I put on lipstick to write this entry (lip-crayon, to be exact).  And prior to that I sprayed on my Tony Moly Pocket Bunny Sleek Mist face spray, a small bunny-shaped bottle of super cuteness (+5 to pampering). I wonder if using the "you're going to blog so you need this" was me giving myself permission to perform some self-care or if I actually needed warpaint to mentally gird my loins for exposing myself.  Porque no los dos?

More physical therapy today.  I asked my boss about home cervical traction because it's going to be two weeks until my next appointment (their schedule is full before the holiday and they're taking some extra time off, so two weeks until I get my neck stretched again).  He told me to find out how many pounds they've been using on me at PT (it's fifteen).  Home units are twenty dollars for an over-the-door unit, fifty for an inflatable one, or four hundred for a lying-down one on Amazon.  Pro models are in the thousands..  I don't care about uncomfortable, I want it to do what it's supposed to do.  I can take uncomfortable for a long-ass while, as my history demonstrates.   I also did more strengthening exercises, and they ramped up the weight a little bit.  I am totally ok with pulling things down or lifting up, that was easy at twenty pounds, but side to side (adductions?) and forward-back (rowing motion) are still so freaking hard at ten pounds, that I had to do them shakily in batches of two or three. Even my supposedly-strong side is only a tiny bit stronger than my injured one: that arm does four before needing to rest.  This time I was better prepared, though.  I took ibuprofen immediately after leaving (purse of holding for the win), and when I got home I iced both arms immediately.  Hopefully I won't be in nearly as much pain as I was in last time, but time will tell.  

One odd side effect of moving away from town is that now I'm on time (or early) far more often.  I know that it takes longer for me to get to work, so I spend a lot fewer mornings hiding in bed because I don't wanna go.  I mean, I still don't want to go, but I can't just get there ten minutes after rolling out of bed anymore   But now, I'm there alone for a while, usually for a good half hour, before anyone else gets there. So I get to crank some tunes.  A couple of years ago D wanted to get rid of his old desktop's computer speakers, and I'd been wanting some for my work computer, so they're now hooked up under my desk, subwoofer and all.  The volume knob is almost all the way down and I keep the sound levels low on my computer most of the time, but for alone time, there is some volume.  So I'll search for whatever is going through my head on YouTube and crank it up for a few minutes while I'm doing prep for the day.  

A lot of days it's my pump-it-up song "Battleflag" by Lo-Fidelity Allstars.  Some days it's a hunt for whatever interstitial music NPR was playing that morning.  Last week there was a bit more variety.  Wednesday was soul music, starting with "For the Love of Money" by the O'Jays and clicking around in the suggestions.  Thursday, was a departure for me. I had a deep need for some punk rock, starting with The Clash's "Brand New Cadillac" and eventually rolling around to my favorite version of "You Oughta Know" by 1000 Mona Lisas, a band I've never heard of outside of a sampler one of my college roommates had.  This one is sung by a guy and I imagine the you who oughta know is a bi guy who left the singer for a potential babymama, and boy is he pissed.  I still like the original, but it just isn't angry enough for me.

I bop along to the music, not dancing (because a: I suck at it and b: neck problems [aka "No More Headbanging, Ever"]), but bobbing along. And maybe I'll mouth the lyrics, but I don't sing them out loud.  I seem to have lost my singing voice.  "Too depressed to go to karaoke anymore" means no weekly practice and now I sound like shit. (This is not the first time depression robbed someone of their voice.  Not the last, either.)  Now that I have a commute, I should be able to practice some in the car, but I'm usually listening to NPR, so I forget. And my car stereo is lacking in any input interface (it's the stock am/fm radio), so no singing along to my own stuff that I know and could practice with. The Bobs acapella stuff is really good for tuning up, but there's no way to play it in the car. Perhaps I should invest in a new radio transmitter; the older one died a horrible heat death, and its nifty-but-super-cheap replacement has an annoying buzz from a short somewhere on the circuit board.

Day 18:

Still having trouble getting motivated and taking the easy way out by not delving too deeply into the many bags of clothing still piled in the bedroom.  I did a shallow pass over a few things and pulled out three items, though.

First was some temporary hair color, a maroon red hue that really hasn't been stylish since the 90's.  I know I bought the box in this decade though. Go-Away box.

Second was a black women's xl t-shirt, with a small Triforce logo over the boobs.  I can stuff myself into it, but wearing it always makes me feel like I'm pretending to be something I'm not (cooler, maybe).  I've never played a Zelda game.  I think I've only handled a non-Wii Nintendo device twice in my life (and Wii stuff a few more times than that), but no Zelda ever. Go-Away Box.

Last was a black plastic container that used to have honey butter in it.  I think it was from Bon Temps, when they were in their old location, and it's been years.  After being emptied, it floated around on top of the toaster oven (that we gave to Goodwill at the time of moving).  Sometimes I would put small amounts of ingredients in it while making recipes (even though I have many much better containers made specifically for this purpose).  Recycle bin.
Fridays are my "recovery day" of the week. It's also the day I run as many errands as I can before I lose steam from the week and melt into a puddle of goo on my sofa. Today was supposed to be "self-care day". I went to my scheduled appointment to get my eyebrows waxed at Ulta. I justify it to myself (and I do have to justify it to myself) that if I get my brows waxed on a regular basis, I am both happier with the way they look, and I don't spend an inordinate amount of time every morning and night trying to do it myself with tweezers.  I call it worth it for the time savings alone.

