Why do Monsters Make Me Happy?

Hello, world.

My slump seems to continue. I missed several classes again last week. I overcame some reluctance-towards-everything in order to attend a session I had booked almost a month ago with my counsellor on Friday. I spent just about the whole time venting and ranting and voicing my assessment of the great streak I had been on for a while, and the restfulness, and then restlessness, of my disengagement since February 19th.

The next day, I went back to the gym. I had a headache, that ebbed and returned while I was working out, and part way through my strength exercises, my willingness to exert myself gave out. My muscles seemed to be doing alright. It wasn't pain or pushing near the usual shaky intolerance that made me stop one of my sets at eleven, and the next, when I elected to try it again, at ten. It was something closer to boredom, or apathy, or reclusiveness.

I saw the coach who had originally set me up with my work out as I was heading up the stairs, and he asked cheerfully how I was, but I had nothing cheerful to say back, so I only waved. It was nice to see him again, since he was a positive acquaintance and very energetic and understanding from the beginning, but it was uncomfortable to be seen.

I noticed the other day that I had completely forgotten to pay rent to my landlord in February. In a fit of profound embarrassment, I immediately sent him an e-transfer for two months' rent to cover February and March, and filled the comment box and another email beside it with my apologies. He was gracious, and made nothing of it except to thank me for the messages. This landlord has been uncommonly good to us. I count that a dear blessing.

The kitchen continues to be wretched. The stove covered in grease and burned debris, the floor just dirty enough to be slightly sticky sometimes, and slightly slidey with a layer of dirt which is not secure on the floor at others. It is an unhappy, weighing thing to see.

Friday night my roommates had friends over. I have been trying to sleep at night again, and have been having some limited success, sleeping in late evening and remaining awake five hours before waking up on my own. However, I cannot measure my progress very well when I am not left to myself to wake up. I woke Friday night to the sounds of people, coming and going and loudly talking. I did not have the energy, or perhaps simply did not have the will, to move. I only lay in the darkness, awake and tired or perhaps sometimes vaguely approaching sleep again for a while before the voices roused me. Someone laughs. Someone swears, and my tension ticks up another little notch. I do not know how long I laid there before I found whatever I had been lacking and moved.

I should note, it was not paralysis this time. Sleep paralysis feels very different. I was stuck between rest and motion, not between my nerves and the waking world. It was very tiresome, but was not claustrophobic in the same way.

Eventually I stirred, rolled over, groaned, and turned on my laptop to check the time. About 1:30 AM. My thoughts grew darker, but were still tired and predominantly wordless. I wrapped my housecoat around me and staggered out to boil some water and fetch a snack, casting dark, empty looks toward the corner where those two roommates and their guests sat or stood or lay variously on and around the couch, talking loudly and not seeming to do much of anything else. I did not talk to them. I did not have the grace or the desire. In the short term, I was already woken, and in the long term, I no longer felt any inclination to believe my words would make any difference at all to their behaviour. Perhaps they do not understand the affect this has on me, but I have tried to make it clear to them before.

The loud speaking continued until 3:30 or 4 or so. The next morning, the area was scattered with pieces of chips, an empty chip bag, a large empty vodka bottle. The common area thus decorated was slightly worse than usual. Since then, the bottle and bag have been tidied away, but the pieces of chips have not. A few days ago, I left out a note on the counter that only said, "The STICKINESS on the floor is GROSS. Please CLEAN it." It has shifted around and been pushed toward the section of cabinets I reserve for myself, and the marker has been smudged with wetness and the paper spotted with grease, but so far as I can tell nothing has been done.

This afternoon I confronted one of my roommates in the kitchen, toneless, dark, not feeling enough of myself to give of myself. I greeted her and said, "Does it not bother you to see the kitchen like this?" She said quickly that it does, and that she would clean it tonight when others were not in the house. I heard it listlessly, almost feeling this gambit were unfair. I told her that if she did not, I probably would, and that I had a friend I wished to have over tomorrow.

I do not particularly believe her, but I will look to see whether anything is done. She also told me, the other day, when I sent out a text to the household and the landlord complaining that the thermostat had been turned to 78 degrees, that the landlord had set it so after she had complained of the cold, and it automatically reset to 78 if they changed it. I heard from the landlord in response to the same message that he would put a lock box on the thermostat.

I went out and bought some groceries, mostly frozen things to heat in the oven. The freezer I share with another roommate is mostly full. I send her a text message offering to make room if she needs it, and saying she shouldn't worry about it if she needs to rearrange the freezer or anything. I have generally gotten on well with this particular roommate, although she is rarely here. The kitchen bothers her more than it does me, and she has a boyfriend she can spend time with away from here, so I suppose why wouldn't she?

While at the grocery shop, I bought Monster energy drinks again, and had one as soon as I got home. I had been feeling deadened, disinterested, wondering whether my slump had degraded into depression. Shortly after the drink, though, as generally and bizarrely seems to happen, I felt... better. Cheerful, in a way I have not been. Why does this happen? What is it about the energy drinks that sloughs away the misery in a way nothing else does? I find it... concerning. I have a sense that I ought to be able to feel this alert all the time, without having to rely on a drink to trigger it. Why is it that they make me happy, even if I still feel tired and sleepy? Do I really feel my fatigue more as emotions than fatigue? I do know that nothing saps my energy like getting upset, but I didn't expect it to work so thoroughly the other way around. I know tiredness manifests as a form of sadness, but I do not expect energy to manifest more as happiness than as perceptible energy.

Dear Memory: Tempted Closer

My plan to beast through my Cost Accounting quizzes has been met by an unexpected obstacle. When I logged onto the publisher website to study again, I discovered it. Access to quizzes five through ten had been taken down unexpectedly, while apparently the course administrator adjusted which questions from the question bank would be on them.

I had not been confident I would do well charging ahead anyway, and it was taking a lot out of me to try. After all the recent stress I had been under, I was not altogether unhappy to surrender to this sudden enforced change of plans. Instead of working on Cost Accounting quizzes, I worked with my team on the finance project in a more relaxed state, knowing I could give as much time to it as the task might take, and enjoyed laughing with them while working.

Again I feel the strange sense of suddenly being surrounded by more reasonable people. In this case, people I can work with, who are willing to work with me. Even though I do wind up doing a lot of the primary processing, having company who are making useful comments makes a great difference. We sent one of our number home, because he was too sleep-deprived to be of much use and had only insisted on dragging his body to our meeting out of a sense of duty. He blessed us quietly for being so understanding when we insisted he should go sleep instead.

I have also spent long hours and majorities of days playing The Sims 3, and have been quite surprised that I continue to find it so engrossing despite bugs that make it through ErrorTrap, a mod which fixes most known glitches. I am not sure I'm done on my stint of it. But, yesterday (I suppose; I am writing at 1:30 or so in the morning after waking up feeling restless and alert after only a couple of hours of sleep) I took time out to do productive things; a bit of shopping, put away the laundry I'd done the day before, and pushed myself back to the gym.

