improperlyhuman: (Default)
I keep finding these little itchy bumps on my body, and I still don't know what to make of them. They go away in a couple of days, then I find one or two more.

The apparent respite in my fatigue was short-lived. The weird thing is that I seem to be able to hold the fatigue at bay with exercise—workouts or chores—yet I begin to feel tired shortly after I stop.

I want to know what the hell is going on, and I have to wait two and a half weeks for my next rheumatology appointment.

Oh shit! Just remembered that I was supposed to go for a walk today. Well hell. I'm burning too many calories anyways, so missing one day won't really hurt me.

Today is only day 2 and I'm already ambivalent about this diet; it seems almost too much to endure what with the fatigue and all. I said the same damned thing the last time I tried to diet. Although I've tried this and found it didn't help, I still have the sense that eating more food would make me feel less tired.

And another thing...I don't really want to be thinner. I want it but it's not super important. I'm on this diet because I hate abandoning my goals. I don't like to give up. I don't know why sticking to a goal for its own sake seems so important. Kinda crazy, isn't it?

I put in a lot of work proposals today and it took so much effort. Can't work without energy and can't move away without money. I think that there is a chance that I'd miraculously get well if I moved away. Maybe I don't feel depressed because all the depression is in my body. If that's even possible.

I have continued to work by myself on psychosocial problems. Day before yesterday, I made a thread and once again had to abandon it due to unsupportable anger and frustration over one or two of the responses. This is a very obvious pattern and it's past time I examine it. Well, the result of my examination is quite ugly.

I decided this evening that there are two main phenomena at play in these situations: lack of social connection and frustrated entitlement.

The latter seems the less serious issue. No matter how nasty I see people get, no matter how foreign they seem, no matter how boring they are, I cling to the expectation of social interaction that is (as I've written in my little journal sitting here) smooth, respectful, focused, and enriching. So when the hiccups, the misunderstandings, the disagreements, the seemingly stupid questions and obvious observations, the assumptions, the derailments inevitably happen, I cannot endure these things.

I could probably learn to take these things. I could, for example, go back and force myself to read through that thread, telling myself that it's ok to be angry and frustrated but that these bumps aren't the end of the world.

Far more hopeless is my lifelong lack of social connection. I don't know whether I am missing something that other people have that attaches them to others or I'm just in the clutches of a lifelong habit. But I think that every time one of these unpleasant things happens, justified or not I see another nail in the coffin that holds my social life. I see another piece of evidence that I can never convince anyone of anything, can never have any but the most basic of my perspectives understood, can never be taken at face value, can never escape the random little moods and hangups of others (yuck). Can never be on the same page, ever.

But I don't really have adequate evidence of those things since I've begun coping with the emotions by abandoning my own discussions. There are some sixteen other responses that I've not even read because avoidance, withdrawal, giving up, forgetting the whole affair, seems the only way for me to modulate my emotional response. My response is always intense, but that's because, I think, I've little social experience to ground me enough to modulate the intensity.

In my family, there were no discussions. There was no talking through disagreements, no voicing my opinion. It was my dad's way or the highway. My dad lectured, and everyone else kept quiet and listened or risked a blow. So no grounding social experience in my childhood to show me that these disagreements and things were no big deal, no experience handling them properly.

Then I spent most of the rest of my life never really talking to anyone, and disagreeing and explaining even less, so no experience there. Very little experience seeing that the world wouldn't end over a disagreement. Very little experience feeling myself understood. Where those experiences should be, deep within me, supporting my current experiences from my core, there is a void.

The thing that makes this more hopeless than the sense of entitlement is the lack of an immediate solution. I can work on my entitlement right away (I think), but there is nothing I can do to make up for 36 years of barren social life. I can only try to create that life now. But it seems so late. And the only way to make it to those grounding social experiences is to pass the gatekeeper social experiences: the acquaintances, the getting-to-know you phase, the first dates, the uncertain approaches, the mis-steps, the randomness. All the things I hate the most about socializing. It seems so much work. And I'm not even sure that would fix the problem. And my motivation is somewhat lacking because I know from long experience that I can just go back to isolation and survive.

And this is why I'm literally tired of being alive. It must be taken one day at a time. Right now looking too far into the future is the way of hopelessness. I feel like I can't be normal enough to deal with the small, auxiliary social experiences until I get that one deep social experience, but I can't get the latter without putting up with the former. It's a circle with no opening through which I can comfortably insert myself. The only proper entry point is childhood, and that's over for me, so I've no choice but to do it the hard way.

I Might Be

May. 26th, 2017 11:22 pm
improperlyhuman: icon says: Radical Feminism: Females First. Always. (females first)
Maybe I'm uncomfortable in sit-down restaurants and prefer to eat at my computer rather than a table because my family never sat down at a table to eat together all at once. We didn't have regular mealtimes either.

Maybe I'm terrible at keeping an apartment clean because I never had to keep a home clean. I wasn't ever given chores as a child. No one ever taught me how to clean a place of dwelling.

Maybe I have a poor sense of time because I had no schedules at home while I was growing up. I remember having a 9 PM bedtime for a while when I started school, but that didn't endure. School was the only place I had to be, and I had to rely on other people to get me there. I wasn't allowed to walk or take the bus despite my wanting to do so. At school I relied on the bells and never paid attention to time.

People in my house often stayed up rather late. I could hear them as I lay in bed. There were no nighttime rituals, no baths or stories, nothing to get children ready for bed. Maybe that's why I've had insomnia on and off during my adult life. Maybe that's why I struggle to adapt to a new sleep/wake schedule.

These are the things I've come up with while going through It Ends With You: Grow Up and Out of Dysfunction, a self-help book for adult children of dysfunctional families. Not too bad, am I? I don't get into abusive relationships, I don't have low self-esteem, I don't "solve" interpersonal problems with yelling and violence, and I don't smoke weed and drink alcohol every night. Alas, some of my siblings did not fare so well :(

So I think I don't really need to re-visit all that childhood drama. The shrink keeps tryna take me back. I just need to use the alarm feature of my cellphone, practice minimalism, get myself a chore schedule, and make sure I rarely have to get up early for anything.

