Nope.

I went on Twitter on the weekend. I was curious.

(No, I didn’t recreate my account. I cruised through a few friends’ feeds.)

Such a bad idea. Four days later and I can only now feel my anxiety start to let go. The hamster wheel in my head has been spinning over people calling one of our beers awful (it’s not. It’s just not for them), over missing friendly get togethers with other friends who have been radio silent since I moved (not really friends then, are they?), over the perception among my peers of this company I brew for and the beer I make, over the fact that I appear to be unliked and unlikeable.

It’s all bullshit though. There is a voice in my head that is a liar and and here I am giving it ammunition.

The last few months on the anxiety medications and off Facebook and Twitter have shown me that I can be happy. Happier. It’s a good feeling. I like it. Why would I jeopardize that for curiosity?

Note to self: don’t be so dumb.

Buh bye

Today I ended a 12-year toxic relationship. Fuck you, Facebook.

Fuck the targeted ads, the lack of privacy, the lack of care with my data, the oh-so-broad definition of the word friend, the FOMO and the bullshit.

And fuck the lack of funny cat pictures.

What serves me

The yoga instructor said, “Let go of that which does not serve you.”

I have been having a rough time lately, for reasons that I cannot pin down. I have a great job with people I like and I am living in my dream house in my dream location. And yet, I feel disconnected. And emotional as fuck.

I’m finding it hard to get a balance in my post-menopausal moods. So hard that apparently I can’t find the words for it right now. I feel like some of it still concussion-related, but what do I know?

“You need to write more,” said a woman I work with. She is so very smart; I adore her immensely. And yet I have snapped at her, made mountains out of molehills, and generally made an ass of myself. Thankfully she is a better woman than I, and sweetly accepted my tearful apologies.

So I am going to write more. And I am going to get rid of that which does not serve me. I’ve deleted everything off of Twitter (I can’t bring myself to delete my account and give up my name yet…I should though), purged so much from Facebook (gone are the Toronto people, breweries, concert venues and bars that are make me homesick for a place I haven’t even liked in the last 5 years), and made some lists. I’m going to yoga again tomorrow. And looking for a local doctor. And a therapist.

I need to get my shit together.

Routine

Every day, the shower routine is the same; start at the top and work my way down.

Shampoo the hair, rinse.

Wash the face, rinse.

Squeeze body wash on the floofy thing, wash arms (left first , left underarm then under and around the boobs, right arm, right underarm), belly, genitals, ass, down the left leg, then down the right leg. Rinse.

Same routine for drying, same order. For like the last fifteen thousand showers.

It’s not that I’ve ritualized it or made it a thing, it just seems the most efficient way. Of course, I’m sure that’s what people say who have ritualized a routine task or made it a thing.

But today I was distracted, stressed by waiting on other people, thinking about all the soon-to-happen changes and just how easy it would be for one thread to be pulled and unravel the whole damn thing (no, not really, I’m being dramatic for effect), and I washed out of order.  And then I dried out of order.

My whole day has since felt a bit…off. Different. Like a bra that got put in the dryer instead of air dried, it still fits but it’s tight in the wrong places and is a constant reminder that shit isn’t quite right in a very small and slightly irksome way.

I’m not sure I like it, but I’m sure I don’t hate it. Kinda like masturbating with the left hand instead of the right. It just feels….weird.

Day 19,226

Well. So much for those good intentions.

It’s not that I couldn’t carve out time to write here, about this and that, about how odd it is to be back around my high school haunts after thirty-odd years, about school and commuting and how I barely have time to connect with Keith much less with friends, or read for fun or knit.

I’m just still trying to find a flow to my days that isn’t going to leave me hating this. No, hating is the wrong word. Resenting might be closer. I’ll get there. Just been a bit of an adjustment to go from being a lady of leisure for a year (a role I was quite good at) to having to organize and budget and schedule more than I have ever had to. I’m not even going to show you my calendar; the last person I showed it to just said, oh dear, and patted my shoulder sympathetically.

One thing I’m glad I’ve scheduled in the half-hour every morning to drink my coffee and do morning pages. Am quite pleased and amazed with how just this little ritual has helped organize my thoughts. I feel less scattered, less anxious when things are piling up. And it’s only been three weeks.

Now that I have procrastinated a bit, I’m going to turn my attention back to my malt assignment and then drink some Chocolate Manifesto and watch it snow.

Too late?

It’s 10:30 pm, and I’ve had a busy, active day according to my FitBit:

Screen Shot 2014-07-05 at 10.24.55 PM

I have eaten healthy all most of the day according to MyFitnessPal:

Screen Shot 2014-07-05 at 10.26.01 PM

 

So I find myself at home at the end of the day, feet up, watching Netflix and sipping one of the delicious beers I brought back from Quebec in March, looking at the extra calories remaining, and thinking

Is it too late in the evening for a bacon sandwich?

Where I’m at today.

I’m sick (a wee bout of food poisoning thanks to eating at Swiss Chalet after swearing to never go there again after the last wee bout of food poisoning). I’m just a tad PO’d about it, as I was to go to Hamilton and help with the beer judging for the Because Beer Festival. So much for that plan.

I AM NEVER GOING TO SWISS CHALET AGAIN!

The cat’s sick. The 18-year-old feline has kidney stones, a fused arthritic spine and now hasn’t pooped in about 4 days in spite of a vet visit and 2 enemas.