I re-listened to Irish podcasts about the federal budget, and found myself thinking so much of you that I stopped focusing on them entirely, so I switched to listening to The Seldom Seen Kid again instead. My heart whirled and I felt and fantasized many different things, and snarled a little to myself while I thought no-one close enough to notice at the almost painful intensity of my want for you, and of how it might feel, when I see you again, to fear that that meeting may be the only one I ever get, if I present myself poorly...

As I thought might be the case, I performed better at the gym for taking a bit of a longer break, particularly on the strength elements. I upped my weights on several exercises and powered through them happily enough after willingly jogging (or something) my cardio for 20 minutes with more resistance than before. For the first time yet, every exercise I did, I did for three sets (I started with two sets each, and have started going on to three when I felt able on some particular one). By the end, my shoulders and arms felt gently stiff with muscle soreness.

I also listened to Savant while working out, and I thought of you, and showing off my strength to you. Also to Coda; I remember with a little crafty smile that he has a particular attraction to strongly-built women, and I feel it would be fun to meet him again with some confidence I may look sexier to him.

...The question of how to manage polyamory is one of those that I imagine could be a bit of a problem for us, dear Eoin. I put it off while I was there last time; the temporary nature of our relationship then offered its own answer. I was unlikely to find someone else during that time to get romantic with anyway, and was too much enthralled in infatuation and new relationship energy with you to have wanted any such distraction, so beyond my offering not to see anyone else for that period, and the mention of it as something that would need to be talked over if we were ever to want to have a longer term relationship, it was not really discussed.

It is kind of nice to feel so dizzied by thoughts of you again, although it seems to contradict my theory that the time of it were over. Perhaps my quest in Cost Accounting and the various stresses of becoming acclimatized to a new term had suppressed the phenomenon? Perhaps blogging stirs it up more than I generally acknowledge, and having spoken of other things without getting to you led the way for my mental habits?

Perhaps that thought of six months made it seem so much closer, so much more real, that I began to feel about it again. I almost wonder if I should after all break the silence far ahead of schedule to tell you, so that you can help me plan. So that you can weigh in on the question of whether I should come to Athlone IT again, or rather go to one of the other colleges. I don't know.

Changing such an integral part of the plan is unsavory to me, and the thought of breaking my silence to you when I had promised it far more so. Although... Whether I were to talk to you a couple of weeks before I expect to be there, or a few months... Perhaps the heart of it would be much the same..? Perhaps the factor that makes a difference is whether it is already set up that I will come back to Ireland? In that case... I should not, at any rate, until I have bought my plane ticket, I think. But that may be much sooner than anticipated, if I decide to make it my constraint.

Dear Memory: Difficult Day in Stride

(after Unsupportive and Dance-X, same day)

I have had a lot to tell today. Yet there is more. It seemed sensible to divide it into these pieces. This piece is for you, Eoin. I feel as though you may have been on my mind a little more this past little while that the previous similarly sized while.

I'm glad to have been going steadily through school, trying to balance homework and classes and fitness and the process of trying to bring myself back to Ireland. I keep thinking back to something my friend Ampersand said, the last time I had him visit me. I was talking about my plans, and something about how I intended to arrange things so that they would work out well for me even if it turns out that you don't want me back. He said, that seems pretty unlikely.

It stuck in my mind. I think he may have been the only person who ventured to assess the chance. It was certainly something I appreciated hearing, and I wonder what this judgement is based on.

I can't say. But although the intensity and inability to control my tendency to think of you has faded over time, I certainly do think of you from time to time, and smile, usually. I want to see you again. I look forward to seeing you again. While I was getting out of the shower today, I thought to myself... Well, it's half-way through February now. March, April, May, June, July, August... September.
It could be as little as six months. It could be as little as six months that I actually see you again.

It's sensible to leave early. One of the college reps suggested I give myself a couple of weeks before school starts in order to have time to find a part-time job. So really, arriving half-way through August is entirely plausible, and if you are amenable to it at that time... it really could be as little as six months. Something about that just strikes as though it's unreal and also more real, both at the same time.

I recently took photos of some of my books, to add to my list of things to try to sell on Kijiji. I delete and replace the sale listings once a week. They get pushed down the list very fast, but there's only so much time I have to spare for it just now. Perhaps after my trial period quiz challenge. I think casually about what things are important enough or difficult enough to replace that I will want to bring them with me. My knife set, probably. My few issues of Transmetropolitan, likely. My cool old-fashioned pepper grinder, maybe. That would be it for kitchen things, though. The rest, better to find new ones as I settle wherever I wind up settling.

It's... exciting. And despite the difficulty today, and the uncomfortable coughing and watery feeling in my stomach and tightness in my calves after Dance-X, I note that I have stuck to my initiative of working out three times a week for three weeks and still counting. This is the most consistent with exercising I've ever been for an extended period. I feel my abdomen and my shoulders with curious, interested fingertips from time to time. I feel as though it's making a difference... and hoping that you will see that difference when you see me again may be almost all the motivation I need to keep it up...

I wonder at my determination, and the way my confidence has held strong. There must, I suppose, be something special about the way I love you, that it makes me stronger like this.

I need to eat, and I need to work on quizzes. But Eoin... I love you. And I am coming. Six months from now... I hope you're ready.

Dance-X

(after Unsupportive, same day)

I had registered in advance to try out a Dance-X class at the gym today. In the state of anger I was still in when I left for it, I had a sense of dread about the whole affair, worrying about the factors that led to my dropping out of the dance club at AIT. I was determined to push through it and give it a good honest try, though, despite feeling that I was in a mood in which I might not be capable of fair judgement.

I left at fifteen to and got to the class on time, introduced myself to one other person who was also new to it and waited, in some nervous excitement, for the class to start. I wasn't sure what to expect. The instructor is a small, bouncy woman who wore a single, long braid and seemed very cheerful. There was no practice at slow speed, she simply set a playlist to going and launched into energetic dance, with a lot of quick cross-stepping and jumping about. The first song and dance on the list was Gangnam Style. That dance takes a hell of a lot of energy. I think I tried too hard. I could feel the roughness in my lungs at the end of it. I sat down, but was encouraged to remain standing even if I was tired.

Songs continued. They were mostly recognizable pop hip-hop, including Timber and Put a Ring on It. I continued. I tried to figure out what the moves were and get in step, but it was extremely difficult to register and try to learn the steps at such a fast pace, and difficult in an entirely different way to perform them even when I did have a sense of them. If I was standing, though, I felt pressured to dance if I were at all capable of it.

25 minutes into the 45 minute class, I left, deciding that I was at my limit and needed to stop. I had leaned on myself up next to the fan and the instructor called out a bit to me asking if I was alright. I said nothing, but walked slowly and unsteadily to the door and quietly let myself out. Tears were leaking out of my eyes as I changed my shoes. The slick of sweat across my shoulders meeting my synthetic jacket felt greater than it had ever been before. Before heading home, I walked across a little hill, still covered in snow, and carefully and intentionally fell over onto my side. I lay there for a minute or two, occasionally coughing somewhat raggedly, feeling the cold and wet seep into the side of my pants, thinking very little.