Hallelujah. Tomorrow is Saturday, my day off from spinning. Being on that bike is so boring. I can see those beautiful abs coming in...and I'm decreasing the calories again.

improperlyhuman: (dark Mulder)
Once again I spent half the day emotionally paralyzed because of therapy. I could barely talk while I was there, kept breaking up. Something keeps telling me to stop talking, stop going, stop seeking help from others, and I end up fighting it instead of being 100% engaged while I'm there.

The therapist doesn't say much so I made myself talk, however haltingly. On the first or second visit, I mentioned that my dad had criticized me sometimes, and today she said that she wanted to talk about that next time. These damned therapists always want to pin everything on a person's childhood. I am not gonna let that happen to me again. My dad didn't criticize me that often and I didn't really take the criticism to heart, so I don't think it had a terribly strong effect on me, but of course there's no way to communicate that experience to her. 

Anyways, I decided to explore on my own whether I'm still suffering significantly from my dysfunctional childhood. I got a book about it from the library. The book says to look for traits in myself that I may have gotten from my parents, but I'm wildly different than they are. Whatever is going on with me, being like mom or dad isn't it.

I'm observing myself very anxious and freaking out about the therapist assuming something about me or misinterpreting something I say. I guess I will just tell her next time.I got the appointment moved to Wednesdays so that the all-day upsetfest doesn't interfere with lifting.

After I told the therapist that I didn't want to get to know a bunch of random people, it occurred to me that there is kind of a desperate quality to my social ambitions. I suppose that with no solid base of social support (friends/family), my priority must be to get some: an intimate relationship. I have known for some time that I might become more interested in friends after I had that primary relationship, but never thought much on why aside from my lifelong social disinterest and low social energy. Maybe I just don't want to waste time with friends because I know that that sort of relationship won't address what's missing.

During my walk this evening I started to wonder if I should go along with the therapist's plan to talk about my dad's criticism. I would have to tell her that I've reconsidered. Doing that really bothers me but I don't know why. Although I became very upset when she said that I looked depressed during our first visit, I reconsidered and decided that I I may have some sub-clinical depression. I thought that I should tell her that, but the prospect of doing so bothered me, and I don't know why.

I felt a bit less fatigued today.

I don't know if I have it in me to shoulder all this. I'm just tired of living improperlyhuman's life.

And I DO NOT want to be an editor.

I read something from another person who is Type 5. She said that it's important for Type 5s confidence and feelings of mastery to have jobs with clearcut...something, I can't remember. Well, editing isn't clearcut, like I've complained about before. Reading this was just more evidence that I should abandon ship.

I don't know if I should go through with the certificate anyways though. I don't know what to do. Good thing I haven't submitted the enrollment form yet. I guess I should first explore alternative careers. I'm gonna feel like an idiot if I decide to ask my voc rehab counselor to change my employment plan.
improperlyhuman: (dark Mulder)
This body is so awesome. I LOVE it. I couldn't stay away from the mirror today. Prancing around the house in my goddamned underwear and the knee socks I wear on deadlift days. My one-womon vanity parade.

It's getting hot here. The apartment holds in the heat like I never would have imagined given that I nearly froze to death over the winter.

No word from the landlord about the heater he's supposed to install. I'm kind of afraid to tell the housing authority. What if I have to move out because they have rules against paying rent for an apartment that doesn't pass inspection?

I finally took a look at the employment plan my voc rehab counselor emailed me. Started crying. Not because of the plan so much as because I don't want to have to make this decision (and just generally being overwhelmed with everything going on in my life). Not right now, not without more information.

Maybe I should have asked to be trained for a different career, but that would just take more time. Editing is really the only professional skill I have. May as well stick with it. But even with a certificate from a prestigious university, I'm still going to struggle to get work. I'm still going to be wicked poor. Editing itself is...meh. It's ok. All the other things that must happen to maintain a career are the problem. I guess I'll just take the course and simultaneously keep my eye out for something more suitable.

I texted my sister. She responded without saying anything dire, so I guess she's ok. I don't know if she's housed, however. I decided to keep my message brief in case she's still upset with me.

Insects creep me the hell out. I just put one outside that had a gazillion legs. I hope this town isn't the sort of place on which a plague of insects descends in the summertime.

I was looking through my old entries today when I found a resolution to remind myself each morning to not worry about what other people think of me. Gotta stick to that.
improperlyhuman: (Default)
Shit that is not science fiction gets classified as science fiction. Worse than librarians shelving fantasy in the sci-fi section of the library, somehow a drama entitled In The Forest was on a bunch of sci-fi movie lists. I couldn't find the indie sci-fi films I wanted, so I watched that one this evening.

It was fairly interesting, and I was using it as entertainment during my cycling workout, so I kept watching it. I can usually spot an upcoming rape scene well ahead of time, at which point I shut off the movie. Not fast forward it, just shut off the whole damned movie. I used to fast forward them, but that didn't put enough distance between me and them. A couple of times, I found that I hadn't fast forwarded far enough! Horrible.

But I somehow didn't see this one coming. I thought that guy wanted to steal their food, their gas, or their firewood. And like every other time, I wish that I hadn't seen it. I was silently yelling at her to swing that axe.

And what really twisted me up inside is that she got pregnant. And wanted to keep the baby. While they were damn near starving to death, with no hospital or medical supplies or other people anywhere nearby. I mean I guess giving birth is safer than letting your teenaged sister perform an abortion on you with no knowledge beyond what she's read in a goddamned encyclopedia.

But this movie was not science fiction.

Why does my head hurt?! I could have sworn I ate not so long ago.

I am sick in my I-don't-know-what. Sick in my psychology. I mean made ill, cancer put in my mind that eats at me. I can't unsee things.

This movie was not science fiction. There was a major power outage; I thought a science fictiony cause would be revealed, but no cause was ever revealed. Just drama and tears and sickness and vague regret.

