I feel slightly more in control of my life lately. This is kind of an odd fact considering how busy I am. (I have a wee problem with saying no to work.)
I haven’t been back in therapy since my therapist moved, but I’ve been trying to take all of her coping skills and advice as often as I can. A lot of the positive impact has come from my husband, who heartily embraced the behaviors and actions I needed to become a significantly less crazy person.
(Go him! I will thus attempt to not want to kick him in the nads for twitpic-ing pictures of FRIED CORN ON THE COB while on his epic business trip or for being in the same city as ROBERT DOWNEY JR who I would like to be smooching immediately. Actually I’d just settle for watching him make pained expressions which for some inappropriate reason gives me a raging boner. Sorry, RDJ. At least you’re good at being pained and emo and/or bleeding. Mmm.)
A lot of the positive impact has come from sticking to the things that are good for me and trying to eliminate the things that aren’t. I’ve still been running a whopping two miles a week. Which is two miles a week more than I’ve ever run and forty minutes a week more exercise than I’ve gotten in a year. And not-surprisingly it’s absolutely helping me sleep and helping me manage my anxiety.
Which isn’t to say I’m never anxious anymore. When I think about upcoming travel, specifically BlogHer, I feel like someone punched me in the colon. So I don’t think about it often and I hope that at some point I’ll be able to think about it rationally and if not I’ll just dip out and spend most of the weekend stuffing my face with Indian food and cupcakes. Though not at the same time.
I still can’t really drink, but I’ve managed to have a glass of wine or half a beer once in a while, and I’ll take what I can get. I’ve been avoiding drinking-related social situations because I feel weird about them and I don’t want to go into the whole “oh I get a migraine and diarrhea when I drink now” thing because it makes me sound sickly and wow do I hate sounding sickly.
On the blogging front, I’ve been re-evaluating why I’m here and what I want to do and what I want to associate myself with and all roads continue to point to writing. I know that’s not why everyone is here but it is why I am here. That means trying to focus less on drama and less on stats and less on “success” and more on the things that bring me joy when I write — like simple comments or someone telling me that something I wrote resonated with them in one way or another.
It sounds so trite but you honestly can’t put a price tag on that. Not for me. I have a job (several jobs) so I’d rather be recognized as a writer than receive a check from an ad network or obsess over how many times someone clicks their mouse on my words. I realize that I’m fortunate to be in a position where I can manage blogging as a hobby and creative outlet on top of my career.
And beyond all that writing/ego/money shit, there’s the community aspect. I will never roll my eyes at that concept. I’ve hidden under my covers so many times, reading comments on my phone. Comments that feel like hugs. Reading that someone else felt that way, that someone found hope, that someone hasn’t found a good place to be yet, that someone also laughs when life gets so fucking absurd that there’s nothing left to do but hammer out the words and laugh.
Don’t even get me started on my love-hate relationship with Twitter.
Anyway, my days? They’re busy. They’re full. I get cranky and testy but I also feel joy and excitement and I feel like I’m good at the things I do and that’s a good feeling.
A note to the universe: Last time I wrote about feeling really good my son fell and busted his eyebrow open while simultaneously contracting RSV and developing asthma complications with it. As a result, I’d like to offer some sort of no-rain-dance and many genuine booby-shakes of thanks that neither one of my children are currently sick.
In fact, they’re currently running around my house like banshees playing “tag” which really means the baby runs like hell while giggling until the preschooler tackles him until they both end up crying. It’s a fun game, you should try it some time.
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