Thursday, January 30, 2014

Physical Therapy and Progress

Hopefully, physical therapy will enable me to stay on my feet and be mobile.  I'm glad someone listened about the pain and is trying to help me fix it.  Now I'm in physical therapy three times a week, so here's what I've been doing there for the first two days.

Day 1 - 
discussion of problem and treatment options
heating pads across hips to warm tight muscles up
testing range of motion in both hips ... right side very limited, left side more flexible though limited
... During this, suddenly my numb thigh clicked over into pins and needles -- I felt it happen at the top of my leg (a sudden change with a particular movement he did... Hmm...)
... Aha... I do have nerve impingement, and that might be helped by therapy. It also might be blamed on everything being too tight in my general pelvic region.  Yeah.  Shut up.  I'm sure trampy women don't have this problem, eh?
Ultrasound on both hips to improve blood flow and healing
ballerina-style leg lifts, 20 reps: back, side, front knee up (hip clicked every time, ouch), and a crossed leg lift over the other leg (serious cramps in my rear that made me need to shake it out every 5 counts)
Then... Walking out the door which was more of a surprised stagger because I don't usually give my hips that kind of attention
So tired from that tiny bit of new activity I needed to lie down when I got home.  Either that, or I was trying to fight off a bug.

Day 2 - 
Discussion of my soreness from day one
Heating pads, ultrasound, and all exercises from day one.
I told the therapist about the clicking and he said that indicates a tear rather than minor fraying.  Uh oh.
Work on adductors / abductors by squeezing a ball between knees as hard as I could (20 times), lying on my back, 20 bridges, then 20 clamshells on my back with a resistance band around my knees
7 minutes on the exercise bike.  (Easy... I can do ten miles on the bike with resistance cranked up, though I do stagger when I walk afterward)

My trainer / coach gave me permission to rest from the gym today because I did a workout at physical therapy.  I'll do leg day tomorrow.  I passed out for two hours while chatting this evening.  Oops. I'm just so tired lately. I think the real culprit is the dark and cold winter weather.  Perhaps I'm supposed to hibernate.

On the bright side, my intuition tells me this therapy will help.  The mirror is actually showing me some subtle body differences since getting advice for my training routine: my torso is firmer, my abs are starting to peek through, however slightly, my biceps seem much firmer, and my calves are slimming down but becoming more sculpted.  My butt is getting rounder, lol. (Well, it needed to!). My new boots that were snug around my calves a couple of weeks ago are sliding down often (darn it, that's annoying), and my all of my new pants aren't as snug as they were... Anywhere.  And that's good, but I may have to alter them a bit.  

Still waiting for something positive from my triceps -- I think they're a tiny bit less flabby, but I can't be sure.  My thighs are still the same, but I have a feeling that will start to change with leg pressing 170 pounds.  

It's small progress, but what can one expect in a month?  I'll take it.  As long as I can see improvement, I'll be encouraged.  :)





Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Sick Day

I can't sleep anymore at the moment.  Mostly my day has been naps between my dog's potty breaks outside.  He's cuddled with me a little bit but mostly, he has been overjoyed that I came back from work this morning and he has enthusiastically demonstrated his love with mostly playfulness... While I was trying to sleep... Though most of his check-ups have been of the cold wet nose and very wet kisses type.  He gives me a lick or pokes me with his nose and then goes to play or nap.  I suppose he is checking for fever.

I thought I had fever, because the last two nights I've awakened burning up every couple of hours.  It felt like fever.  Sometimes I was drenched to my hair with sweat, though last night I was just crazy hot,  I keep the thermostat in the mid 60s at night for better sleeping, but still I threw off all the covers so the ceiling fan could cool me off.  

I used an old fashioned glass mercury thermometer to check my temp, and it never went above 96.8 degrees while I was feeling pretty feverish.  Yes, I know that average normal temperature is 98.6, but my normal temp is 96.8.  So when my temp is 102, I'm feeling the awfulness of what the average person does at 104.  Hello, hallucinations...

