I am in the weirdness now, but no decisions must be made. Or even can be made. I’ve had the day off and I’ve watched a great deal of Great British Bake-Off. I’ve not really exercised or taken advantage of the time well. But worse has happened and I’ve survived it. I am trying to accept these hiccups rather than fear them, or like a sudden snowfall, become transfixed by them as though anyone is requiring me to stay in sorrow and woe for the rest of my days. I couldn’t, even if it was demanded of me. Far too buoyant this one, I’m afraid. I’d just like to have fewer trips into panic even if I’m not staying there as long. As the old therapist said, that was the definition of transformation.
Diet. I’m in the danger zone. I’m starting to eat quasi-foods. I have had two days worth of low-carb quesadillas this weekend and loads of diet Snapple and I’ve not paid real attention. I’ve also eaten them feverishly as I would have formerly. Definitely time to absorb the meditation and hypnosis CD again.
I will not back away from this or from the things that work.
Even though I worried over it because it meant leaving the house and for some reason, doing these things requires a level of bravery it shouldn’t, I drove myself to the dentist. This time, they figured out the insurance even if it didn’t actually save me a ton of money because of all the extras required. I suffered the X-Rays which were much better than last time mainly because I stood up for myself and asked for the smaller bit to choke on rather than the enormous (seeming so) horse-sized one. Found out I have my very first, most precious cavity in my life. It doesn’t even look like anything on the screen they showed me, but obviously, with their expensive and fancy equipment, they know what’s what. So I’ve got an appointment to get myself filled in early March and I hope that if I force myself to pay a wee bit more attention, I can protect my teeth a bit better. I have been very laissez-faire over the past few months.
Still haven’t had that can of Diet Dr. Pepper in the fridge, though. And that’s a bloody miracle.
So him what hasn’t got a name yet. It makes him happy to write to me and it makes me happy to write to him. Of course, adults and intelligent young people see where this might lead. I see conflict and upset and burst bubbles. But I’m trying to both be direct and honest and completely ignore facts, to ride the fence all the way to the top (or the bottom if that’s the direction the posts go). I could all end up a tempest in a teapot, but I know that first and foremost, it’s mine to toss aside. It’s mine to give up on. But there’s no pressure point yet to make me do that and I’m…happy about it.