Obviously, my emotional distress caused physical stress and if I had tred to breathe more deeply, I would have hyperventilated. Not much upsets me like that anymore, or I would be on medication. I cope on my own. People who can't empathize with others' pain simply lack the emotional depth to understand. I suppose they can't help that they are missing that human trait, just as I can't help that I've been forced into a too-familiar understanding of it.
Anyway, after being up for a couple of hours early yesterday morning, I simply passed out on my bed. I guess I was still worn out from my week of coping and thinking through things. There are several possibilities I've come up with though none paint those involved in a positive hue. Okay, one does, slightly, but I'm not inclined to believe that one is reality. More along the lines of a dreamer who still holds on to hope that her life could someday hold some happiness. It's like a watercolor painting left out in the sun to fade into nothingness. Even the sounds are muted and dissipating. Dreams often dissolve with the harsh morning light. Hope fades away, but it doesn't go from only small portions of the scene -- it's eventually erased entirely.
During my nap I dreamed that I was once again, going off to college, and I was alone. It wasn't the 18 year old me of so long ago who had her sister and mother to help a little bit, and who had a couple of friends already on campus, but who was still afraid of what being on my own would mean. It was me, now, and the building I was to live in was completely unfamiliar. There were different towers to the building, each accessible by one elevator, distinguished by letter. My room was J624.
If that number has any significance, I don't know what it is yet. The dorms at my college only had 3 floors when I was there.
I found the right elevator, which of course, malfunctioned, owing to my fear of elevators. I can't say that it's an entirely irrational fear, because I've had these stupid elevator catastrophe dreams since I was a little girl, and they are always so vivid (and sometimes entirely plausible) that when I am really in an elevator -- especially a small one, because I'm claustrophobic -- the nightmare seems so real. The cable breaks, the car falls and tumbles, the doors open below the floor, the car twists and turns and flips illogically, and sometimes the walls close in and crush me.
When I finally got out of that rapidly tilting elevator (with no walls, just a huge rising platform), I couldn't find the right section of the hallway where my room would be. Figures! Lol. Every hallway was just a few numbers away from being the right one, but somehow not connected to the right section. It was like being lost on a cruise ship, and there I was carrying around swimming goggles, a towel, and flip flops. I don't wear flip flops. They hurt my toes. I was a little aggravated that I'd had to buy the flip flops to get the swim goggles.
In the halls were a swimming pool and various food courts for the residents, and a ping pong table overlooking a well that opened all the way to the basement in a sheer drop. All of the walls were painted black, so the fluorescent lighting made everything look rather dreary. I remember looking toward the well (there were no stairs) and thinking that I was just too tired to go on looking for my place, and that I could just jump and get it over with. I just wanted to find my room and rest. Hours passed while I was lost and searching and I woke up remembering that room number, still feeling lost, and it was two in the afternoon.
So I trimmed my basil, put it in a Caprese salad, and shared it with my sister. Then we went for a pedicure. I'm not used to that, so my toes were absolutely tenderized with that file to the point that It was nearly painful. Because I have such ticklish feet, having the bottom smoothed made my thigh muscles involuntarily jump and dance and I had a giggling fit. I apologized, but my feet are one of those places so rarely touched that it has a huge impact on me. If you're a guy, especially if there's a 14 year break since the last time a man rubbed my feet. :) *blush* (If I'm just getting a pedicure, it merely tickles... A lot. Hey, it was only my third pedicure. I'm not all fancy like that.)
Had some frozen yogurt, when I realized a much smaller amount would have made me happy after all. But I wanted to taste a few favors since I hadn't been to the frozen yogurt place before. Eh, I don't get out much. We went to a Mexican restaurant after that, where we had the worst and saltiest strawberry margaritas ever. Yuck. We waited for an old friend of mine and they wouldn't serve us because it was 10:20 and they were closing at 11, according to the guy at the door. So, we went to Applebee's, where he kept me laughing for the rest of the night. I mean, really laughing hard, but he's always known how to make me laugh, and I really needed to laugh.
So as I said, I didn't waste the day, after washing all of my juicing equipment and failing to make any juice. I'm sorry about that, but it means I'm ready to go today and maybe even be ahead for tomorrow. I need to go back to the gym. I didn't go this week because I was already so physically stressed my cortisol levels were undoubtedly high, and a psycho workout would have made it worse and probably have added a few pounds. I'm beginning to see a correlation between thinness and lack of feeling. Hmm...
Time to go juice some good-for-my-liver beets. I've been fearing them since I bought them. They're just so nasty and dirty looking until they're peeled, and I hate peeling them. In the juice, they don't taste too bad. They just look like someone tossed a heart into a blender and made a werewolf-pleasing smoothie.