Their dad died and their mom was already dead. I wondered what it would be like to actually give a damn about one's parents, to miss them, to have had a good relationship with them. A curious thing it is. Just one more thing to be sad about; who needs that?

I worry about my sister. I wonder if she would ignore me or be angry with me if I texted her. I'm not sure why she got angry with me. I don't even know her. I hope that she at least tries to go to her friends for help instead of another guy.

Time for dinner.
improperlyhuman: icon says: Radical Feminism: Females First. Always. (females first)
My sister texted me asking to borrow sixty bucks today. I can't really afford that, and I knew there was a very good chance that she'd never pay me back. She said the money would be for a motel room, which she wanted because the cops had told her that she couldn't sleep in her car. Like one night in a motel is going to solve her problem. I'd just be pouring money down the drain.

She seems to have no idea how to deal with long-term homelessness. She's staying in a dangerous town and won't leave because it's near her job. She'd probably be safer living homeless in the town where her job is actually located.

I was shocked to hear that she hadn't showered in a week. I never went that long without bathing. After I told her to get a gym membership, she lost it and told me that she wasn't related to me anymore (lol) and that I should never contact her again. Huh? I don't even know why she's so upset with me.

I survived the same situation she's in for years with way fewer resources. She has a stable full-time job that pays well and a late-model car. I had three hundred bucks a month and a van with a bum transmission, a van I eventually lost. I know what the hell I'm talking about and try to give her advice, but she doesn't listen and I don't know why. I suspect that she's not yet accepted how difficult her life has to be right now.

I told her that her stuff (which she was supposed to come get weeks ago) was going in the trash, and didn't realize that that was not the best wording until after I'd sent the message. I didn't say that to be mean; I'm just not going to provide free storage indefinitely for someone who won't ever contact me again. I was thinking that she'd never come get her crap. So she called me names and said she'd come get her stuff tomorrow, but she didn't give me a time and I know she may not come.

I am worried about her safety, but I don't really give a shit about us anymore. There never really was an "us." I tried to have a relationship with her and it didn't work out; now she's acting like an ass and there's nothing for me in it anymore. I never could get her to speak her mind so I don't even know her. When I'd call her, she'd say that she'd call me back and then never called me back. She's not the person she used to be. Or maybe I didn't know her then, either.

There goes the last sister I had contact with. It's strange that I don't know any of them or ever speak to them, given how many I have. I don't even know where they are. Messed up family.
improperlyhuman: (Default)
Couldn't sleep last night because of the cold, slept late and missed a very lucrative work opportunity. The heater kept shutting off; I don't know why.

Took a bike ride out on a country road today, hoping to make it to the next town. Someone else who biked this route described the road as "gently rolling hills." Well, they weren't gentle at all. The ride started off with three slopes, each within half a mile of the next, each steeper than the last. I made poor time and didn't reach my destination. I was afraid that the sun would soon set, and I didn't have it in me to ride up the last hill I came across before turning around. I got in a good two-and-a-half hour workout, so I'm satisfied for today, but I'm not motivated to go out that way again. That leaves me with few cycling options; there's only one other bike route around.

I think I was about 9 when I noticed how disinclined my mom was to work, and I felt irritated with her because I foretold that she would try to leech off of me one day. That hasn't come to pass because she's been leeching off of my younger sister. They are homeless because my mom destroyed my sister's rental history by setting fire to the apartment my sister was leasing.

My mom has made mistake after mistake, resulting in a near inability to provide for herself at all. But what is really grating is her reliance on her offspring, given that she has done jack shit for us our entire lives. I don't understand my sister's devotion to her; I would have unloaded her long ago. Actually, my sister has needed a babysitter all these years, that's probably played a part. But her son won't need a babysitter for much longer.

While I was out, my sister left a message saying that she and mom had to separate, and that she didn't want mom out on the streets. She wants her to stay here, for few nights she says. I've no doubt that few nights would turn into a long-term stay if I allowed that to happen. Other than calling about shelter information, I've ignored the message.

As much as I don't want her around, I was considering allowing her to stay when I remembered that fire she started. Putting a roof over her head certainly isn't worth my housing voucher.

It's been three-and-a-half hours since my sister left the message, and she hasn't called back, so they've probably made other arrangements.
improperlyhuman: (Default)
My mom called me again. One of her brief check-in calls. I haven't had the energy to tell her to stop calling me up until now. So I told her. I said that I was not comfortable talking to her. She asked if she'd done anything wrong, and I said "not recently." I did not, however, say what she'd done. But she apologized and said that she never wanted to hurt any of her kids.

I don't know what's the use of an apology from someone who doesn't even know what the grievance is. Before I could ask her what the hell she was apologizing for, she simply said that she would stop calling. Then she said that she wouldn't really stop calling because she'd still make brief calls to give me news about my sister and nephew (with whom she is living). By that time (a matter of seconds), I had forgotten what I'd wanted to say about the apology. Auditory processing deficit at work.

I know that I should attempt to actually have a discussion with her about her horrible parenting for closure and repairing what little relationship we have left, but it's a painful thing to talk about, and a small part of me is afraid that she won't really understand or listen, and that she doesn't give a shit anymore because she's tired of my distant behavior.

An even smaller part of me wonders what the point is. I'm almost thirty-six and she's...I dunno, a zillion years old, and this is an old issue that can never be fixed. Dysfunctional childhoods can never be fixed. Oh well. Maybe I will speak up next time.

I walked around town a bit today and finally got to see the gorgeous view. I also had the presence of mind to work on not feeling anxious. And I finally got the bedroom window closed! Hallelujah.

