ended up smaller than I started and more lopsided, and I still have a lot of trouble thinking of them as part of my body (the tattoos totally helped but the problem is deeper or bigger or stickier than can be solved by ink). And lately, the right side has been hurting.
Fortunately, the doctor didn't feel any obvious tightening of scar tissue, and assured me nothing I'm doing is making the pain worse. I'll have a boob MRI in a couple weeks (which I suspect will be a parade of flashbacks) to determine if there's anything wrong with the implant and if not, I'll probably have to do PT, go to a post-reconstruction-specializing massage therapist or learn to deal with it. It's not a stabby pain, just a dull ache that makes me think about my boobs a lot more than is helpful for my equilibrium. At the moment, it works best if I mostly get to ignore them while stuffing them in pretty bralettes and thinking more about cleavage and tattoos and not the road I took to get here.
I have half a dozen draft posts, about nannying and Delight, about witchery things and house things. About summer coming, about being tired. Maybe i'll start unpacking them this weekend.
Get up.
Do the thing.
Get up and do the thing again.
If I'm too harsh with myself I'll just stop journaling and that's not what I want. But I also fear that if I'm not harsh enough, I won't start. I know the first to be true and I believe the second to be true.
It's been a bit of a week. I don't even remember what we did, if anything, Monday night. I'd lost my keys and spent some of the night frantically looking for them, and then more of the night staring vacantly at a computer screen. Tuesday night was a late-running cona meeting, wednesday was helping Prof pack. Today was a scary doctor appointment.
Sevenish years ago, I had a complete mastectomy and reconstruction. They ended up smaller than I started and more lopsided, and I still have a lot of trouble thinking of them as part of my body (the tattoos totally helped but the problem is deeper or bigger or stickier than can be solved by ink). And lately, the right side has been hurting.
Fortunately, the doctor didn't feel any obvious tightening of scar tissue, and assured me nothing I'm doing is making the pain worse. I'll have a boob MRI in a couple weeks (which I suspect will be a parade of flashbacks) to determine if there's anything wrong with the implant and if not, I'll probably have to do PT, go to a post-reconstruction-specializing massage therapist or learn to deal with it. It's not a stabby pain, just a dull ache that makes me think about my boobs a lot more than is helpful for my equilibrium. At the moment, it works best if I mostly get to ignore them while stuffing them in pretty bralettes and thinking more about cleavage and tattoos and not the road I took to get here.
I have half a dozen draft posts, about nannying and Delight, about witchery things and house things. About summer coming, about being tired. Maybe i'll start unpacking them this weekend.
