Manic Me never took a nap yesterday. Powered straight through to 9:30, at which point I took some Ativan to slow me down. I’d done that around 10 a.m., too – not that it did me any good then. But 18 hours burn finally wore down, and I slept. For almost 7 hours. Almost. My bro was worried about me yesterday. Not like he hasn’t seen me do this before; he has. Maybe he’s paying more attention now that he’s on his medication. Whatever. He was concerned. Didn’t even want me to go out and buy tobacco in the evening ’cause he thought it might tire me out too much. Ha! Took that walk downstairs and it was only my promise to bring the tobacco right back that kept me from tromping off for an hour.
Today my extra energy gets let loose in the water. Going for distance; the full hour and a half. I want to be rubbery when I climb out of the pool. I want to sweat for an hour after getting out from the exertion. I want that burn. Gimme that middle lane so I can’t hurt myself and get the fuck out of my way. You can lap me at 30 minutes, when I finally pull up for my first breather.
Can’t quite shake the idea that this current phase is a reaction to my appointment coming up. Tomorrow is the day; 24 hours from now I’ll be bemoaning my choice of not finding the building over the weekend and worrying about this and that. I’m prepping my backpack as if I were still 30 and headed to an illegal rave. Extra socks for when mine get wet. A plastic bad to put wet socks in. A full bottle of water, because you can never have enough liquid on you. Cough drops, pain pills, snot rags. Notebook and pen just in case. Phone, money, ID. Something to keep me occupied if I have to wait. Directions and a map to get there. Two rolled joints; one for on the way if I need it and one for after. A full Ativan tablet in case I really freak out. Other than carrying something in case I get cold (and extras), that’s my complete list from rave days. Bringing back deja vu. I’ve got that weird anticipation I always had when parties were in the making, too. Heading off, will I find it?, how long will it last?, in what condition will I come back?. Not at all dissimilar to raving. And whether or not I WANT to think about it, I am. I can feel it, even if it’s not in my conscious mind.
Totally and utterly spaced getting my methotrexate yesterday. Damn. I really want to take those pills (not). Got my script in front of me to remember to pick them up today.
I did manage to put my irritation away yesterday through a series of depressurizations. Gave my subconscious the go-ahead to use the fuel for whatever sick horror scenarios it wanted to write. That kept that part of my brain busy; I got a few flashes of things cooking while the day droned on. Visuals were sappy, pre-viewed films, specifically Dirty Dancing, which I haven’t seen in decades. Nothing challenging, nothing that might set me off. While in these moods, South Park is a great match, but I must avoid Family Guy. I don’t really like Family Guy to begin with, but when I’m irritated with the world, Peter Griffin sets me into berserker phase. His whiny voice, his annoying laugh, but most of all his continued portrayal as the obese, ignorant male who has somehow landed a woman way out of his league. Just can’t stand that overused stereotype.
Two chocolate muffins were consumed. Two. I do NOT feel great about that. But two were needed.
This month is slipping away from me, as time seems to do while I contemplate my belly button. The recent death of David Bowie just felt like a kick in my ass: get busy, bitch, you ain’t got much time! That’s being coupled with my hair growing out; I’ve got an inch or more grown out and every glint of silver makes me cringe and think about just going grey. Fuck. I don’t know if I could take full out grey. I’ll do it before I let my hair have that faded out look, tho. Which it certainly has in the grown out area. *shudder*
Ach, let’s face it. My past is haunting me right now. Showing me all the times I should have -; just fill in the blank, it’ll fit. I suppose that’s appropriate on the eve of a counseling appointment. That’s what we’ll be talking about. Or that’s what we’ll end up talking about since it’s forefront for me. Whatever. It would be nice to get off this thing.
Life should be so much more than thinking about how to overcome your shortcomings and obstacles. There’s got to be more than just why? Seems that word is always on my lips. Sometimes an answer comes to me, other times I just shake my head. I don’t expect that to ever really change. No one has all the answers, at least not while they’re in these poor corporeal forms.
Here and now, it’s pissing cold rain outside my window. I have 15 minutes to suit up, brush my teeth, grab my stuff, and get out into it. That’ll be a cold slap on my face. Maybe I can wake up from this dream.