Split pea stew for lunch today. I also tried some vegan jerky. It was a bit tough to chew. I don't have a teapot yet, and the stew is taking up my only pot, so I made tea by setting a mug full of water directly on the range. I used my glove as a pot holder and with the hot mug accidentally melted a small hole through the base of the pinky.

improperlyhuman: (Default)
My mom, sister, and nephew suddenly found out that they will have to move out of their place. Today they came over and stored some of their stuff in my bedroom closet. I wanted to show off my new-found strength by carrying the boxes, but I felt kinda weak, so it wasn't really impressive
: (
I still ended up doing most of the lifting. My sister said I was "hecka skinny." No I'm not. My nephew is overweight. I told my mom to tell him to sit to use the restroom. There'll be no man-spraying in my apartment.

They didn't stay for very long.

I'm tired of being on a diet. My weight has decreased by 1 lb. at most in the past three or four weeks. And it is so weird that I hardly ever feel hunger pangs, and even when I do, they aren't as strong as they were during my last diet, despite the fact that I'm eating roughly the same number of calories at a higher weight, greater muscle composition, and a much higher activity level.

I usually feel weak and tired instead of hungry, and, contrary to expectation, the weakness and tiredness are usually more difficult to handle than the hunger pangs.

Maybe I'm holding onto water weight. Thanks to processed foods, I've been eating about twice as much sodium as I normally have.

This morning, I tried a more suitable bike sprinting routine: 15 seconds HIIT, 45 seconds low-intensity. It was still difficult and still made my head hurt. The workout doesn't last long enough to give me a full-blown headache, however. I was hoping that I could work up to something approximating that 20 seconds HIIT/10 seconds low-intensity, but I seriously doubt it now. It's not really a matter of fitness, I don't think.

I finally set up landline service! I was at first frustrated with myself for putting it off for so long, but it really was the ordeal I'd anticipated. I was on the phone for half an hour, struggling to listen to someone with an accent all but yell into my ear.

The apartment is looking open and inviting these days now that I'm keeping it tidy.

I must have got sunburned a few days ago. My shoulders are peeling like they were after Pride so many years ago. That was like a decade ago! My sister asked me if I was "like really old right now." Wut. Compared to the universe, I'm just a baby.

improperlyhuman: (Default)
I am making bank with my new client.

I am nearing the point of not needing to actively seek out new things to learn about editing. I am becoming An Editor.

I am still struggling with aggravating mechanical workflow problems, namely fitting my keyboard, mouse, and mousepad on the keyboard tray. I'm not even really using my standalone numeric keypad; there's no space for it.

Editing with text editing applications is too slow. I am now more motivated than ever to learn vim, but it is going to be a pain with the Colemak keyboard layout.

Last night I had a very disturbing nightmare about my sister. In the dream, I woke up and found some guy she knew at my house, along with a child of hers that was different (younger, and maybe a girl) than her actual child. I don't know what he was doing, but he was looking through my stuff and I was angry. Then he decided to leave the child with me!

The scene changed in that senseless way that scenes change in dreams, and then I was with said sister and our third sister in their home. I confronted the former about sending her boyfriend or whatever to my place, and she was irritated, tried to brush me off, wouldn't explain herself. Then she was about to leave and I began to question her more aggressively. She kicked me in my stomach and walked off! To be suddenly confronted with the fact that she would do such a thing (she is a very peaceful person) hurt at least as much as the kick.

So then our mom appeared in the kitchen and I was talking to her about the attack. She said something about my sister having been picked up, interrogated, and tortured for some information pertaining the guy who'd been at my house. She told me to look at my sister's hands, and I noticed with horror that several of her fingernails had been pried off. I awoke shortly thereafter.

The dream affected me so much, I considered calling my sister to ask if she was ok, even though I knew that it was just a dream and had nothing to do with what's happening in her life. Still in bed, I thought about the piece of trash that impregnated her and was very angry. I thought about all of the womyn who end up pregnant by men who care nothing about them and soon leave them. Yet if I tell any of the former to stop trusting men or at least stop engaging in ONE SPECIFIC ACT with men, I'm the bad guy. ("Bad guy" is one of the few sexed idioms that I don't change to a feminine form. It's an accurate phrase because the "bad" person usually is a guy, considering the worst forms of "badness.")

Sometimes I think it meet that idiots so stubbornly wedded to patriarchy suffer for their self-destructiveness. Maybe the suffering will snap them out of it, I think. But I know that patriarchy brainwashes females into self-destructive behavior, so I try to quash such thoughts. Merely a symptom of anger and frustration, they are not at all helpful. Gotta keep my eyes on the prize.

The novel Carol was beginning to irritate me because the protagonist was really becoming clingy and jealous. In the chapter I read today, the title character's husband is revealed to have put a private investigator on the trail of his wife and her new young...I hate the word "lover," it seems really seedy. I think it rubs me that way because I learned it in the context of a novel about an extra-marital affair.

Anyways, the book is set, I believe, in the 50s, and I don't think that I can stomach lesbian persecution (fictionalized, even) at this point in my life, especially not that old time lesbian persecution from which there was little or no escape.

Last week I downloaded a free Kindle book that catalogues old school lesbian-themed fiction. I suppose that I should have known how many depressing story lines were in store. All the plots consisted of some combination of nymphomania, murder, suicide, domination, womyn's prisons, and child abuse. Horrifying.

This morning, I also thought about "curing" some of my resentment by simply telling my mother that I feel uncomfortable with talking to her because I resent her poor parenting.

I read e-books during my morning cycle and I love the routine. I continue to steadily lose weight: 5 lbs. as of this morning. Give or take a pound, I've lost half of what I gained. It's so easy this time.

I've stopped eating in the evening, but night sweats are not as intense, just a damp neck is what I get. I can't even remember some nights because I'm sleeping so much better.
improperlyhuman: (Default)
I went to what was supposed to be my six-month dental checkup today. The receptionist called my health insurance company and found out that bi-annual checkups are only covered for clients under the age of 21. Wut.

So the entire day was wasted for nothing. Every time I go out for the day, I hope that it'll be the one time I somehow manage to avoid the exhaustion that always comes at the end of days away from home. I'm always disappointed. Since I've arrived home, I've managed to do little besides play Mah Jong.