The main thing I was thinking, and have been thinking, seems a carefully audited stream of thought:

Yes, it was sort of fun. Stopping part-way through is not failure. Showing up and putting effort into it is a success. Perhaps my weight-based workouts will go better the next time I come to the gym for my giving those muscles a little more chance to recover than usual. This definitely counts as having worked out today. It's been a hard couple of days. Perhaps it was time to cry. I should try this again next week, but pace myself more conservatively.

I brought myself home and showered. I brushed away the most recent accumulation of sand and fine gravel which accumulates by the door, and thence gets in my bedroom, and thence into my sheets; and I lay down, and I began writing this.

I am trying to do a set of online quizzes within a trial period again. I might end up trying it for two different classes, one having been activated later than the other. My Information Systems class has simple SAM Cengage labs for learning Access and if I get the chance to access all of them within the trial period, I think I can ace them easily. The more challenging and more serious one is Managerial Accounting. I've already worked ahead, and have finished four of the quizzes. One of them, I didn't actually study for. I had mistaken which one it actually was, but having started it without preparation, I did my best, and my best without studying earned me a tiny fraction over 80%, a little better than a similar quiz I had studied for. I think I'm probably losing some marks on rounding. I find the instructions on which numbers to round obtuse and confusing.

There are six more quizzes. It is currently Thursday evening. I will need to finish them by Saturday evening to complete them during the trial access. I have a class tomorrow, and a project actually due on Saturday evening to contribute work towards. I am not sure I can do it, but I'm certainly going to try.

Dear Memory: New Fitness Regime

Five days, apparently, since I last wrote. Those five days have been quite full, although I am not sure whether I feel they have been eventful, per se. The fullness has been self-driven and domestic in nature.

My new roommates have all moved in. I did a moderately ambitious little sewing project, replacing patches of a worn-out pair of jeans, and then re-sewing a seam that came undone. I've unpacked a little more. I've cleaned my room. I finally got around to sitting down with Coda to have a good long chat about all manner of things. We wound up talking about religion a fair bit.

Probably the most notable event of the past few days... I made and attended an appointment at the wellness center, the gym at the school. It included a sort of electric scan to determine my body composition, and being shown how to adjust and use five of the different kind of exercise machines safely and do two other exercises without machines. I have a workout to do, aiming for three times a week or every second day. It was a significant step outside my usual comfort zone, in all honesty.

I returned the next day, listening to Welcome to Night Vale again. It'd been a while, I've been pursuing other podcasts and audiobooks more lately. I hadn't planned or expected it, but I wound up listening to the first part of the podcast that had been recorded as a live show. Episode 49, divided into parts A and B because it was quite a long show. It was pretty cool. But... I wasn't prepared for the first repeated Weather they've ever done.

It put me in a state of consternation, that special unique feeling that a joke that I thought was over has had another punchline, and it's kind of funny and kind of annoying that it's just not over, because the joke is on me. Of course, the one song that would have to be brought back up, out of 48 that had gone before, and for that matter the plethora of new songs to choose from. It would be the one that I added to my mp3 player and associated with Eoin, wouldn't it? I stood for a while, staring out the window while a live version of the song played in my ears, feeling emotions. Some frustration, and some of a special sad/manic feeling of wanting to either cry or laugh. But gently. It did not overwhelm me. I stood and felt it, and appreciated the way this moment communicated the ongoing drama of my love story. I was a little impatient, a little annoyed... But had no inclination to deny that it was poignant and, in a way, appropriate.

I finished my work out and left the gym, taking a walk to let my thoughts wheel and my body cool down. There was one exercise I didn't finish full sets for, but I stand by the decision. It was becoming too difficult, and it will be better for me to stop early than risk burning out my muscles or my emotional capacity to endure stressing them.

I know what my priorities are on this fitness venture: to try to make exercise more regular and more comfortable for me. To learn to enjoy going to the gym and working out, to get past any lingering feeling of reluctance to do so. That means taking care not to push myself too hard, and erring on the side of stopping early rather than too late so that I don't give myself any reason not to want to come back next time. It's tempting to beast through hardship, but I know that is not sustainable, and this try is all about sustainable.

Success will be enjoying myself, and a couple particular benefits of working out that I look forward to: Sleeping better at night, and feeling more alert while awake. Any weight loss or muscle gain can come second to that energy and restfulness. They will come, if I keep going. I know they will. But slowly.

I have found that in this few days, I think of you less, Eoin. I still think of you, but it doesn't consume as much of my mind. I have mixed feelings about this. I think it's probably a good sign that I am rebalancing my life, able to live more independently, look to my own happiness. I feel so many conflicting things that the net result is mainly tension. I feel as though I may not be okay with everything I feel, and I suspect I am on some level avoiding looking at it.

On the other hand... All this rebalancing, all my determination to have myself a good winter term and keep myself mentally, emotionally, and even physically healthy... Ironically, it comes down in part to that point of not wanting you to feel as though I am spending, or have spent, all my time pining after you in despair and heartbreak. I am making sure I'm doing alright, and to some significant degree, it's because I'm sure it's what you would want me to do, and I don't want you to end up feeling guilty about how things have gone. Isn't that funny?

While I was contemplating my feelings about this, walking by myself, I came back to this: I am still planning to come after you. That it takes up less of my time in obsession does not mean it has become unimportant to me. I still love you. It's haunting me less. That's bound to be a good thing, for now.

The fog is back, and much deeper than it was before. The foggiest day I had ever personally seen in January has already been bested. If not for the clear and familiar roads, I could have gotten lost in it.

After the First Year of College

Written last week, uploaded today.

I deliberately came to the laundromat hungry, planning to grab a $6 pad thai from the Vietnamese grill next door... But for some reason they're closed. The paper sign still says "Come in We're Open" and there's no notice anywhere about not being open Mondays or for this Monday in particular that I can see, but nevertheless, it's closed. Well, that's annoying. I could eat at another nearby restaurant, but I really wanted a pad thai. I guess I'll write a bit instead.

So the school term is over (sorry I didn't blog during school). I wrote my last exam this morning at 8 AM. I confess, I didn't study and kind of half assed it. There were a couple of things on the exam I honestly didn't know, so I just wrote my best guesses. In my defense... Unless my expectations of how much effort it takes me to succeed academically are way off, I'll be passing the course in the highest bracket (A+) anyway. I calculated how well I had to do on my final exams ahead of time so that I'd know how much effort to put in... And in the college's system, there's no difference, no reward or consequence, for getting a 95 or even a 100 instead of a 90. I'm a little sad about that... But also willing to take advantage of it to do less work here at the end of term when I'm feeling burnt out and don't want to study. Well, if it makes no difference to my college standing, then the only reason it would make a difference is if I'm actually learning something useful from reading the material. Sometimes I am; this Ethics course has had some good writings in the textbook. I've always found it hard to motivate myself to do something effortful for only my own benefit, though.

