I’m working on it

I know, it’s been a while. It’s not because I’m not trying.

I’ve been researching and putting together what is turning out to be more of a Psychology paper than a blog, and these things take time. If only I had put this much time and effort into an actual Psychology homework assignment 20-some-odd years ago!

Meanwhile, I’m tired and I feel a bit like I’ve been run over by a bus. You see, I’ve cut carbs and sugar from my life, entirely. Call it Atkins. Call it Keto. Call it Paleo. Call it feeling like complete shit for at least a week. That’s where I’m at.

Why? Well, I’ve hit a bit of a plateau with weight loss and I’m just ready for a big change in my day-to-day. There’s no one to hold me back anymore! And hell, pork rinds are actually ON the menu! I plopped a glop of butter (the really nice, yellow, european high-quality kind) in my coffee this morning, along with a slurp of unsweetened almond milk. It was tolerable. (#buttermakeseverythingbetter) I made a riced cauliflower dish for lunch and I’ll be having bacon and eggs for dinner. Tomorrow is Day 3 and from what I hear, the “Keto-flu” may get worse before it gets better. That’ll be fun for my co-workers, who’s names I couldn’t remember today (I’ve only known some of them for 20 years!) – hellllooooooo brain fog – a withdrawal symptom along with headache, some nausea, fatigue and dizziness. These things, I’m told, will pass.

Despite the fact that I don’t feel good, I do, actually, feel good about myself. I like making positive changes. I like making my life better. I like healthy routines and self-care. I am finally becoming the sort of person I always wanted to be. The kind of person who exercises regularly, eats with conscience and purpose, maintains quality friendships by nurturing them, like, all the time, and who takes pride in her CUTEAF condo brimming with light and flowers I buy on the weekly for no one but myself.

That’s not to say I’m not lonely. I am very lonely. No doubt about it. Nor shame.

I still have a bit more “research” to do before I compile my Psychology paper-blog, and so, I’m off … tune in tomorrow or maybe the next day, or the day after that. One of these days, if I manage to get out of this keto-fog… I’m working on it!

Can’t stop. Won’t stop.

It’s been a hot minute since I went to the psychiatrist. Doc went on vacation (is she allowed to do that??) last month and I knew I had scheduled something upon her return but it wasn’t until a text reminder arrived on Saturday that I remembered it.

Reply “C” for confirm. Hell yeah, I’ll be there. I need refills! Also – did you read my last entry??

Love Bomb used to snap at gently encourage me to see a psychiatrist whenever I’d get upset about virtually anything, unreasonable or not. Okay, so that time I got into a physical altercation with the lawnmower could have been construed as “unreasonable”, but it’s not like I was hurting anyone besides that self-righteous asshole mower. It’s no secret that I have a hot Irish temper (thanks, ma!) and fairly high expectations that are often unsatisfied. No, it’s not an “anger management issue” (quotations inserted on Love Bomb’s behalf) – it’s just one of those charming things that makes me an exceptionally passionate human. My passion makes me a better being, not inferior nor in need of repair.

I rolled out of bed at my typical slothful 10:15am. Why yes, I am generally expected to be to work by 10:30am, but you know what? I have a 2 minute commute (woo!) and time-clocks working the way they do with a built-in 8 minute grace-period, I most often arrive quite on-time by 10:37am. And yes, it’s also true that I sometimes resemble a recently unwrapped mummy complete with sleepy creases still embedded in my cheeks and I’m just fine with that! I work in an animal shelter, not a beauty salon. Besides, most everyone I work with knows better than to poke this bear before I’ve consumed at least one very strong cup of coffee, and the ones who don’t learn quickly.

Have I mentioned my temper?

Truth be told, I do realize that my sleeping habits tend to be excessive and that is something I discuss with my psychiatrist. I also have Fibromyalgia and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, so if you’re feeling judge-y about my sleep schedule, just don’t.

I had every intention of heading in to my appointment and having a reasonable adult conversation with my doctor, but it became pretty clear on the 20 minute drive to her office that that wasn’t happening. The sun was shining bright warming this February day to a whopping 70 degrees, windows open, sunglasses on, playlist, set to random, was choosing awesome tunes, and then there was me: ugly-crying all the way to Vienna.

By the time I arrived, I decided I no longer wanted to go in the office for the whole 15 minutes I had reserved. I had finally pulled myself together and I just didn’t feel like crying anymore. Fortunately, it’s clear I’m not the only one who does this by the two boxes of tissue within arms reach of that familiar soft, leather chair. Still, at 8 months into our work together, I hoped I had improved enough to avoid accruing a small mountain of soggy tissues, that, despite their strategic placement, I couldn’t find a trash can to deposit them in, so I wadded them into my hand, one after the other after the other.

Doc: “So, what’s been going on? How were your Holidays?”
Self: “Well, you know, every solitary first is tricky, but I got through it.”
Doc: “I’m glad to hear that. And more recently? It sure is a beautiful day outside!”
Self: <sob>
Doc: “What is it about a pretty day like today that makes you sad?”
Self: “It just kind of reminds me of last spring, and all that happened last year.”
Doc: “I see. You’re coming up on a year now since your breakup.”
Self: “Yeah, I mean, it’s only February, so this is gonna be a long spring, but April 6th was pivotal, April 23rd was too, and then May 13th was when she officially did away with me.”

She nodded some more and reassured me that what I was feeling was okay and normal; Every first is a struggle and that may also be true of seconds and thirds. GREAT!

Suddenly, fifteen minutes didn’t seem like enough time to cover all the topics I felt needed covering, i.e.: all the things that have contributed to my recent crap-ass mood. My birthday two weeks ago. Valentine’s Day. Even the fact that my bank information was recently stolen and just how vulnerable that makes one feel, not to mention all the work involved in fixing it while also making sure the bills get paid.

Doc: “So, it’s been almost a year. Have you started to consider dating? Does that interest you?”

I put myself out there on a couple of dating apps because, apparently, that’s how a lot of singles do this. For the most part, I’ve been discouraged. The dating pool, in my opinion, leaves a lot to be desired at the geriatric age of 43. Isn’t there some theory that men get more distinguished as they age? Lies!

That’s not to say that I’m perfect. Here’s what my profile should read:

Age: Too old for this crap
Sexuality: Somewhere on the spectrum
Body type: Not terrible, but definitely enjoys tacos

It’s entirely possible that I need to lower my expectations when it comes to finding a suitable partner-in-crime. Perhaps I should reach out to the guy I met for drinks a couple of weeks ago — the one who sort of reminded me of my pop. Maybe he’ll appear less dad-like dressed casually … ? Then again, I may just put this whole dating thing on the back burner for a spell. After all, I don’t require someone to fill my heart or my bed to make me whole.

It’s never about finding the one. It’s always about becoming the one. -Sylvester McNutt
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Your bed is still warm from us and your mouth still tastes of mine. I hope she likes the warmth I’ve left. I hope she likes my second hand taste. @thedominantpoet

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I wish I could say that the 15 minutes I spent with the doc fixed all my woes. Unfortunately, it just doesn’t work that way. I wish it did. Although I’m not actively suicidal, I flirt with passive attempts at self-destruction like not wearing my seatbelt. And so, a tweak here and a tweak there of those morning meds that make my life more tolerable, and check in next month.

I may wake up late and ruminate, I may stick my head in the sand some days, but I will keep getting up (eventually) and showing up (in due time). There’s no way around doing the hard work when you’re left behind, and so I will.

Can’t stop. Won’t stop…

@decoratuscurious