At the moment I'm listening to a Chopin (a piano concerto, I think), a CD I got as a teenager. Striking is the difference in the moods occasioned by the music then and now. As a teenager, I found it somewhat gloomy, partially because it seemed so long. I had only been into classical music for a few years, and I was still working out how to develop a taste for the longer works.

I remember finding the CD in Kmart and feeling nervous about asking my dad to buy it for me. I knew that he knew nothing about classical music and wouldn't understand, wouldn't even recognize the name Chopin, and I was accustomed to being scrutinized for interests that were too "white." His "girlfriend" at the time looked at the track list and laughed when she read the "Death March." Such memories I have.

Hearing the music now, after all these years, is much more pleasant. The variety of classical works I've listened to in my 23 years as a fan seems to have put the concerto's tone in a non-gloomy context. I no longer dread listening until the end. There's a bit of...I don't know what to call it, nostalgia, maybe. No, more like tenderness and understanding towards my teenaged self.

I have since devised a way to enjoy new musical works that are long: I put them on in the background several times over the course of days or weeks, allowing myself to merely hear, without committing myself to the burden of focused listening. After a while, I recognize enough of the song such that conscious listening isn't so taxing. Coping technique for undiagnosed auditory processing deficit, I'll bet.

I finished a Udemy course on anger management today. About three days ago, I chose the course as part of Udemy's early review program, then decided to complete it for my own benefit rather than simply scanning through the videos for the review.

It was very helpful! The course was made of up very short videos, totaling just one hour of content, and I was disappointed that it ended so soon. I made sure to work through all of the reflective assignments, and they were quite instructive. The instructor was engaging (of course, I mean my type of engaging, not feely/charismatic engaging) and made the course very comfortable despite the subject matter.

To put it simply: I don't feel angry anymore. It seems almost foolish to type that; to say that something that's been bedeviling me for...years? now is gone in a matter of days. I'm almost afraid that I'm wrong and it's still here with me, just masked by today's exhaustion. Then again, it doesn't seem quite so sudden considering that it had begun to fade before I'd started the course, back when I figured out that I was mainly angry with myself.

A lot of things came together for me as I finished the course this afternoon, and I think being overwhelmed by the mental work and the sudden clarity and release of...whatever I released, contributed to the exhaustion, which came on shortly after I'd finished watching the last videos.

The layer underneath the anger is made up of resentment, so that's what I have to deal with next. I think that'll be a lot harder to "fix." I wanted so badly for the anger management instructor to have provided a course on resentment as well. I looked for some books and other online courses, but I didn't find anything promising.

I noticed that a lot of the material on this topic revolves around forgiveness and close relationships. Neither of those applies to me. Forgiveness is doesn't compute. It has no meaning to me and does not seem relevant to me. As stupid as it feels to type it now, most of my anger issues revolved around situations with strangers. I'm not dealing with betrayals by trusted loved ones or anything seriously intimate like that (which is probably part of the reason why forgiveness is irrelevant).

This post is long!

After more than one hundred and fifty pages, finally some lesbian action today in my current love interest, the novel Carol. The protagonist, Therese, was joyous, and I was happy with and for her. That made me think of something I'd read about schizoids: that they enjoy relationships in their heads more than relationships in the flesh. I know that I would feel terribly anxious in Therese's place, anxious to the point of avoidance. I think that I've not quite yet reached the point at which I'd rather read about it than live it, although I'm certainly close.

improperlyhuman: icon says: Radical Feminism: Females First. Always. (females first)
Can't do low carb after all. I had brain fog and the beginning of a migraine up until I started eating carbs again today. Damn. Since I felt fine yesterday, maybe I will try eating low carb every other day.

My VA doctor called for my phone appointment two hours late. I told him about my fatigue and his advice was "you need to eat." WOW. What quality physicians medical schools are churning out. He was talking about my fasting blood test results. I told him that my blood sugar isn't low all the time and he didn't seem to have anything to say to that.

I asked him if low Vitamin D could cause fatigue and he started in about Vitamin D being related to bone health and some other stuff, so I had to repeat my question. I'm still not sure he even understood that question.

Finally, he told me to take double doses of Vitamin D for a couple of months, and he said that my levels had been very low (I hadn't known that they were very low), so I decided to take the vitamins. I just came back from the drug store. ALL the brands of Vitamin D3 are made with gelatin, so now I have to find vegan Vitamin D3. I wonder if it even exists. I was surprised that no vegan Vitamin D3 was available from the company that makes the vegan B12 I take.

I got my vegan wristbands today, and of course they don't fit my scrawny wrists. I'm wearing one halfway up my forearm.

I was thinking about telling my mom to stop calling me again when it occurred to me that my avoiding the one person who wants to listen to me while basically going insane because of no one listening to me is ironic. Or is it ironic? I'm no longer sure that I know the meaning of "irony." Anyways, my mom claims to want to talk to me; I don't know if she would really listen. 

For a while today, I considered taking her up on those conversations she wants, but I don't think they would go well. We have so little in common, I can imagine getting little more than frustration out of talking with her. I've never told her much of anything about myself, so I am basically a stranger to her. She was preoccupied when I was a child, didn't talk to me much, then she went to prison when I was a teenager, and I'd moved away when she came back and shipped out to basic training shortly thereafter. She doesn't even know me.

Déjà vu.

I think I know why my compost molded: Too much coffee grounds. I trashed it to get rid of the gnats (it didn't work). I don't really have the energy to start over again, not now at least.

I put my steel water bottle into the oven so that gnats couldn't land on it, and had forgotten about it when I started up the oven for lunch. It caught fire (I think it might have exploded had I not noticed the flame through the oven door when I did) and part of the plastic? silicone? top melted onto the floor of the oven. I removed all the plastic I could see while it was still a semi-liquid, but the kitchen still smells toxic, like burning plastic, whenever I use the oven, which simultaneously has a thin smoky haze in it. I'm brilliant.
improperlyhuman: (Default)
Who the hell started this bullshit practice of adding sugar to everything, and why? I bought some pizza pockets today and they were sweet!