Anyway, I thankfully do not have fever right now, though I feel boiling hot in this cold house.  It's been happening at work too; when other people are comfortable, I'm normally a little cold, but the last couple of weeks I've been too hot in similar circumstances.  I've stood in my open fire door in sub-freezing temps feeling like the air outside was a soothing spring day.  It's probably a hormonal thing, though I wish those bouts would restrict themselves to disturbing my sleep and not my waking life.

I went to bed after not wanting much of my dinner last night, and feeling rather queasy. This morning I called and left a message requesting a sub (because I was still nauseated and weak-kneed), and then depressedly assumed I'd better try to go to work anyway, after not getting a response for 20 minutes.  A friend said she would check on that for me.  

Then I thought about why I hadn't gotten a response (from the lady who arranges for subs).  I was feeling the self-minded-ness that a person feeling under the weather typically has, and thought beyond myself for a moment.  Our secretary may have been in the process of getting ready for work, or in the shower.  She may have been driving to work.  In fact, she might have even been trying to call around to get me a sub while I was waiting. (As it turns out, she was already working on it.)  I was being unreasonable and I shouldn't have been so doubtful, but hey, I was feeling bad, and that's when I get really.... Well, like Eeyore.  I was about to text her when she called me back to say she had found someone for me. yay... Thanks.  :)

I'll admit my Eeyore mood isn't helped by the fact that there's a "For Rent" sign next door, and I feel like my sister has abandoned me by moving.  I don't think that's why she moved, of course, but it doesn't hurt any less to see her go.  I seriously doubt I'll ever see much of her anymore.  She has more important things on her mind.

I still had to go to the school to get things ready, though.  I'm sure that when the teacher across from me saw me, he was thinking, yeah, you LOOK sick, but he wasn't that blunt.  The joke was... You're here early... Are you sick?  Yeah, I look rough.  I still feel pretty icky.  I cancelled my painting lesson for today too, and you know that made me sad, but if I have some bug, it wouldn't be right for me to leave my germs in a studio where there are two ladies undergoing cancer treatments.  

My head still aches (at least it isn't migraine-pounding, but this IS day three and nothing is touching it)  I've been sneezing, very tired, gotten a little hoarse, nauseated, possibly low-grade fever, and slightly stuffy / runny nose.  I suspect I've just got a sinus infection and drainage has upset my stomach, but a vaccine-resistant flu is making the rounds locally, so I'm being careful.  

Since I started physical therapy (for my frayed hip labrum and impinged femoral nerve) yesterday, I don't want to have to miss that tomorrow.  I'm so hopeful it will help that I want to give it every chance to work. Simple exercises so far, but boy do they hurt.  I've got awesome flexibility in my left leg, but the right doesn't match.  It would be lovely if I could stop the nerve pain by opening up my hip.  I do wonder why it got so weak and tight in the first place.  (I'm thinking of a dirty joke about the loss of flexibility being due to lack of ... *ahem* activity.)

Today is just to give my ickiness some rest and healing.  I hope my nausea doesn't progress into vomiting though.  I hate doing that so much... 

I don't even want to drink the quart of my favorite homemade veggie-fruit juice in the fridge.  (Carrot, apple, ginger, lemon, orange, cucumber, celery.)  Nothing sounds appealing while I feel this way.  But I'll get better soon, I'm sure of it.




Saturday, January 25, 2014

The Humble Composition Book

I love doing my writing on a computer, but there is something so much more satisfying about the tangibility of writing permanently on paper.  I understand the satisfaction of completing a piece of writing on a computer, but it just doesn't seem real until you have a professionally printed and bound copy of your work in hand.  There is something magical and complete about holding your work in an actual book.

These days it isn't difficult at all to self-publish -- technically you could say I've already written several books and had them printed -- yes, in hard cover.  Until I had those books in hand, ready to place on a shelf and forget them, ha ha ha, they seemed like little more than a project to me.  I can't even tell you where to find the first book I was published in -- somewhere at my Dad's house, I believe, in a grey plastic file box full of my high school and college memorabilia.  It's a small box.  A lot of the small collection of memories I had disappeared while I was at school during the week, along with my skates.

