I guess I'm still in the middle of my pity party. About half the time I feel good about things and know there are obstacles for the next few weeks and I can ride it out.
The other half the time I'm my own worst enemy. I can't keep straight my relationships. I have no control over my health - and it's getting worse. I don't get to do anything fun because I either feel like shit or have something health related to do.
Do you have any idea what it's like to have a minimum of two doctor appointments a week? Between that and keeping the housing from turning into a hoarding nest - that's about all I have to give. I'm trying to make Richard and tap class priorities. But that's IT it. It's hard to make friends because I'm all over the place. I get weirdly indulgent about my weight and what I eat. Then beat myself up for eating like crap.
Ditto writing here. I mean - how hard could writing for 10 minutes for 100 days be? I'm making a fucking career out of not doing it.
On the other hand - things are OK. My relationships with my parents are better (sort of). I'm LOVING the pool. Everyday when I can. My apartment is lousy with stuff I've made -- which I'm really proud of.
But I wish I could get the saboteur out of my head. I wish I could slow down the noise of boyfriends past. I wish I could start making shit that makes money instead of shit I have to clean up later.
It's a process, of course. But I wish I could get ahead of it. And I hope the doctors figure out what's going on. For the last couple years, I've known something more is wrong. They keep finding different things that explain it for a bit, but never in total. How many fucking things can I have wrong with me?
And why can't I just write for 10 minutes a day?
UGH. It's my pity party and I'll whine if I want to. (Although whining makes me realize how lame all the noise is!)