I’ve been very stressed of late and I’m a little concerned I might be retreating too much into fantasy. How much is too much? How far is too far? My psych accuses me of staying stressed because I overanalyze every rock of the boat; that not all waves are indicative of a storm.
But. some. are.
This may be nothing, I say, preparing to email my therapist, but I’m currently juggling an increasingly intricate imaginary subplot of dating a celebrity, and I’ve recently undergone the task of changing my handwriting. The new pattern is completely different from the old one. I just decided one day that the former wasn’t as pretty. The numbers have been easier to get a handle on than the letters, though I am convinced I will master them both. But I have no gauge of what’s
normal reasonable, and my healthy response meter is on the fritz.
Am I changing my handwriting because it’s fun, and the visual creature that I am enjoys seeing a flowier font? Or… am I, on some level, fashioning a new identity with which to stalk and kidnap Justin Timberlake?
Sigh. I don’t think flowier is even a word. I’ll email my therapist now.
💲 My current state of broke-ness has inspired a new era of grown-up-ness:
🌽 I actively cook. It’s amazing. We’re talkin’ from-scratch-raw-chicken-and-frozen-vegetables-becoming-food. I COOK. And as a result, I now eat green vegetables with lunch and dinner almost every day, and no fried foods. Who’da thunk it: the key to eating right for diabetes was literally losing all my junk food money.
📊📈Furthermore, I have tightened up my budget. Correction: I now USE a budget. I’ve always been one of those kids who learned by doing and got it “in her own time”. It’s like everything I’ve been told about nutrition and personal finance has just clicked in.
💧⚡So, I suppose whenever this dark cloud of financial mess blows over I’ll just be set. 😎
The head is not complete, but then it never is. At least I am built up to my mouth now. A body housing a voiceless soul is a soda can in the freezer.
This weekend was Intense and I am exhausted. I think I have an “I Love the World ” hangover.
I have been drunk on vibrant colors and high on personal space. I entertained, amused, comforted, authorized, picked up every stray ball of silence and conversational lull and gracefully popped it back into the air.
Look at Spaz, they said. Life of the party, they said. She should do stand-up, they said. I assured them I would only be funny and charming for another week and a half at max, and that kind of window would make for one hell of a touring schedule. I absolutely killed.
Today has been a much-needed day of rest with no people interaction. I had plans for the morning, but Operation Rebalance Sanity is a worthy cause. I might even read.
I’m at the point in my cycle of moods (aka wheel of death) where my attitude is constantly awful because the wind blew wrong. Yep, ladies and gentlemen, that scowl on my face – I’ve been mean-mugging the wind all day. However, I’m at the point in my therapy experience where tracking my moods helps me anticipate the swings. This provides me the peaceful perspective that outside stimuli which trigger my highs and lows are not the actual causes.
It also ROBS me the opportunity to assign glory and blame to those people and situations who would be temporary gods and scapegoats in my day. YAY personal growth.
Actually, I blow RASPBERRIES at your personal growth. I’ll embrace it in two weeks when I’m manic again.