If I have any advice for any young people living in a house where they are denied the chance to hang  onto any tangible memory items, it is this: make www.shutterfly.com your ally. Scan and upload all those precious memory gems (junk to an adult who just wants you out of 'their" house the moment you graduate) to Shutterfly, create your own memory book, and if your treasures disappear, you'll still have pictures of them.  Someday you'll be able to save a few dollars and have a book printed with your old photos, class notes, drawings, certificates, awards, and school projects.  I wish I had mine, but they were taken away from me.  It wasn't him.  It was her.  And vengefulness.

Sad face.  I have almost nothing of my childhood.

In high school, I took a year of computer programming as an elective. Someone else's dream was for me to make millions as a computer programmer.  Time has told the tale that programmers don't make much unless they create something so innovative that it revolutionizes the industry.  To be quite honest, I found programming to be as dry and dull as dust.  There was nothing fun about it.  (I'm not blaming the teacher -- only the subject.  I suspect they took her out of her subject area to teach that class.). I just wanted to get into Print Shop and create banners and posters.  

A little career guidance in 10th grade would have steered me toward graphic design and art, both of which I possess decent talent for -- who knows what I could do with a tiny bit of training??  But no, the guidance counselor never bothered with students like me.  He only ever had a firm grip on that coffee mug of his and his paycheck.  In the 80s our guidance counselors didn't take the initiative to guide or counsel us about our future (unless your parents were "prominent members of the community").  They only bitched at us about mistakes we made at school. (I heard from other students.  I never took any chances / never had any fun in school, simply because I wanted my parents to love me for bring a good girl.  Fail.). I only ever had one meeting with my guidance counselor, in the ninth grade, and that was to give me a bogus IQ test to exclude me from a program.  

What I learned from programming class, other than the oppressive bore factor, was that notes taken in pencil would smear into oblivion within a couple of years. There's no permanence in graphite.  I ended up with a lot of dirty paper, essentially.  The plastic binder I used for my notes was as tough as iron, and I still use it today, 26 YEARS later.  I think it was made by Mead. Impressed?  I still am.  Good old days of sturdy school supplies!

In my only teaching methods class, my instructor required us to use a sewn composition book for writing class notes and teaching tips.  He explained that the sewn books will last decades, because there is no glue to loosen and drop pages.  I continued writing my teaching tidbits in that book until I filled it several years later. Then I bought a new one and started writing in it.  Yes, very sturdy indeed. I have separate books for very personal journal writings and poems I've written as well.  I just need a house with a library for my books.

On my trip to Italy in 2012, I carried a small Moleskine journal to write in.  Purple, my favorite color.  Such a happy little book to look at, so promising.  It took up little room in my bag and had a lovely writing surface.  But you know, I couldn't customize that cover to save my life! I wanted to write my name on it -- no ink I possessed would stick to it -- not even Sharpie! Paint wouldn't stick! I just wanted to make it MINE! It took some doing to hold that small thing open for writing, and it was so plain.  There were no pockets to hold any little keepsakes.  I still haven't put together my book about that trip, and it's a shame, because it took over 4000 photos.  (Using my iphone as my main camera was very useful, because it not only snaps pictures super-fast, it also geotags them so remembering where a photo was taken is much simpler. :)

I think that on my trip to the UK and Paris, I'll take along a composition book that I've altered.  I've been customizing online maps to include places we will see, and I've also been getting together terminal maps to make airports easier to deal with.  I don't need a map to get me through everything, but I like having an idea of the general layout of any place where I am.  It makes me feel less like I'm wandering blind through a gigantic rabbit warren, and more like I know where I'm going. That's a good thing. "Flying by the seat of your pants" stops being a cutesy, fun concept the second you understand you are completely lost. 