The term has gone well. The last month of it I was constantly working on some form of group presentation assignment, though. That was frustrating. Trying to co-ordinate with other students is harder than just doing the entire assignment myself and according to my own understanding and vision. Other people... Either you have to put effort into finding them something to do, or you have to compromise with them.

Aside from school, I've really been lazing at home a lot, and socializing with my close friends. My sleep patterns are all messed up and I really don't want to work out at the gym anymore... After a really awkward bad day when I got rain-soaked, took time to shower at home to be in a better condition to train and showed up for an appointment late... and was only told then that they didn't serve late appointment arrivals. I wish it was only reluctance to exercise that kept me from the place. I was doing a reasonably good job of overcoming that, when I liked the place and the people.

Of course, most of it is just a sort of lazy, brain dead feeling. I'm procrastinating on all sorts of other things at home, including trying pitching my new tent to make sure I know how to do it before I get to the base camp for my summer job planting trees... I'm looking forward to it with some dread. I'm not sure I'll have the resilience to get through the season intact rather than giving up. I'm determined to try, though. It's hard to even see it as real right now.

At least I'm getting my laundry done right now. That's one item on which I've defeated procrastination - for the moment. And hey, I'm blogging. That's cool, right?

My girlfriends invited me to visit them in St. Thomas... But I've been feeling disconnected from them recently. We haven't spoken much in a while, and the rare times we have, my tiredness and a bit of friction with their attitudes led to it not being much fun. We didn't fight; just all got kind of tired and bored and wandered off because we, well, literally weren't having much fun. Another time, maybe. I hope so, but I fear the worst.

Oh, I broke up with my boyfriend by the way. We were just falling apart. It's a pity. There's good in him... But I was too desperate when this whole thing started, and overlooked the problems. I see that now. It's probably also been contributing to my loneliness. For now, we seem to alternate between awkward cold-shoulderedness in which we don't enjoy tolerating one anothers' flaws and presence and amiable friendliness when that's not a present concern. We can still hug and have good conversations sometimes. Pointlessly bitter arguments other times. We're both looking forward to being apart, in a way. I think it still hurts my heart a bit that it didn't work out, but I can see why at least. Perhaps we'll get along better when we don't live together anymore, or after he hasn't seen me for a long time. Maybe that will make it easier for him not to assume that I'm still the way I used to be. A lot has changed, and a lot of his beefs about me are residual from elements and habits I'm trying to leave in the past and grow out of, but they still taint his opinion of me. Inevitable, I guess.

Sinking, Stewing, Waiting, Procrastinating

Hi, blog.

I, uh... I'm feeling pretty down on myself right now.

I've decided to start looking for a place I could move into on my own and afford by myself for a while but that Robby could also join me in after a few months. But I haven't started looking yet. When I'm not at work, I'm lying in bed, watching YouTube videos and doing largely useless things. My floor needs vacuuming, but I haven't done it yet. My clothes need washing, but I haven't done it.

I've started talking to people about the route toward more interesting duties and positions within Goodwill. Maybe my ambitions are making me scared again, and the fear is making me shut down and stop everything. I certainly am afraid. Of the risk, I suppose. I would like to move up, learn new things, make more money... But I'm afraid, so I haven't done it yet. What I have done is kept working, and otherwise remained mostly passive. I'm probably burning myself out.

My body... feels... weaker, these days. I become sore more easily. I am less eager to walk places. My left wrist often hurts at work. I feel fat and I feel as though I waddle slightly when I walk. It's probably due to poor diet, I suppose. I think I am fairly active at work, where I am always on my feet and usually walking about.

Three times I've phoned the psychologist who originally prescribed me my psych pills, seeking a follow-up appointment. I have received no calls back. I am beginning to think I may have to depend instead on getting a "family doctor", who may be able to make appropriate judgments on my drugs that the clinic doctor is not allowed to.

I've saved up a fair bit of money over the past several months, perhaps one advantage of my passivity, though I'm sure I could save money as well or even better and be more active by choosing activities that aren't costly.

I feel... weak... and uninspired...

I'm in another little rut, I guess.

I will wait for a way out.

Eventually I will pick up a search for a place I can afford to live by myself, with a kitchen I don't have to share, where I can be naked in my living room if I wish, a cheap place I can make my own. Maybe even still conveniently close to work, although I am starting to think a longer walk to and from work could do me good.

Hold out hope for me, readers.

One Man's Trash

I stayed up all night again. This time it isn't Puppy's fault, though he contributed, for the last few hours of it. I wanted to make sure to be up for an event that was happening today right on my block: the Impact Junk Solutions Open House. The company is a garbage removal service, but it seems that when they pick up trash that isn't as trashy as usual and may be of interest to someone, they stash it in their warehouse and occasionally let anyone who is in need of furniture or other household goods come with their cars, trailers, or on foot, and take away anything they would like from the collection of thrown-away items. I've been needing furniture since moving in, so naturally, I went. I was not disappointed with what I found. The staff helped me load some furniture I could not have carried into a shopping cart to trundle home and back.

Not everything made it inside in one piece, sadly. A nice chest of drawers I'd found took too much shock to the joints while I was awkwardly maneuvering the heavy thing down the stairs by myself, and the frame came apart, nails and screws having been jarred loose. One of the nubby plastic legs also broke. The drawers themselves and the rollers, though, are completely sound. I think with a hammer and some new nails, and perhaps a pair of pliers, I can salvage it and return it to stability and usefulness, though it won't be as pretty as it was, due to places in the sides where the nails ripping away tore chunks off the edge of the particle board.

More successful was the transport of a rather tall and skinny little wooden desk, with four drawers in it. It lost a strip of surface false wood texture on one side of the top, and got slightly scuffed, but is still very pretty and perfectly stable and solid, as a desk should be. I brought home a short, shabby office chair and a thick pillow to raise the effective level of the seat, too, and now I actually have a functional chair and desk for my ridiculous excuse for a laptop... and for a better one, once I am able to get one.

One more piece of furniture was amongst my loot, a squat, slightly bulky end table with a single hollow storage space inside, accessed by decoratively carved double doors, made to look like dark red wood and also good and stable.

Other items I brought home (that made it without breaking):
2 candle holders
1 large red candle
1 plastic basket
1 woven basket
1 dollar store travel mug that seems new
2 large stacking paper trays
1 square cookie tin
1 nearly new board game of uncertain entertainment value called "HearMeOut!"
5 garish pink striped bedsheets
2 garish pink patterned pillowcases
1 long peach curtain
2 other bedsheets
1 other pillowcase
1 small pink throw blanket
11 saucers
9 large plates
4 small plates
2 teacups
2 shot glasses
6 bowls of varying sizes
1 segmented snack dish
1 juice pitcher
1 small ice cube tray
1 matching set of salt & pepper shakers
11 drinking glasses, assorted plastic and glass
2 small kitchen storage containers
1 wine glass
1 lid that doesn't seem to go with anything
1 lightbulb that happened to be in a box of kitchenware

All in all, I feel rather accomplished, and am quite happy with this haul of stuff. Most of it clearly worn, all of it free, almost all of it definitely useful to me. I think I will probably use the garish pink striped sheets to make triangular bandages for first aid, and then if there's ever a need, I can tie people up with garish pink striped arm slings.