And Keith is away. Lucky bugger.

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“I wish you hadn’t written that.”

Yeah, so do I.

I am taking a sabbatical from social media, again. Again. Facebook was proving once more to be a wonderful time suck that enabled me to not do the things I don’t want to do. Plus, I was getting a little too invested in three of the private groups I belong to. Time to step back (again) to breathe, write, and get shit done rather than sit with the iPad hitting refresh too many times. I’ve deleted FB and Twitter off both my mobile devices, and have resolved to check both once in the morning over coffee (I follow a lot of beer and derby groups as well as the fitness one), check but not post for a week.

We’ll see if I actually get shit done.

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One of the groups is a private group of people wanting to get fit and lose weight. The accountability of posting every day was definitely keeping me on track, so will be posting the screen shots here instead. Who knows, maybe this will morph into a fitness blog (cue hysterical laughter here).

This was yesterday:

wpid-photogrid_1404482144318.jpg

The top section is from MyFitnessPal that I use to track food, the bottom is from FitBit, the software that syncs to my Zip step tracker. The idea is to post this every day, with daily fitness goals. My usernames are BadKatitude on MFP and Katitude on FitBit if you want to connect on either of the sites.

I started using both daily (when possible) on June 9th. I was 93.9 kilos then (207  lbs). I weighed myself today and am at 91.2 kilos (201 lbs). Woohoo! 2.7 kilos in 3.5 weeks! AND I don’t feel achey and sore the day after a long walk and working! Pausing for a quick happy dance.

The weight goal is 85 kilos (187 lbs) to start. The real goal is to be fit enough so that I don’t throw my back out when I have to lift 25 kilo bags of malt when I go to school in September. Looking better will also be nice!

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Speaking of school, it’s flattering how many people think it’s a great idea and are supporting me. Keith is being the biggest pillar for me to lean on. That doesn’t stop me from stressing the hell out and worrying like it’s my job. I am super mondo stressed right now and was actively searching for anything that would stop me thinking about money for even ten minutes (hence the social media addiction). In spite of budgeting and hiding it in a different account where I couldn’t access it easily, my settlement from the school is now officially gone, and my EI benefits are over next week. I have two part time jobs, but they certainly don’t bring in enough for rent AND living expenses, and my hours will necessarily be reduced once I start school. Keith keeps calmly saying, “don’t worry about it, it will all be fine,” but I am who I am and my brain works the way that it works.

So I worry and lay awake at 3am with that little voice nattering in my ear.

I think I may have mentioned before how much I hate that little voice.

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So that’s me right now. My plan for the day is to wait for the Gravol to take effect, wait for the vet to call me back about the cat, shower, mail a letter*, drop the third revision of Second Career financing application off to my career counselor, Bella (who is awesome personified), take the cat to the vet, do some writing, maybe another post here, definitely a post on the beer blog (HopKat.com) and catch up on the photo-a-day blog (katitude.ca).

waiting

After all the craziness of January and February, I thought that slowing down for March would be a welcome change. The chemistry course is done, marks and portfolio have been submitted for the college application, the 4 websites for clients are either done or on track, and all blogs are caught up.

It feels weird. I’m fidgety. I’m laying in bed right now, at 11:23 on a Saturday morning, wondering what it is I should be/could be doing. I’ve been awake since 6, having taken Keith to the airport. He won’t be back until Monday night, so I don’t have him to bump around with.

I am feeling overwhelmed by waiting right now, if that can be a thing, instead of doing. Waiting for mid-March when I’ll find out if I’ve been accepted or not, waiting to find out which way my life is going to go in the short term, Plan A or Plan B/C/D. Waiting for someone, anyone to look at my resume and at least call me in for an interview. Waiting for next week. Waiting until I need to go to tonight’s derby double-header. Even waiting until I get hungry enough to drag my ass out of bed and find something to eat.

Now might be a good time to address some other projects that have been shelved; writing, editing the novel, knitting a sweater. I might even take another course, maybe the grade 12 Writers’s Craft, Canadian History or Philosophy courses.

Now might be a good time to review the referee hand signals and penalty codes for tonight.

Not would also be a good time to stop waiting and just get the fuck out of bed.

Instructions for a perfect day

There’s a certain feeling that accompanies a planned Thanksgiving long weekend away to a Northern cottage when the weatherman says words like sunny, unseasonably warm, Indian summer. The dawning realization that you can take the motorcycle rather than the car brings with it an anticipation of joy that is exactly like what you felt the night before Christmas or your birthday.

I can ride up on Thursday, you think. And smile.

You grab the sidebags and start playing packing Tetris, trying to get as much in the two hard cases as possible, paring it down to that which is absolutely necessary. One sweatshirt, one long-sleeve shirt, one book, etc. You roll jeans and shirts around two growlers of beer and pull out the extra pair of shoes; beer is more important than shoes.

thanksgiving rideYou open up old maps of your Dad’s, folded and unfolded so many times that the folds are close to dissolving, leaving you with so many loose rectangular puzzle pieces. You compare the layout of the old highways to the new ones on Google Maps to see if there are any places where the old roads remain to be explored. You plan a route by finding the roads with the most curvy squiggly lines and connecting them, and so are able to make a trip that would take 4 hours by car on 4-lane highway turn into something that will be closer to 7 hours from door to door.

Continue reading “Instructions for a perfect day”