Plans for my custom composition book travel journal: visually exciting cover, bookmark, pockets for ephemera, maps, background info to read before traveling (lots of things that I saw in Italy I didn't understand the significance), preview photos, and lots of places to write my thoughts about where I've been.  Sort of my own combination guide and journal, and keepsake when I'm home.  I think it will help me remember the trip better.  


Monday, January 20, 2014

Personal Honesty

The pain I'm dealing with, has killed my appetite.  If I'm honest with myself, checking into all of the symptoms, I've hit three red flag warning signs that require me to see a doctor.  

I'm not afraid to see one, exactly.  I'm just dreading the inconvenience.  If it requires surgery, which I suspect it might, there's the preparation for missing work.  And then there's the aftermath of missing work.  And then there's the inevitable exhaustion that comes from recovering from major organ surgery.  A fully solo recuperation, I might add.  I suppose I'll have to put some premade meals in the freezer if things go badly.  Badly, as in, I have to have surgery.

I'll get aggravated if they tell me to just put up with the pain.  I'll be aggravated if they throw drugs at me.  I'll be aggravated if they tell me to accept my fate and let them start butchering me.  I'll be aggravated if a man tells me I'm imagining all this.  * I might curse him out if that's the best that he can do.  I really want a female doctor, preferably one who is a bit older than me and experienced some of the same so she has some empathy.

Well, what would make me happy about all this? Oh, I suppose someone with a magic wand to wave and fix it all that way.  I won't worry unless someone says "general anesthesia," because a doctor can make all sorts of bad decisions on your behalf while you have a tube jammed down your unconscious throat, and I wasn't planning on losing any organs unless someone asked me for a kidney, to be honest.

I don't trust doctors anymore.  I don't trust men.  All right, I really don't trust anybody.  I especially don't trust myself to have feelings about anyone or anything, actually. (Thanks a lot, fella. I should have known when I saw the cowboy boots what you were planning.  It wouldn't have been so bad if you hadn't deliberately wrapped it all in a lie.) 

You can't really blame me, can you? 

But just to show I'm not being completely focused on the negative, I'm going to the gym for my shoulder and chest workout so my coach will approve, which will allow me to stay seated, and hopefully I won't have any problems crop up.  At least nothing will require standing while I'm there. Standing would hurt.  I'm all about pain avoidance right now.  Crushed, defriended, abandoned... Well, I've already been through that.  That was the worst part of last year.

Time to focus on the future, not the past.  It has some positive potential.



:( Painful and Sleepless

I can't sleep because I'm in a lot of pain.... 
And I'm scared to take more painkillers for my liver's sake... 
And my melatonin can't work over the pain...

...When I said I wanted some rest this weekend, I did not mean that I wanted to be stuck in my bed hurting like this...

... Is this where I'm supposed to be grateful? 
Thank you Lord, for not making it even worse?  

Oooookayyyyy.... Thank you..... Lol.  

.... Well that felt twisted.  


I'd love to learn that trick of running and not gasping for air while I'm doing it... I've read that's for real, and might be the reason some people love running.  I keep stopping and starting because of how panicked I become when I'm fighting for every breath.  Oh well... It might be a result of being forced to inhale secondhand smoke all my life...

Sunday, January 19, 2014

Flowers in the Attic

Here's my spoiler alert... 

...because if you haven't seen the Lifetime movie or read all the books, you shouldn't whine about my review of the movie spoiling the secrets.  Lol. So get over it, and stop reading this if you want to find out the hard way (and the more rewarding way -- the books are so much more entertaining than a blog post about them).  Spoilers here from Garden of Shadows as well, so be warned.

I watched the new movie on Lifetime last night, and I enjoyed it because they stayed fairly close to the original plot in the book.  Ellen Burstyn actually did a fine job of making the grandmother, Olivia, seem human.  Angry, bitter, vengeful, and actually fearful, and yet, a flawed and broken Yankee woman who grew stronger from her many fracturings.  (I only mention the Yankee part because V C Andrews used that to characterize her as a sensible and practical woman, with Southern women painted as vapid and frivolous by contrast.)  She, too, has a history that makes most of her actions understandable, and maybe even seem justified, because she wasn't dealt a fair hand in her life.  By the time she has the power to take control, she's too hardened by her life's many injuries to simply be kind.