I feel much better today; keeping a journal is good therapy. Got my second wind and did a good amount of work today.

So I was searching for some lifting shoes and I learned the ugly truth: that a lot of our clothing is petroleum-based. I found a pair of lifting shoes that listed synthetic leather as one of the materials. So I looked up synthetic leather and ended up watching a manufacturing video of liquid toxins being mixed in a huge vat. Sooo sick and wrong. The narrator said that furniture upholstery is also made of frankenfabrics. Well, it's definitely vegan.

I don't want any petroleum-based shoes, so I need another solution to my squatting difficulties. I'm going to try squatting with my heels up on a plank of wood. If it's good enough for Arnold, it's good enough for me.

Arnold squatting like a boss


It'll also be cheaper. Lifting shoes run for around 100 bucks on the cheap end.

Got my monitor cable today and I still can't get an image on the monitor. Piece of crap.

Something just occurred to me while I was playing atris. Most people socialize (date and make friends) within their own socioeconomic group, right? Once or twice, I've wondered why that is so. Aside from simple proximity/availability, most people probably find it a lot easier to get along with other people from their socioeconomic group.

But me, I've never felt like I got along well with my socioeconomic group. I've always felt anxious talking to poor people because I know that they sometimes get awkward if someone references words or ideas with which they are unfamiliar. I simplify things I say. I don't like doing it because, knowing that I don't like it when people do that to me, I feel like a hypocrite. It's not really a problem now, but it was something I did in my twenties.

I also worried about them talking to me about hobbies and interests. People have gotten awkward when I said that I like to read, when I didn't recognize the popular music they were singing to me.

But my goodness, ADOAS were the absolute worst. No other group of people has been so quick and so forward with their expectations and stereotyping. To this day I am paranoid around them. Of course my dysfunctional family was the worst. I remember they teased me about not being able to dance (ALL ADOAS can dance, apparently) when I was just a small kid, couldn't have been older than 4 or 5, and I cried! Awful bunch of people.

But even complete strangers made it clear that I was expected to be a Christian and listen to rap music.

Something I still don't understand is why ADOAS seem to be just Christians. Why no specific denomination? Baptists? Lutherans? I only ever hear them refer to themselves as Christians. Maybe when a people get their religion handed to them (or was it beaten into them?) from the white man, even the more salient details get lost.

What was my point? Oh yeah, never really felt any sense of belonging to a socioeconomic group. Even if I did feel a sense of belonging, the cultural differences would still exist. Maybe I would have a social life if this were not the case. Maybe in my twenties. I had no definite social preferences and no idea what people were like. In my very early twenties, I hung out with a guy from my Reserve unit who was a Christian and I barely even thought about it. Not today!

I used to just go along with shit back in the day. That's how I got any friends at all. I didn't have any particular interest in the people who (very rarely) approached me, but I just went with the flow and gave out my phone number.

Weak ethnic affiliation is apparently a trait that has been associated with schizoids. But I don't have weak ethnic affiliation because I'm a schizoid. I have weak (or rather, nonexistent) ethnic affiliation because

1. ethnic affiliation is useless to me and tainted by the white man's sociocultural engineering, and

2. ADOAS subculture just doesn't fit with my personality, and has some warped elements to it. That streak of anti-intellectualism probably killed it for me. I heard tell that there were some middle class ADOAS somewhere that were different from us poor, criminal, broken-family, school-dropout ADOAS, and they sounded like they might have had a nicer sub-culture, but I don't have any experience with that.

Actually, I don't even know how to classify the family I grew up in terms of class. We lived in a car and motels during my earliest years, then we moved into a house in the suburbs when I was five or six, but the only reason that came about was because my dad put the house in my nineteen-year-old sister's name (his credit was probably ruined), and the money came from the crimes he and my mom committed.

Then my dad tried for years and years to leave behind his lifetime of crime and become a businessman, but he failed hard. Finally opened a business when I was an adolescent, but never earned much from it. I think he may have owned another business or two before I was born, but he obviously hadn't been able to keep them going. The piece of shit desperately wanted to appear respectable. When I was about fifteen, I asked if I could get a job. He said no because, how would it look for a businessman's daughter to be working?

I'm all over the place with this blog post. The truth is that I probably wouldn't have any strong sense of ethnic affiliation regardless of the group of people I may have been born into. Strong ethnic affiliation is a stupid, provincial, normie thing. Feeling strongly identified with a group of people that one is a part of by mere chance is like so shallow. And to the extent that my weak ethnic affiliation helped to get me misdiagnosed as a schizoid, it is yet another illustration of why I'd be better off with a therapist who has experience with gifted adults.

You're so smart, iconoclass, that's what people have said to me. But do they put two and two together and see that being "smart" is a fundamental part of my personality, that it directly affects my behavior. It's not just something that makes me good at schoolwork. Anyways, I'm not just gifted. I'm 2E! A little bit of heaven and hell to keep me grounded here on earth.

I do think I got a little something from my family. I like to cuss up a storm like my dad. And none of us ever minced words for the sake of feelz. I think that may have gotten me into some miscommunications. Did I use that phrase correctly? I've never used "minced words" before.
improperlyhuman: (Default)
Elimination seems better, but it's not good enough yet. Squatting on the toilet seat is a bit more comfortable now. But I have a problem with splashing.

My food stamps case was supposed to be finished by today, but it wasn't. Goddamned social services.

I ate a lot today. I'd planned to work it off with one of Fitness Blender's 1,000-calorie workouts, but I'm tired from not sleeping properly. This morning, I went out to make sure that the crowing was coming from the same condo, but the noise stopped as soon as I got within thirty feet of the property.

I think that I was wrong about the management of my QC project; whoever is disseminating the instructions is not a moron, she simply is not a native English speaker. I finally figured out how to work with the new software interface today. On my own. The last email I sent hasn't been answered, and this isn't the first time that's happened. Besides the language issues, they seem to know almost nothing about how the software works.