P.S: Apparently there was so much stuff I inevitably had to forget to list some! I also got a box of assorted coathangers, probably around 30 count, and a bar of Irish Spring soap, still in its box.

Status Update

Yeah, there's been some stuff to talk about, but I just haven't been wanting to sit down and write to you guys. Almost a month ago, I broke up with Pup on Valentine's Day. I didn't even realize the timing. We talked a lot, I decided on the terms of One Last Chance, and consented to stay. But he still annoys me almost every day. Over the past two weeks, he's been breaking down after listening in on a conversation between me and a friend of his apparently taught him that despite his pretenses to morality, to logic, to rationality, he doesn't know a goddamn thing. Now for the last two days, something seems to have broken, and his answer to everything is saying "I don't know"; blaming everything on his Aspergers, on overexposure to mercury, on the stimuli he's responding to... including me... and lashing out.

For about a week, I've picked up Fitocracy again; I've been planking, but not really anything else. It's too early to say whether I'll stay with it. I do manage to do it for a while even when I'm really not very into it, though... I just tend to collapse after a minute if my spirit isn't in it or I'm otherwise worn out.

I returned to Writing.com and wrote a few contest entries, the first of which won an on-site prize. The contests I'm entering have a 300 or 100 max word count, and make great practice for cutting stories down to the vital core, making them succinct. I did fall into a jealous habit of comparing my work to the other entries, though, when I didn't win. Or worse, calling into question the taste and legitimacy of the judges. I might post my work here, some of it. I might not.

I've also been doing a little bit of sketching and artwork. For a while, while things were going well with Pup, I sketched him in anime style, something I've never really managed to work in before, and it seemed to go really well. I think of, or say, something funny, and I do a quick sketch of it, sometimes.

This week, I finally got my First Aid/CPR certification, Level C. I felt noble learning the material, and it was a bit of work, mostly because Pup kept me up very late so I was doing the 8-hour courses on four and three hour nights of sleep. The course itself was fun and seems very useful. If I'm ever in an emergency situation, I think I will feel much more confident dealing with it now. There was some confusion with my certificate card, though. The course instructor accidentally filled out the expiry date and the issue date as the same, so that I would be certified for 24 hours, rather than three years. I brought up the mistake to Goodwill, and my card was redone properly. I was told the other staff members laughed at her for the mistake, though that bit didn't make me feel any better.

Yesterday I had a mild, prolonged anxiety attack, apparently prompted by a bunch of people trying to help me with my questions at Goodwill, and someone answering other questions a bit shortly, since he had a lot of different things to do. The attack lasted over two hours and I felt hostile and feeble throughout it. Then came home to Pup and fought for a long time about him failing to aplogize to me or take my feelings into account even when I make them clear, and me being irrational and unstable to a point that he feels he has to be afraid of my leaving him any time he does anything at all.

Today, from the time I woke up, despite doing my planking and having a shower, and despite close to twelve hours of sleep, it felt like the world was slowed down. When I listened to my music, it all sounded slightly but uncannily flat, and I didn't care about it, even though it was music that was usually very powerful to me. I went to Goodwill to retrieve a flash drive I'd forgotten there, and came home immediately. It was obvious to me that I needed to just rest, today, and recover from my stresses... my body and despondent mind were telling me something was wrong and I needed to tend to that before anything else.

It seems much of this, my own participation in all sorts of other activities, including some active job search work, practicing various forms of my artistry... was largely prompted by Pup's computer being fixed, meaning he now has something to spend time with without me having to be there to engage him constantly. The fact that it's now, after this, that his responses to me have seemed to step up again in aggression and disrespect has some very disappointing implications that now that he doesn't need me as much, there's a lot more dissatisfaction and hostility he may have been holding back, that's now out. Perhaps having what he wanted has actually made his mental and emotional condition worse, because he can junkie out on video games and avoid real world responsibilities as much as he wants. I don't really know. Whatever's going on, I don't think this will last long.

P.S: I... just discovered something weird on my Writing.com account. Apparently someone spent $20 on me to get me three months of upgraded account. It was an anonymous gift, with the message: "Keep reviewing!". I... feel kind of stunned. It's weird that some random person on the internet would spent money on me to get me to keep doing reviews of writing... I wonder, is this how Grimith feels?

Disappointment

I had been hoping that one of my next blog entries would be happily telling you, my valued readers, that our application for our new apartment/house/home... I'm not sure what we should call it, since it's kind of a weird building... was approved, and we will be moving within the month away from this terrible, oppressive place.

I cannot. Our application was denied. The nice lady who showed us around explained to my boyfriend over the phone that they've gotten some requests to use the building as office space and as such, the price has been increased by $150 per month. In accordance with some kind of zoning policy, I presume, since it would no longer be "residential". The thing is... it had been zoned as shopfront for a long time, and didn't sell. Apparently the same place has been on the market for about a year, albeit under different conditions.

I guess it doesn't matter anymore to me.

I haven't been exercising consciously at all anymore. It is a thing which has stopped happening. I've been spending more of my time socializing, on an IRC full of generally closer to like-minded individuals, and I've made some new friends. One of whom seemed really nice and even made a request that I tell him if he ever, figuratively speaking, missteps on my toes, along with a promise to bear it in mind and try to make right on his mistakes... since he knows making one now and then is unavoidable. He managed not to offend me at all the first time I spoke to him. The second time, he said something which, unintentionally, caused me some offense. It was a thing about different play styles in roleplaying games, about resource management bogging down a perfectly good game (I tend to put some focus on it in my cavern game, since it's an important part of struggling to survive, which is kind of the premise). It was a minor offense, but me being me, I find it kind of hard to get past minor offenses sometimes. I told him how I felt about it... and was, in effect, dismissed as an accusatory and ridiculously oversensitive bitch who was making a big deal over nothing and was convinced he was a hateful person.

This isn't related, of course, it just fits in with the general theme of my life for the past 24 hours... profound, hideous, heartbreaking disappointment, after I'd allowed myself to get my hopes up. Again. How much harder will it be to avoid convincing myself there's no point in trying, next time? I don't know. For now...