I love that in this version, the grandmother actually warned the children beforehand that the powdered sugar doughnuts were their mother's idea, and she recommended that the children not eat them at all, because they would be bad for their health.  

Of course, the powdered sugar was laced with arsenic to kill them, which was the mother's plan when her father's will threatened her disinheritance upon her having any children.  She would rather be filthy rich with her handsome new husband and no children to drag her down, even if it meant killing her children.  What a horrid, detestable woman.

Who was worse, really?  The grandmother or Corinne? Olivia was betrayed by nature, society, and her husband, and punished for her envious thoughts with the loss of her father, her sons, and any possible tenderness from her husband, who was, admittedly, a handsome monster seething with his Oedipus Complex.  Yuck.  

Corinne was spoiled rotten by everyone in her life but Olivia, and when faced with a choice after Christopher's death, decided to abandon and then murder her children so that she could keep her frivolous wealthy lifestyle.  She only seems capable of loving men who will cater to her self-centeredness.  She seems to have inherited all of the bad character traits from her parents: her father's determination to get what he wanted no matter who he crushed in the process, and her mother's vain beauty, without a speck of her mother's true sweet, kind, giving nature.  Corinne is skilled at painting her face, though it is truly a mask hiding her father's manipulative monster.  

Obviously, I'm not saying that Corinne is Olivia's daughter, because she isn't.  Malcolm raped Alicia, therefore Christopher Garland Foxworth, his half-brother, is actually the half-brother of Corinne.  Corinne and Christopher G run away and get married, Corinne is disinherited (she thinks it's because she fell in love with her half-uncle, ha ha ha... oh brother. *snicker*), they have four children, and when they go to Foxworth Hall after Christopher G's death, have no CLUE why the grandmother is always preaching that they are evil from birth, demon spawn, have hidden deformities, and accuses them of incest.

Well, now that you've locked them in a room alone during puberty and given them the idea.... Sheesh. It's no wonder she is so afraid of them!  

Ellen Burstyn's portrayal of Olivia manages to be more than simply cruel and mean -- she's self-righteous, but absolutely terrified of the children who she placed in this predicament in the first place, and ultimately God-fearing because of her hand in not preventing all of this.  She could have prevented the entire disaster if only she had worked on her own feminine insecurities (with her husband, who might or might not have allowed her that success, but she never even tried), and her absolute jealousy of Alicia.  If she had attempted to befriend Alicia (who did try to befriend her), Alicia would have confided in her that Malcolm was pursuing her, and might have brushed off some of her soft, sweet, charming nature onto Olivia so that she would have more feminine wiles to appeal to her husband.    

Her claustrophobic attack in the closet stairwell was too dramatic at that point in the story, because it was never explained how she had become so, as a punishment meted out by her own mother.  Give her a little frailty because it rounds out her character? Sure.  They did well showing her brushing out her wig, but the claustrophobia seemed to be too hard an attempt to flesh out her character at the very end.  

Malcolm claimed to hate soft, pretty, charming women because they were just like his abandoning mother, but he was completely undone by them.  Putty in their hands.  Olivia could have learned from this and modeled herself more in that direction, but no, she just had to remain steadfastly and precisely the iron bitch he claimed he wanted in a wife.  She made no attempts to be likeable to him because her feelings were so hurt over his failure to pursue her romantically.  That's her fault.  He could have been a much better man, and she could have been a better woman, and who knows? It could have all worked out okay for them, eh?  

Except for that sick, desperate love for his mother that obviously bordered on the obscene.  Maybe Mother Corinne fled Foxworth Hall to get away from young Oedipus there, knowing exactly what was going on in his head.  Garland blamed Malcolm, after all, and didn't seem to blame his first wife for running away.  Odd, isn't it?  Too bad there isn't a prequel to the prequel to know just what happened with twisted young Malcolm to drive his mommy away forever.  