They might cause us to lose the contract. All of the work I did the day before yesterday was incorrect thanks to their antics. I'm not going to re-do it, and I doubt management would notice anyhow, but the client might notice. I know the difference between may and might now, isn't that awesome?

Several weeks ago, my sister let me know that she loved me in a text message. I had no idea how to respond to that. So I haven't responded at all.
improperlyhuman: (Default)
I couldn't take eating cooked food anymore today. I bought pounds and pounds of bananas and mangoes from Wal-mart. I'm going to have to figure out a raw food budget. Bananas are fairly cheap, but other types of fruit are not. Just one mango a day will cost almost forty dollars per month.

It's curious that I not only feel satisfied with, but crave fruit now. I wonder if craving nutrients had anything to do with that insane hunger episode.

I'm thinking about a new self-marketing tactic: raising my rate to near-professional level. Some of the other freelancers have mentioned that they got better clients and projects after they did this. I guess high rates suggest quality.

My mom called me again and mentioned coming to visit again. I half chickened out, half gave in and didn't ask her to not come. I did tell her that I had no place for her to sit, but she said that that was ok.

She asked me if I wanted to say hello to my nephew. I said no. She put him on the phone anyways. Wut. Come to think of it, I don't want any males in my apartment either, especially ones that are out of diapers, because they may have to use the restroom. Urinating while standing is a filthy habit for indoors; it maximizes splashing and is part of the reason why the men's room always smells horrible in comparison to the women's room (the rest of the reason is deliberate pissing all over the walls and shit).
improperlyhuman: this icon is a picture of crowd of people with text "please stop breeding" (breeding)
I spoke to my mom last night. She has congestive heart failure now. At least, I think that's what she said. I heard "heart failure" for sure. Half the time, I don't even bother to ask for clarifications when I don't pick up words.

So she stopped smoking...just last year. After years of obesity and eating trash and not exercising and smoking. Dumbass. I tried to impress upon her the possibility of surviving another twenty years, provided that she really took care of herself. She probably won't really commit to it. I doubt that she even knows how to eat right. I think that my sister is in charge of groceries, and I failed to persuade her to buy any vegetables when her son was younger, so I'm not optimistic about the kind of food-like substances they've got there. 

Why did I say that she could live another twenty years? I don't know the prognosis for mumble mumble heart failure.

My brother is in some kind of probation program. Idiot. Ended up in crime, as expected.

From time to time, I think about how awful it must be to be a loser and a moron, to suffer huge mistakes in one's life, knowing that one is to blame for them. Of course, being a moron has a built-in ego protection mechanism: the very state of being a moron often prevents one from knowing that one is a moron.

I added some cabbage to my dinner, and I seem to have acclimated to daily cycling, so I'm not terribly hungry any more.

I don't like squats anymore. They feel awkward.

I met with my employment specialist today and we briefly discussed the possibility of marketing my editing services to university students. I don't know how I would make sure that I got paid, though.

I've been studying my grammar to become a better editor. I was a bit surprised at the number of things I didn't know.
improperlyhuman: (Default)
I was working on a quiz about hair additions for one of my jobs. Even as I was reading the chapter introduction, I felt bad. The introduction was about how widespread hair additions have been in both time and place. How they are and have been a fashion staple since forever.

For the most part, I've lacked this perspective on wigs my whole life. I can't quite remember when I started to hate wigs so much, but it was roundabout the time I became aware of beauty standards. Instead of the nuanced, transhistorical perspective on wigs, I came to know wigs very specifically, in relation to ADOAS beauty standards, and ADOAS beauty standards were revolting, so I had deep ire for wigs. 

I saw wigs as symbols of a fantasy world where ADOAS womyn could temporarily escape the reality of their own hair, their own hated hair texture, the ever-insufficient length. I saw (straight) wigs as conformity to, even adoption of, racist beauty standards. I saw wigs as implicit lies, as misrepresentations of one's physical self. I saw wearing wigs to cover up hair loss as cowardice and the emotional weakness that leads to internalizing poor image of oneself.

The beginning of this chapter on hair additions brought all of these old mental habits to mind. Then the section about wigs began. It reminded me of my mom. It reminded me of my frustration with her for wearing a wig. The particulars are vague and fuzzy now, but the memory of the emotion is strong enough. I was still a teenager, I think. I was upset, I was so so so frustrated with her for wearing a wig, for hiding her real hair, for buying in to all of the bullshit that I associated with wigs. And she seemed to not care! She seemed to barely listen to me, barely responded. She wouldn't stop wearing the wig, wouldn't even consider it.

I wasn't thinking about the history of wigs, or the fact that many people wore them, how common they were. I had my own narrow view of wigs, and by goddess, I was going to clue my mom in on it. It's the nineties, dammit, womyn shouldn't be wasting time and effort trying to hide their looks with artificial crap!

When I saw the picture of those wigs in the cosmetology textbook, it hit me suddenly. I thought about my mom instead of myself and my politics. Nothing specific, just her having her own position, her own perspective, her own concerns that were more important than a ranting teen. I can't quite remember why she was wearing the wig at that point. She had (has?) hair loss, but I can't remember if it was before or after. And my lack of education about wigs, that too. Not necessarily a target for my budding feminism. Maybe just another fashion thing.

And it made me upset. Kind of sad, I guess, but that doesn't seem precise. Regretful is more like it; a regret I feel in my stomach. And OH such a wonderful thing to feel something besides ANGER for once! Glorious change of pace! When was the last time I felt something strongly that wasn't anger? I can't even remember!

I struggled a bit to finish the work. I wanted to call my mom up and apologize. As I think about it now, she probably doesn't even remember. No, I didn't want to apologize for that episode. I started to think about all the times I forced myself to be nasty with her. She was a shitty mother, and I thought that's how I should treat a shitty mother. I was acting most of those times. I didn't know any other way to get across to her. Nobody talks about anything in our family.