I've mostly gotten over the liar crush from IRC, but the house is a much bigger problem. I feel trapped here. I would say that I feel like the walls are closing in on me, but I don't. I looked at the walls practically asking them to, and they refused. They just stood there being walls and mocking me for the cowardice that traps me within them. It's not their fault, they seemed to want to remind me. They even have a nice high ceiling to create the illusion of greater freedom and openness, specifically, it almost seems, so that I can't be intimidated and cramped by its closeness. Nevertheless, I hate this room. I hate this apartment. I hate the mess and most of all I hate the evil Old Man that I've become so afraid and disgusted with that whenever I'm in the kitchen/livingroom area and he walks in, my gut tightens, my shoulders stiffen, and I just wish fervently for him not to try to talk to me (not that he ever does) and to please, please, just hurry up and go away. He can probably tell. It's hardly as though I'm taking any particular measure to be subtle about the vibes I'm putting off. And when he talks, even if it's just to my boyfriend while I'm in the room, I want to tear him apart.

He posted a list of unreasonable, stupid "Normal" house rules, including not using the stove after 7 PM and not eating after 10 PM, until breakfast, that even my boyfriend is afraid to break, now, because he claims that us moving around and running water to clean dishes kept waking him up.

The other morning, between 5 and 6 in the morning, he came and actually knocked on our door. I don't remember what it was he wanted, my boyfriend sorted it out. Apparently he was confused by something, probably a setting of the new television he bought recently, and needed help figuring it out. It doesn't matter to me. What I do remember, and what does matter, was the sinking feeling of dread and anger, as I realized that by knocking on the bedroom door, he had forced his presence into my awareness even when I was safe in my room. I couldn't be free from him even if I never left my, our, my boyfriend's and mine, so our, bedroom, the place which was safe... because it's where he doesn't go. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair for him to take that security away from me by doing something as simple as knocking on our door. At a time when "Normal" people would probably not be assumed to be awake. I can't help but feel that this is a terrible form of hypocrisy. He hasn't exactly broken his own rules, but his complaint was that we had been accidentally waking him up at times when it was reasonable for him to be sleeping. ... And this seems like behavior that would accomplish the same on purpose.

I don't know what I'm going to do now. I guess we'll look into other available places around town. Or rather, my boyfriend will. As for me, I'll more likely retreat further into the internet in an effort not to face my despair, and rot for another couple of weeks.

If there is a change of plans in that regard, I'll let you guys know.

Decline

I have been putting off my exercises... Today, I did some... Though not well. I seem to have hit a wall with planking - the last three times I've done it, I gave out at almost exactly one minute and 24 seconds... I guess this is my barrier point, at this time.

But then... Today, everything seemed harder. It could be that the time off and the guilt about it have made me dread it. It could be that I asked my boyfriend to come and provide support and he didn't. It could be that it's late and I'm tired. Or perhaps all of the above. I did most of my pledged routine, but found crunches harder than usual, and leg lifts, oddly, easier. I may have been counting faster. I don't know. I kept momentarily losing track of the numbers, as though they'd scattered before my mind and I had to make a focused effort to remember them again. Nine in a row... that's a new record, if I did manage the counts properly. I think possibly it's got something to do with the way I'm holding my arms, locking my knees and clenching my midsection now.

I don't feel achieved, and I don't feel healthy. I feel weak, and depressed. I felt so bad after this excuse for a workout that I couldn't talk to my boyfriend when I came back to our room, could only gesture and make plaintive noises because I didn't want him to touch me and couldn't answer what was wrong, and he just wouldn't seem to stop trying to touch me and repeatedly ask the infuriatingly unanswerable question anyway.

From certain angles and poses, my abdomen feels kind of numb, like it's full of static. Some people on Fitocracy are trying to encourage me onwards, reminding me that whatever you're doing, it hurts less the more you do it. I don't feel capable of answering them. I don't think I'm willing to hold out until this is giving me significant help. It's too hard, and it's painful and depressing, like damn near everything else.

You know... I think I might have failed to take my pills one day too many this week. And certainly not at a reliable time. Sigh... I haven't stopped, though, which is something... I am actually doing it, still, just not doing it reliably or well.

So I guess this is a step in the right direction, as much as it doesn't, at the moment, feel like one.

What Stops Me

Today, I went for two long walks. A total of about 11 km. A total of almost three hours. One at evening, one in the middle of the night. I was stopped by a cop car on my way back on the second walk, which startled me a bit. Officer Question Mark asked me my name, which made me feel suspicious, and whether I was out doing anything I shouldn't be, which didn't. Apparently my answers satisfied him, because he left, still quite friendly, without much fuss.

Less than ten minutes later, a cabbie pulled over and asked if I was alright, too, amusingly.

But now I feel shaken. I keep imagining a conversation with the policeman, things I might have said, things I might like to say, about why I feel nervous talking to a man with a badge. Things about the protesters in the states, at Wall Street, at the University of California... nearer by, in Toronto... And the more I think about it, the more I seize up. I shake, I start to cry. There is so much I'd like to say, that I'm afraid to - not that I think these neighborhood cops, or this one in particular, is like that, just... just, the only thing I know for sure about them and about the ones from the stories and videos, is that they share the mark of authority, the badge. And I don't know.

Human beings need each other. We are not machines, as much as industry leaders might want us to be.
Human beings can exist and survive without houses, without electricity, without medicine or guns or modern plumbing, in very harsh conditions. We're amazingly resilient sometimes, really.
But I'm not sure human beings can survive without being able to trust each other.

This is not the first time since I started my workout that I've been afraid I might honestly not be able to convince myself to continue... But it's the first time I've felt something that I thought might be the thing to prevent me. I am again reminded of some of the things I'd like to do... some of the changes I'd like to make... some of the talking and standing up, and yes, protest, I'd like to take part in... And I'm reminded of what made me stop thinking about it last time.

I am terrified, paranoid. I don't think anyone is watching me, specifically, but I think if I started to do what I want to do, they might. And the helplessness, the fear... this paranoia, a feeling that even if I do become strong enough to be healthy... I may never be strong enough to be confident of my survival should I step into the place where trouble is... this, more than anything else... This, is what always stops me.

I feel so afraid, thinking about it, so helpless... I'm not sure I can do anything but sit here, stunned. I'm not sure I can find the courage for my workout tomorrow. How? In the face of this... can I ever feel brave? How can I feel strong, and use my strength, when I feel so weak? But I guess I'll find out, tomorrow.

Back Up, Back On, Full Forward! ... And Suddenly...

Dear diary readers, I did well today. I woke up in the morning, took my supplements even though they were late, delivered two resumes, and most importantly, I returned to my workout early, fully, and fiercely. I did it better than ever before! And all this before having breakfast... (which isn't exactly a good thing, but I just don't have much appetite in the morning before doing anything, and didn't want to exercise on a full stomach or put it off)

This is important because the last time I did my workout, I didn't do the third and last part of it, my leg lifts, which are tough and require endurance: Lie on back, with legs straight, lifted just slightly off the ground, and hold them there, as still as possible, for ten seconds... Then, gradually (as possible) raise until they are upright, above the pelvis, and hold there for another ten seconds. Lower and repeat. I try to do this ten times each time I work out, though I so far always have to take a break at least once in between - usually this means I do it in two sets of five repetitions. Today, I did a set of three, a set of four, and another set of three.

