Well…good news and bad news. The bad new is that yes, I am a techie moron. Fourth email from the ‘zine and they still can’t get my bio picture off my email. I’m at a loss, as is the very nice person on the other side who’s been working with me. Bugger. It’s not that the picture won’t be there; who cares? I chose one that doesn’t look like me anyway. It’s the time and effort down the tubes, along with the knowledge that I didn’t get it sorted so it could continue to be an issue for me. Damn it.
The good news is my phobia of not being able to write at any time other than pre-pre-dawn is shot down. I seized a few hours in the afternoon and have a pretty good story sitting on my desktop now. I’m not satisfied with the end…the pacing isn’t quite right and it feels like BAM! on the last sentence. A little too abrupt. However, that’s small potatoes. The bulk of the story is solid. This new stuff is pretty intense. I was shaking so badly by the time I was near the end that I’m surprised I got the last 100 words typed in. Couldn’t proof it, couldn’t even continue to look at it open on my desktop. Shut down and PACED. Literally paced, back and forth, for something like 15 minutes. Took that long for the shaking to stop. I am NOT a fan of feeling that way but boy oh boy! My body ain’t lyin’ – something crept out of me and onto the page.
Spoke too soon and too glibly yesterday about caffeine addiction. The dreaded caffeine headache hit me last night at 9 p.m. It was accompanied by complete exhaustion. I’ve been kidding myself that caffeine doesn’t do much for me. Fuck! It does a lot. Keeps my goddamn eyes open til 11 p.m., for one thing. I was nodding off by 9:30, my eyes open but my head asleep. Strange sensation, sitting there and seeing the tv yet dozing off. Like a light switch flicked in my brain: the pictures and sound were there but disconnected from each other and nothing made any sense until I shook myself back to full consciousness. Must be just on the edge; it took a few days for the lack of evening coffee to catch up with me, and the headache was MILD compared to what I’ve felt before. I hope to just ride this out.
*$%!* The downstairs neighbors are having a fuck fest. She’s yipping like a goddamn poodle. Come on, sweetie. It’s not that fucking good. Christ, I really may have to get some heavy duty ear mufflers like AndrewS suggested. I do not. need. to hear. that.
Been trying to pick my own brains lately; be my own therapist. I know; that’s the action of an idiot. Already admitted to being a moron, one step further than an idiot, so I guess I’m covered. I’ve noticed my blogging has become more report and less in-depth look at myself. Mania. Generally I feel pretty damned positive, and right now I have the power to banish my unwanted thoughts to the netherworld. Doesn’t mean my problems have gone away. They haven’t. I’m getting superstitiously freaked about this latest ‘up’ time. Going a bit too long and it’s got to the stage I don’t even want to SAY the ‘D’ word for fear of falling into it. Like avoidance is gonna help me. Don’t think about it, just keep positive and your mood will stay up. Yeah, right. Go fart some more rainbows, why don’t you?
…And the coffee pot is emptied in record time this morning, people…
I am one month and 18 days to my 50th birthday. The body feels it, the mind doesn’t. My anxiety over my health has been on the rise lately. Been worried about bodily functions (mom died of colon cancer; enough said) AND my mental state. I gotta fucking do this. I gotta face my goddamn fear and make some fucking appointments for things I don’t want to do. Appointment one is with the fucking center the doc wants me to see for bipolar. Appointment two is … well, a colon cancer check. Had a colonoscopy once before. It is NOT pleasant. I want to be able to tell my doc that I’m seeing the counseling center BEFORE I do the rest. Because I’m gonna be begging for some valium just to step into the examination room. Cold dread on this. Cold, deadly dread. But I’m fucking well aware that all my prayers won’t mean SHIT if I don’t take action and take action NOW, before any potential thing goes too far out of whack. I am NOT my goddamn mother. I will not ignore and avoid myself into the fucking grave. No. fucking. way.
Well, this IS the week of new beginnings for me. I might as well put the cherry on the fucking sundae and make the stupid call I’ve been avoiding for a couple of months now. Goddamn it. This is what I’ve been fucking avoiding writing about. This is where I’ve been fucking stuck – between terror and dread. Yeah, it’s been on the low side, like a nagging pain in my side. My mania can quash it pretty quick. As usual, it keeps creeping back up on me. So there it is on the plate. Jellied guts and all. Fuck.
My heart is pounding, my head and neck feel like there’s a fucking vise around them, squeezing. Goddamn goddamn goddamn! And now the tears, like I have FUCKING time for them this morning! One, two…breathe..remember…
No, I am NOT my mother. I have not lived my life drinking coffee from the moment I wake up to the moment I go to bed. I have not sat and eaten ice cream and cakes and candies every day. I have got up off my chair and walked and swam and exercised. I eat healthier than she ever did, and I’ve done more moving in one month than she did in her ENTIRE LIFE. There is NO comparison between us. I only carry her genetic material…which is prone to the disease…Fuck! Don’t go down there. REMEMBER. I. am not. my mother.
One hour to swimming. My head and body should clear up a bit. When I return, the phone will be picked up and dialed. I will try. Try to call the counseling center today. I may chicken out and hang up. But I’m gonna fucking TRY, goddamn it. I am not her. I’m stronger than she ever was. I know it. It’s time the fucking world knows it, too.