The book ended a bit differently than this version of the movie.  In the book, they used their handmade key and sneaked down the back stairs to freedom.  They didn't climb down from a rope that breaks before they are down, as in the movie.  There was no electrified fence, and they didn't encounter anyone.  In this movie, not only did they bump into a servant with a gun, they told him they were Corinne's children and he shut off the electricity to the fence and helped them escape.  

If this servant is the butler in the house, named John, I'll bet he is Olivia's cousin John Amos, who knows the secret that Corinne has children, and later on holds it over her.  That's a perfect setup for the third book, If There Be Thorns.  Cleverly done.  They could have done better on the hook for the second novel, Petals on the Wind, if they had shown the scene on the bus, and meeting Paul.  I've heard they're already deep into planning the second movie already.  Maybe they just couldn't decide on an actor to play Paul yet.  

I started reading these books when I was 12.  Just as the second book came out, my stepmother decided that they were too racy for me, and kept them for her own reading, knowing it was desperate to find out what happened next. AAARGHHHH!  I was so disappointed and angry, because I already knew more than I could have learned from reading in those books.  Reading was my sole escape from my reality.  My imagination conjured up far worse than those books, and usually in my dreams.  Yikes!

Fortunately, my stepsister figured that they couldn't really damage me any more that what I'd read in the first book, and sneaked me the other three. :). Thanks a million... Nothing bugs me quite like not knowing how a story ends.  I don't consider myself any more twisted for having read the whole series.  They weren't exactly wild stories.  In fact, this particular movie version lacked a certain amount of sensational thrill, though it didn't skimp on the story as the original movie had.  

(Don't tell on my stepsister!  She was being a pal!  Thanks, and happy birthday to her today!)


 

Sunday, January 12, 2014

Wake Me Up

It's Sunday, and I'm more tired than I should be after two days of work and two days of rest.  We had three snow days last week, first due to extreme cold and then due to icy roads.  Here in the South, we just aren't equipped for icy roads (because they're rare) or for every child to be dressed for frostbite avoidance while waiting half an hour for the bus. 

I have skipped my last two workouts because I'm so worn out.  Friday after work, I needed "a little nap" and then didn't wake up again for over four hours.  Then I was groggy until I went to sleep for the night.  So Friday night was blown.  Saturday I had a massage which made me need another nap and then I ran out of time trying to get it together for a painting party.

My painting disappointed me.  I think I needed another couple of hours to do it justice.  Right now all I can see are the flaws and that hideous orange I had to mix up, which came out looking like a smear of ketchup and mustard on the palette.  I'm still wondering why there wasn't a premixed orange for us to use, since the painting was so full of it and Blickrylic does come in Chrome Orange, which would have been perfect for tinting.  I would have really liked having some gel medium to create transparency when I wanted it.   

Well, it's hard to translate a palette knife painted oil that took the artist several more hours to create, into student-grade (it makes sense - why spend more money on a test market that you know is going to waste a lot of paint and throw it away?) acrylics with brushes with three or four hours to work.  

Then you have people like me, the overachievers, who want nothing less than to completely recreate the original painting, even with the limitations imposed. I know, I'm being ridiculous about that. If I knew more, I might be able to improvise useful techniques when needed.  Hey, I'm working on it... Though I'm working on it in oils.

I'll bet I come off as really unfriendly while I'm that focused, but I'm not going to stoop to drunkenly humming and singing along with every song that comes on, like that one chick I wanted to kill after the fourth off-key humalong that ruined songs I otherwise enjoyed.  I get focused on my painting, and my worry about how I'm going to make my painting match my vision of it, and I don't have much time to try to get strangers to chat with me from across the room.  Lol. Hey, they never acknowledged my presence until it was time to go, then said they didn't want to stand next to me for the photo because my painting would make theirs look bad.  So there's that. *snicker* True or not?  I don't know.