Besides just picking up and getting back into doing a part of my workout that I failed at last time, I also beat my record time for the plank (part one of my workout) with 75 seconds to beat last time's 73, and my earlier number of crunches (part two) managing 21 today, at which point I actually noticed that I was feeling the effort in my thighs as well as abdomen. I wonder, is that supposed to happen? I collapsed after my first set of three leg lifts, and had to take a few minutes' break before doing another set of four. After that, another short breather, and while waiting for my abdomen to recover enough to complete my routine, I decided to do something else in the mean time - so far, my workout is all building the strength of parts of my body by using them to lift and hold the weight of other parts of me. Cardio workout is also important, though, and I remember hearing somewhere, though I have no idea about the credibility of the source, that while you'll build muscle with strength training alone, it won't help you lose fat much...

So I settled on something easy that I know how to do, and did some jumping jacks. Forty, to be precise. I was thinking I'd do twenty, but I made it past twenty without much difficulty, so why stop there? At thirty I was getting a bit worn out, and by forty, where I decided to stop, I was starting to feel like I couldn't do much more, so probably a good stopping point.

I paced for a while, and had a glass of water, taking deep breaths and getting ready. "Just three more legs," I kept promising myself. I know the last ones are always the hardest - your muscles already ache, and the seconds drag on impressively. But... I did it. Just, but I did it. And I feel... triumphant. Roooooaar! Snarl! I am victorious! **chuckles**

And then something else happened.

I got an email from my mother.

The last notable time I remember this happening, she was writing to tell me that her father, my grandfather had died. Had. Died. Just to put this in a little bit more perspective... I was living not that far away. I didn't know he had taken ill. I don't usually stay in contact all that much with my family, and no-one had told me. I might have, could have, had a chance to visit him one last time, if someone had, but... ... I didn't know a thing about it, until my mom sent me a short email to tell me she thought I should know he was dead.

I got along well with my grandfather. He was a friendly, jovial type, a poet, and a musician, who played clarinet and french horn. I hadn't seen him since a family gathering over a year before. Never would again.

Now let me explain. My mother and I are not on good terms, and as far as I'm concerned never have been, at least not since before I can remember. Growing up, it was perfectly clear to me that whatever I ate, the clothes I wore, and even the additions my use made to the electricity, internet and water bills, were all taxing costs to her. We grew up in poverty, so I can understand that, to a point... But getting a pointed look whenever I put cheese on a sandwich (because 'cheese is expensive - not to mention fattening!') was... well. Just another part in the larger picture, another reminder that she was only putting up with the costs I inflicted upon her because she was, or considered herself to be, a good mother.

That much might not have been enough for me to hate her, and wouldn't be a very good excuse. No...

Mom worked a lot of the time I was home in late elementary and high school - sometimes I was lonely all by myself in the house, but not all that often, and I could always go for walks around town if I got bored. For the most part, being alone suited me fine. When she was home, though... The most common question she ever asked me was whether I had any homework, or had done it yet. She didn't seem to care that I was bullied terribly, even when I told her about it. Whether she just didn't know what to do or say about it, and so simply did nothing, or whether she didn't take me seriously, or whether she figured it would be good for my character in the long run, I have no idea. She smoked, and out of a sense that it was bad to smoke in front of youth for the sake of their health, eventually ended up designating one room of the house a smoking room, so she could smoke without going outside all the time. The smoking room had its own door, which at first didn't work, and plenty of windows to let the smoke out, which was good...

And after a while, also had a television in it. At that point, she seemed to spend almost all the time that we were both home in the smoking room, often with her boyfriend, even if neither of them were smoking. I am, again, not sure whether this was a deliberate measure to avoid me, because the smoking room was somewhere I refused to go because of the smell, but it served as such, and made her difficult to get the attention of or approach. Being alone in a house, to me, has never seemed to be a bad thing, really. There is a sense of privacy and a certain thrill to having the place all to yourself, even if only for a short time. The same cannot be said of being alone, quite profoundly alone, when there is someone who supposedly loves you in the next room over... and you can't bring yourself to try to talk to them.

I know, because she told me once, that she found my tantrums, the times when I was upset and angry and needed attention, to be frightening, and that this is often why she avoided me when I most needed someone to talk to - or complain to - or scream at. Forgive me for thinking that this is not a very good excuse for avoiding, rather than resolving, conflict with one's own child, or for that matter, an example of good parenting.

The worst thing was, by far, that effectively speaking, I was not allowed to disagree, and I was not allowed to have social needs - like attention, or a hug, or forgiveness. Such things were given if I was in all ways co-operative, sometimes. If ever I objected to being shouted at because I didn't immediately come to help bring in groceries after my mom was having a hard day, or was frustrated because she had a habit of phrasing what were obviously meant to be commands as questions, along the line of "Would you like to help me with supper? ...What do you mean, 'No'!?" I would be subjected to a tirade of insults and labels, including "selfish," "insolent", "rotten", "bitchy", "spoiled brat", "inconsiderate", and several others.

And she never. Ever. EVER said she was sorry or apologized to me without some form of the following attached to it:
"but you treat me just as badly or worse than I treat you"
"but I don't have the patience..."
"but if you're being completely impossible, I don't see how you expect..."
"but I deserve respect too"
"but what goes around comes around, missy"...

et cetera. She seemed constantly, utterly convinced that every time I got angry, every time I needed or wanted more than she was already giving, it was a conspiracy to guilt-trip her.

She even hit me, once - just once, that I can ever remember. We were arguing, and I think I had shoved her. I don't remember the context, exactly, but she slapped me soundly across the face. I was shocked, and more surprised than anything. It stung, yes, but the pain wasn't really important. Just the shock of the fact that she had hit me made me go kind of still for a second.

And I would be willing to forgive that, in and of itself.
A minute later, and ever since then... She denied it ever happened.

Of course... like everyone, mother has her good sides. Her cooking was fantastic, and she had a good singing voice. She sometimes used to sing songs to me in the car, and I still remember and can repeat several of them, including "Waltzing Matilda", "Donna Donna", "Somos El Barco", and several others. She had a strong sense of humour which was sometimes cringe worthy, but we enjoyed joking back and forth at each other sometimes, and I could often amuse her with my silliness.

There were things I thank her for, like teaching me how to make a really good tuna salad sandwich, which remains one of my favorite meals, in some variation or another, to this day. But the good neither outweighs nor excuses the bad.

For the past several years, most of the time since I left home at 18, really, I have usually maintained a stance of diplomatic silence towards her. She occasionally attempts to contact me, but I rarely respond, mostly because her message is usually along the lines of "I'm ready to make reparations if you are, the ball's in your court", and mentioning how much she wants to patch things up. Again, as always, subtly making it seem as much dependent on my initiative, and everything as much my fault, as conceivably possible.

