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Saturday, July 5th, 2008
As you read, I fall apart
Well, my ginger cookies went all right. The recipe I used is a healthy option from the newsletter I work for, so they feel a bit like rubber to chew, but they taste quite good.
I've had a few freakouts this past week, and I've felt unreasonably anxious at times. Every morning when I put on mascara, my hands shake and I slam them on the counters when I'm done. I had only just begun a crossword puzzle when I felt like throwing it across the room for not yet being finished. It's all in my hands, they feel the most antsy. I try breathing exercises, but I have no regimen, so what I really do is I just breathe and pay attention and try to let it go, to convince myself that there is NOTHING TO BE UPSET ABOUT. It hasn't worked too well.
On the other hand, I'm feeling better in certain ways. I am not necessarily consuming things that are better for me, but perhaps I am temporarily, psychologically tricking myself into thinking I am. I pack a lunch almost everyday at work, a lunch that I made, often using an actual stove, or sometimes just the handiest container of peanut butter. My health has seemed under control, though. I have been wearing contacts for a week and a half--dailies, the ones you throw away every night--and so far, so good. My ballin' skills are slowly improving. I do buy a cinnamon doughnut on Tuesday mornings, and every now and then I just say screw it and go for the bagel at work, but overall, I think I am fooling my body well enough.
Mostly, though, I've been working, working so much that when my paycheck arrived yesterday, even my coworkers were blown away by how much I'd made. Which is, of course, good news, because the reason I am working this much is to make money. It's also to keep my mind distracted, though, as every now and then Moses-related sadness grips me. Unfortunately, although this is part of my intention, it doesn't always work; whenever I step behind that cafe, everything nice evaporates. Customers have seemed more assuming and hurtful, coworkers have been overbearingly concerned with my psyche, and our company is so desperate for money that they only think their policies halfway through before sending them out, each more baffling than the next. I have so many useless numbers memorized that have led to so many useless algorithms. For the rocket science I am doing on a daily basis, I am not getting paid nearly enough.
One thing I am still not doing is treating myself to anything fun very often. I don't know if I ever think it's going to pay off in some glorious land of milk and honey, or whether I think people will worship my outstanding discipline, or what. All I know is the moment an opportunity for fun presents itself, I clam up and feel around for obligation. Even something as simple as "Chinese food after work?" gets met with, "Well, I'm actually not feeling too well, and I promised myself I would read at least 30 more pages in my book tonight, and I do have to work in the morning, and I think Bits hasn't seen me all day and she seems to have separation anxiety lately, so. So I think I'll have to pass tonight." Of course, the next question could be, what is fun for me? Maybe this is the next inner quest.