I like finishing paintings, but I know that to have things just the way I want them, I'll have to just paint at home.  (Which means I probably won't ever get around to it. )

Tired.  Dreadfully tired, and I can't skip another gym day.  My coach tells me I need more protein but I just can't commit to eating meat much right now.  It scares me because of the hormones in the meat and it makes my waistband get tight while my stomach pain comes back with a vengeance.  I think I'll just have to go with protein shakes and juice.  Not having my juice for the last few days has probably made me feel tired, even though I took my b vitamins. I had a lot more energy when I was solely juicing.  

I'm still of the belief that I got hit with a cold or something, and ice managed to fight it off.  I've had a few sneezing fits and lightheadedness, some random coughing, and feeling cold when everyone around me us complaining of heat.  That might explain my fatigue.  

And somebody needs to do all this laundry!  And find a place to put it all.  Honestly, those Closet Maid ads that show a closet costing thousands that only has room for five tops and five bottoms frustrate me.  Are those people all underwear?? Maybe I just need to go though my own closet and donate everything I've passed over recently because I couldn't wear it to work.  Some of that stuff is just out of date.  In my way.  At least purging will buy me time until maybe summer, to remodel my closet.  It wouldn't be the worst thing, either, to get those two unused dressers out of there... Don't know where I'll put them, though.

Aargh.... If I wasn't so tired I'd be fitful and edgy....

It looks like a good day to start sampling some of the items in my Stride Box.  Should be plenty of energy there, though I suspect a jolt of caffeine might help.. It might be time for some really bad espresso..  

Monday, January 6, 2014

Pandora's Box

As I've said before, I now understand why meth addicts have such a problem.  I had to take my sinus medication (with pseudoephedrine) at about 3 am, to try and kick a migraine.  Well, it worked.

But I've only managed to take about an hour's nap all night, and I could feel myself tossing and turning the whole time.  I dreamed about things which disturbed me.  Mostly someone else's unhappiness, but it bothered me so much it was like I was feeling it all myself.

I feel jittery, like I've had two cups of coffee and I'll never sleep again.  If I do sleep at this point, it will ruin the rest of my day and screw with my ability to sleep tonight.

Part of me says it was that last conversation which has me worrying.  It's almost as if I don't *want* to feel anything anymore, and something inside me is forcing me to, dredging up old memories that are inextricably linked to a part of me I had hoped was dead.  Dead would be quieter, easier, and for the most part, it would insulate me from completely losing myself again.

Since mid-June I wanted it to be dead and gone, because I was hurting so much I couldn't see past my pain.  It helped to put on a layer of ice, because it numbed and protected me somewhat from that person who kept tearing at me, year after year, telling me to be patient, playing with my heart repeatedly, and then turning to stone whenever he had me completely taken in, once again.  

What kind of person uses a friend of fifteen years for a one night stand and then abandons them without an explanation?  I'm still shaken on that account.  The only thing I'm certain of at this point is that I didn't do the wrong thing.  He acted, I reacted. He was the aggressor, and looking back, it makes things look like no more than an act of aggression, like a dog that only wants his bone when there's a chance someone else might want it.  He gnaws it for a while and forgets it quickly when a flashy new squeaky toy comes into his life.

All I did was give my love, and I've learned that it was the wrong thing to do.  I just wish I had known that it was all a game to him in the first place.  I've given up on truly trying to understand why it happened.  It seems like it was all about his ego now, though there is probably a broken person underneath that veneer I mistook for warmth.  Maybe if he knew that I understand how to gently treat broken people, he wouldn't have been afraid of my ulterior motive.  I'm always surprised to find myself misperceived as scary, when I've been the fearful one all along.

*Gasp!* Shall I confess my motive? I wasn't looking for money -- he's been unemployed for a while now.  I have a decently paying job of my own and have no trouble making ends meet.  I just wanted him to love me as I loved him.  Oh, but more than one man has told me to never tell a man you love him, because that's weak and they don't want to hear it.  Really? Then what's the point of even spending time with them unless you're using them? Yuck.  I don't want to be that person.