I have no response to that that I expect to be of any use, so I do not respond. There is nothing I can say that would be honest without inciting a fight. I am too angry, too bitter and cynical and too aware of the subtext of it, not willing to put up with it, especially not from her, not any more. No. I am not, ever, going to be caught nodding politely and saying "Yes, mother," while she lists my crimes against her. I have never been willing to do so, which is why we used to fight so often, and I sincerely doubt I ever will. Not even if I have no house to sleep in in dead winter. Death first.

At some point in the year after I left home, I don't remember precisely when, she informed me I was no longer welcome at her house, as a guest or otherwise. And since then, well. More or less this. Mostly silence. Very occasional breaks in it.

So... she sent me an email today, surprisingly completely blank, just with a document attached to it. I was tempted to just delete it, because I wasn't sure I had the patience to take this today... But I opened it anyway, just to see what it was.

It was a short letter, written in red and in the shape of a heart, for Valentine's Day.

It read:

"It's been several years since I took the steps I did toward (or rather away from) you. It was probably the hardest thing I have ever felt that I had to do, and has not become any easier, really, with the passage of time. I know I have not always been the best mom. I have my shortcomings and blind spots, as do we all. Though, for better or for worse... I am your mother... and I love you, have always loved you and will always love you more than you may ever know. I have so longed for a healing of the scars which we have inflicted upon each other over the years, and to be able to share a harmonious and supportive relationship. I realize that it would have to be a combined effort and also may not be easy. I had been waiting and hoping that you would be the one who would initiate a reconciliation with me, between us, though perhaps this is more than I should count upon. And the thought that we may never reconcile is more than I can bear. I just wanted you to know that I'm still here, still love and miss you and still wait, with hopes and prayers for you. Know that you are in my heart.

What more can I say ~ In my heart ~ on Valentine's Day"

I don't really know what to say to this. It shocks me almost like that slap, way back when... Surprisingly, this is a lot more mature than she usually is, and contains much less blame, if you can believe that. She's... certainly made progress.

And yet at the same time, it enrages me the way her messages usually do, with implications that most if not all of this is entirely my fault, or at least somehow my responsibility.

I imagine the way I feel right now might be akin to the way an openly and happily gay person might feel reading a similar letter from his or her deeply religious and traditional parents.

She's making progress. Which impresses me, and indicates that she really is trying to make some form of compromise with me... and just falling well short of the mark. She doesn't know how to do this. She may not even understand why her words are offensive to me, to her they're just the simple truth of her perspective...

I don't know. Either way, it hurts.

I don't plan to answer her. I still don't have anything to say to this, and it is essentially the same message she's been sending me over and over (kind of like the endless internet-regulating bills currently being pumped out by media interest groups in the U.S...).

However... it's... better, this time. And if she keeps getting better this way... Maybe someday, maybe even someday not too distant... Maybe I will.

Fitocracy

Fitocracy is a website which endeavors to provide resources, community support, and motivation, for people who are trying to get, or stay, fit, by working out. It provides information on, and credit for, a very broad range of fitness activities, from dancing, swimming, biking and long walks, to barbell strength training and challenging courses like P90X. The community encourages and makes use of courses including Starting Strength, You Are Your Own Gym, and Convict Conditioning, among other things.

At present, the site is invitation-only, but I've heard that you can find invites on Google if you look.

Had enough gratuitous links yet?

I introduced myself to the community... technically, just earlier today. If you have an account on Fitocracy, you can see my introduction thread here, and feel free to follow me if you like.

Okay, I'm finished with the links now, I promise. ;)

For those of you who don't have a Fitocracy account, here is the self-introduction I posted there:

Hello, Fitocracy. Deep breath, blush, gulp, exhale, smile.

A friend of mine told me about this site because he's using it as part of his new lifestyle plan to save him from health problems, and offered to invite me when I told him I was interested in starting to work out, too.

I am 21, female, have a multitude of vague health problems mental, emotional and physical, especially anxiety, hypothyroidism, occasional symptoms of depression, etc... and am overweight.

I have never been athletic, or spent much time or energy working out - I loathed gym teachers and the popular fit kids in high school and stayed away from them as often as possible. I am a gamer (role-playing games like D&D, and video games, mostly on PC) and am proud to be labeled a geek, but I know my sedentary lifestyle is not doing me any favours, and I'm going to have to really make some changes in my lifestyle in order to get anywhere, since the cyclical situation of poverty, unemployment, laziness, helplessness, and unhealthiness is very much self-enforcing.

Yesterday evening, I sent above-mentioned friend this email (lightly modified):

~~~

Today was my second day of working out, not counting yesterday (which was a break to recover from the first workout the day before). Both times, I've done a minute (or slightly more) of planking, 15 crunches and 10 leg lifts, in two sets of five (ten seconds held just off the floor and ten seconds held up, each). My abdomen is weak and shaky, but I feel proud and relieved that I could do it again. My boyfriend had advised me not to do the second set of five for fear that I was pushing myself too hard, but I did it anyway. I think I can take it, even though it is hard. I look forward to the point at which this (or at least, just this much) stops making my body's core ache significantly for a whole day afterward. Actually doing something grants a much more optimistic perspective, even if it doesn't change many of the problems I was facing...

Would you be so kind as to send me a code to join Fitocracy?

I think I'm ready.

SS

~~~

I am not here to become a bodybuilder or pro athlete, or even necessarily to get to levels of health other people consider good - I just really need to improve my own health, reduce fatigue, develop a healthy sleeping schedule (this is going to be HARD - I sleep during the day by default and going to bed early causes me to wake up after four hours in the middle of the night... I cannot fall asleep without being very tired, and am not sure how to manipulate my tiredness to arrive at convenient times), and get my energy levels under control so that I can start doing other things effectively with the confidence it should give me.

I'm suspicious of my own start, because I'm familiar with the cycle of getting hyped about something and then quickly losing interest after a couple of days, and I really, really don't want to repeat it with this, it's too important.

I hope it's a good sign that yesterday I felt impatient and really wanted to work out more even though I knew my body needed a break. ^^ That anticipation of doing more and making progress, the anticipation of being able to do more in the future, is a really sweet feeling.

I've spent a few hours now looking at the site, reading some of the Beginners' sources here (This one looks like it could be very, very useful), etc. It's overwhelming and intimidating seeing so many of the work-out options, and how much some of the active members manage to do. I'm very anxious, but excited. So now I'm here - for advice and support, and possibly for your entertainment. I hope you don't mind the very long and expressive style of writing - I'm like this all the time, unless severely distracted. So, ah... If you'd like to comment on, or be privy to, my personal journey... Welcome! And thanks for the little bit of help that attention and affirmation bring.

SS out... For now.

Edit: Currently, the plan is to start with the above workout every other day, with a day of rest in between, and my first-steps goals are: 1) to be able to do all ten leg-lifts in one set without a break in the middle, and 2) to reach a point at which I can start working out every day rather than every other day, without hurting myself.

Once I've reached these goals, I will try to do more reps, hold them longer, plank for longer, and add more elements - perhaps some wall push ups.

If you can give me an appraisal of this plan, or would like to suggest an addition to it, feel free.