I'm not sure what her number is. She's called me from the number and told me to save it at least twice, but I never did. I wonder if I should even bother. I still kind of want to cut off all communication with her except for emergencies. Interacting with my mom depressing. It reminds me of things I'm better of not being reminded of, things that can't be fixed. Her complete failure as a mother, my inescapable misfortune to have her as a mother, my powerlessness to change any of the things that happened because of this. The memories I have to live with for the rest of my life, being trapped with, dependent on, a character who is too weak and broken to remove her own children from awful situations.

And then getting these phone calls from a virtual stranger. I've never told her anything, so she knows nothing about me. We are universes apart, totally incompatible in terms of personality, nothing in common, without even any good memories to share. Just participating in these phone calls feels like a lie, like we are pretending we have a relationship that we do not have. I wouldn't tolerate phone calls from anyone else with whom I had this sort of relationship. The whole thing is broken, warped beyond repair. Why should I talk to her. She's a Christian, and I can't stand Christians. I never have anything to say, and she never has much to say either. What is the point of any of this.

One thing that drives me insane about my mom is her expectation that I will love her solely because she is a blood relative. I've told her several times that my feelings towards people are based on their personalities, but I don't think she ever really absorbed that. Maybe she's just calling me because I'm family.

So I've gotten myself fairly worked up. I feel that I'll sleep well tonight, provided the neighbors aren't at it again.
improperlyhuman: truck tipping over on the highway (tipping truck)
I happened to notice a sticker on the back of my package of nori this morning. It warned that seaweed products contain chemicals known in California to cause cancer. Great. I love sushi and eat 10-15 sheets of this stuff per month, and I'm thinking, 'how am I going to get around this without giving up sushi?' Maybe the organic nori sheets, which cost more than double? I've paused over those organic nori sheets in the past, but since I thought "organic" meant inorganic-pesticide-free, and I couldn't think of a reason to use pesticide on sea vegetables, I didn't pay them much more attention. This sheds light on that mystery: perhaps organic means "no inorganic chemicals" or something. It means more than I thought it meant, at least.

Last night I dreamt that I was living with my whole dysfunctional family again, like when I was a kid. My dad was being a jerk and my older sister was pressuring me to go to church. The latter put me over the edge more than anything. I hate church. It is so utterly boring! Church services last forever, and the music at the ones I attended was much too loud. As a child, I used to look around during services to get some sort of stimulation, and there was this banner on the far wall that nearly drove me insane. It said something about a tabernacle. I didn't know what a tabernacle was (and still don't). I couldn't figure it out from context and it never occurred to me to ask anyone, yet I burned to understand. Actually, after studying this banner for weeks and weeks and weeks, I think I finally asked one of my older sisters what it meant. She didn't know!

Back to the dream: Strangely, the house was in my name. I dug up the paperwork to show the cops I was going to call, because I knew my dad would probably get violent once I said that I wasn't going to church and that he had to get out.

Dreams about my family have gradually decreased over the years, and I am more powerful and less afraid in each one of them. I used to wake up from them scared. And this is part of the reason that it so angered me when that proto-shrink in Berkeley decided that my early family life made me who I am today. It wasn't the fact that she was just guessing; there's also the the fact that she was simply wrong. I'm thirty-four years old; it's sloppy to assume that early life experiences still have enough of a hold on me to fuel a personality disorder.

Coming straight out of that household, I was depressed, but I wasn't anywhere near as asocial and alienated as I am now. I know the latter didn't come from my family life because I always thought that most people were not like my family. I most certainly did not project those experiences on people in general, and I was still trying to look normal at that point. It is hopeless, it seems; shrinks can never really know what is happening in one's mind, especially since they "listen" the normie way, reading into everything. I'm almost ashamed at my naiveté. I don't know how to spell that. It's the social naiveté that made me who I am today; that definitely wasn't in play in family life because I expected little or nothing from them as far back as I can remember.
I've begun standing at my desk again to burn more calories.

I've been thinking of asking my mom to stop calling me. Like, forever. I've been planning what I'm going to say to her, but I don't think she knows the meaning of the word "passive-aggressive." Oh, well. She never listens to me anyhow (or doesn't remember what I say), so I suppose it doesn't much matter whether or not I give her a reason.

improperlyhuman: (dark Mulder)
Early this evening, I was given an appointment for feedback on my neuropsych testing. It's been scheduled for about two weeks from today. The examiner called me back a short time later and asked me questions about my very early life. I decided to call my mom for some answers.

The conversation was frustrating. She gave me information about her pregnancy and delivery without a problem, and her answer about possible exposure to substances was fairly straight-forward. It was the question about developmental milestones that gummed up the conversational works. First, she said that my development had been normal. Then, she said that I had started talking and walking a bit early. Then, she said that all of her kids developed a bit ahead of schedule. Twice, I began to explain that I was asking her about my development in relation to typical childhood development, but she kept interrupting me, insisting that she knew what I was talking about. She thought that I was asking her if I was "smart" as an infant. Good goddess. Finally, I managed to get through the question. She said that she hadn't been around any other children, and therefore couldn't compare. I was left speechless. I couldn't figure out whether she had no concept of typical childhood development or what. I gave up. 

Never again will I try to get information from my mother except in cases of urgency. She put the icing on the damned cake when she said that I hadn't become "crazy" until adulthood. There was no humor in her voice.

The VA got their shit together and got me a ride to my neurology appointment tomorrow. I'm not too crazy about getting a ride with a guy, though. I've been thinking about requesting a female driver next time, but I doubt that they have any available.

I didn't get anything done today. My body is sleepy; my brain is not. I think that I'm still recovering from my bike ride yesterday. The wind was WICKED on the ride home, worse going through flat, empty farmland, and I could barely pedal against it. I was out there forever, moving at a snail's pace, with the bike on a low gear. Got my clarinet reed though! I'd planned to buy two, but they were twice as expensive as what I'm used to.
They were twice as expensive as that to which I'm accustomed. Neither of these sentences sounds good to me.

There's talk of some new X-Files episodes in the works!
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