So there you have it.  My secret motivation was love.  And it turns out, that's the one thing he didn't value.  And he's not the first in my life to be that way.  Therefore, I am frosty.  I might never thaw again.

Cupid, you and I have some talking to do, being my patron god and all.  You have definitely lost your touch, cherub boy.   ...Cupid is just cynical and bitter.  I understand why.

Does the realization that you've underestimated someone ever come with joy, rather than dread?  Finding out that there's more under the surface that you just didn't know about is so scary, it's hard to see it in a positive light.  For example, I've always been attracted to intelligent men, and while realizing someone is much smarter than you knew, it still comes with a bit of "Whoa now, please don't play head games with me." There should be a warning sign: Here There Be Dragons. Enter At Your Own Peril, Brave Stranger!  

Only I don't feel so brave.  I've opened Pandora's Box before, and been crushed by what came out.  Hope is struggling along with her broken wings, and I'm wary.  At least this time I've learned some things about human nature, though that knowledge has kept me watching from the sidelines.


Thursday, January 2, 2014

Insomnia

Ugh, can't sleep.  I should be tired! No caffeine, woke early.  Double dose of melatonin.  *sigh*

And it's too warm in here.  :(

I'm gonna play my Naturescape app...  The trains...

Wednesday, January 1, 2014

Do I Hafta Run?

(Do I have to?)

I'm still sore from Monday.  All right, I knew that would happen.  I made myself go to the gym yesterday and I did 45 minutes on the elliptical, because something twisted inside of me told me that my usual 33 minute program wasn't long enough.  And I raised the resistance level.  All the while I told myself that if I became lightheaded, I could always stop early.  

Well... I didn't.  :). I did have to pee rather badly when I finished, but there was a group of chatty hens hanging out, entirely blocking the entrance to the locker room.  I walked over and they just looked at me like they didn't know what I wanted.  I said excuse me, and one finally let me pass.  Hello? Do you have a clue why I'm standing here, all shiny with sweat? I'VE GOTTA GO!  

So, no problem there after they let me through.  I made it, and all that.  But my underwear was sweat-soaked.  Yeah, ewww.  Lol. The only article of clothing I was wearing that was all cotton.  Everything else was designed to wick sweat away, but only the cotton undies stay put lately.  Grr.  Unfortunately, on the way out, there they were in my way again.  And again I had to rouse them from their oblivion to get past.

Don't you know how short tempered a woman my age can be when she has just survived over exerting herself?  Then again, I don't have much practice at being a chirpy social butterfly at the gym, and I probably look angry when I'm tired as it is.  

So I decided it was a great idea to hop on the treadmill and do a mile. :). I did more than a mile, and I pushed myself pretty hard on speed.  Having hit the pace of 13 minutes per mile earlier this year, I wanted to see if I could maintain 12 minutes.  I did... For a little while.  

I'm tired of seeing people online whine about how slow they are, at 8 minutes a mile.  So freaking arrogant sounding in the face of someone who struggled to get to 15 minutes per mile.  (Damn divas!) Yes, I want to be fast, but full-figured bra technology was slow in arriving in my world.  Now that I can afford what I need, I get it.  

And now that my shin splints have FINALLY stopped plaguing me, I can do more.  So much for the caveat that it takes 6 months to a year for the musculoskeletal system to adapt to running... I'm well into year two.  But it's okay, because I'm getting better, despite my tight hips.  Anybody wanna help with that? (There's a dirty joke in there somewhere, I'm sure of it.)

The only thing I know to do is for me to keep challenging myself to harder goals until I can't improve any more.  My body will either rise to the challenge, or tear apart.  Lol

I ran last night, but it went well, so I'm tempted to just run one mile outside this evening.  I'm also tempted to stay inside because running two days in a row hasn't been good for me yet.  Hmm.  I don't know what to do...