I was also supposed to go get my hair cut, like I've been trying to muster the energy for for more than a month, but I had a fail on that.  Since I'm cheap, I like to go to one of the chain haircutting places in town, but it's on the other side of town (or more correctly, on the very tip of one of the four lobes of the little splat of a town I used to live in) and I just don't like going to the other chain (which is slightly more expensive for the same service).  Last night I realized needed to go to the pharmacy to check if my other meds were ready for pickup.  This morning I checked the dates on the bottles and it's been about 40 days since I last filled them.  Oops? I wasn't out of them. I've built up quite a cushion over time since I do occasionally forget to take the two night-time ones.  By the time I'd gotten in and out of the pharmacy I lost all motivation to continue.  It's not even ten miles by car and I just couldn't make myself go.  

Day 15:

When I got home I went immediately into "find the thing" mode, because I could feel myself rapidly approaching the state of goo.  A quick rummage through a bag yielded a scarf made of sequined ruffle yarn.  Clothing exchange item that I've never worn.  Go Away Bag.

As I was turning I saw something I had passed over the day before, a silver gift box that had a small organza drawstring bag in it, empty.  A conversation I'd had last night about giving the earrings to a friend to make necklaces out of came to mind, and I thought the gray box would be the perfect thing to put the pair of intricately beaded earrings I'd put in the Go Away Box a few days ago.  So I put them together and placed them back in the Go Away Box.  
I seem to be having a bit (a lot) of food fail, yesterday and today.  I have food, plenty of it, but I don't have much around that I want to eat.  And if I get distracted I'll rapidly shift from "slightly hungry" in to "I'm not hungry and I don't know what I want to eat (and I don't deserve food)." Today I managed to blow past both of those and raced into "I may be hungry because I feel like I'm going to fall over because I can't get off the floor now" before I asked D to help me.  Needed food, something fast (hummus and brie and unsalted cashews, please), and something I could easily eat.  D handed me a tray with the whole wheel of brie on it and a knife and I had to beg him to slice it up for me. I was that far gone. I haven't been that bad in a long time, which is a good thing, I guess.  I'm trying to back off being so rigid about what I can and won't eat, because I have concerns that my original compulsive overeating ("Feel empty inside? Eat everything!") turned into orthorexia ("Only these few things or nothing!") with this latest bout of weight loss.  So now some days I eat the pizza.  Some days I eat the biscuit. The rest of the time I have my low-carb tortillas (Mission brand whole wheat, that tastes and feels like a real goddamned [flour] tortilla instead of grainy flat sadness). 

Yesterday's physical therapy is today's muscle soreness. ("Hello DOMS!")  My left arm is the weak injured one, but they have me doing exercises with both arms because it helps my brain re-learn how to do things better with the weak side if I'm doing the same thing with my uninjured side. So my right arm is complaining the loudest about the lateral extensions I did yesterday and the rest of my body feels achy and sore.  Brain is foggy too, probably because I also didn't eat enough last night for dinner after falling partway into that weird fractal "can't stop, won't stop" mindset yesterday and I had fuck-all for lunch today.  I got to take my full break at 1:20 but I had to eat my meal-in-a-bar about an hour before that when I was starting to spin from really hungry back into not-hungry while there were still patients in the office.

Day  12:

Today I came home and D suggested I might be able to find something to get rid of in the kitchen plastics box he'd already half-emptied.  I managed to pull out three items before I needed to sit down.  If I'd tried to keep going I think I probably would have spun up into full Everything's Filthy And I Am Too mode but luckily I was actually too damn tired to go there.   So I only pulled four things today.

First was a basic green plastic ice cream scoop.  I have quite a few scoops because I'm still searching for the platonic ideal of ice cream scoops. (They make low-carb ice cream, so I do need one occasionally.)  The closest one I've come across is from Ikea, and I have one that's a pretty close second.  This plastic one has been randomly in our stuff for a long ass time and something is telling me a drug rep brought it with ice cream to our office years ago.  It came home with me when we moved the office in 2014, I think because I was hoping D's gaming club could use it when they do their ice cream social night at the main con. Of course it never made it there. Go-Away Box.

Second was a plastic jar lid, clean. If I looked at it harder I could probably tell what food item it had capped a jar of, but right now thinking is hard. Recycling bin.

Third was a Mrs. Claus dish brush that was a stocking stuffer four(?) years ago.  It has a face on it and the white bristles are supposed to be the hair.  Its packaging made it seem like it was wearing a dress, and I didn't want to deprive Mrs. Claus of her dress.  Therefore it stayed on the brush until last August.  And I still didn't use it because I knew the face would get scraped up and it would be like I was beating someone up.  No more dishware with screened on faces. Go-Away Box.

Fourth was a clear plastic serving bowl that came from a catered lunch at work, cracked halfway through.  I like keeping stuff like that around because "what if I got invited to a party and was told to bring some food item and I didn't want to use a nice serving thing because what if it got broken?  I'd be sad." First, invites are few. Second, I bring hummus and brie, which mostly have their own containers.  Third, what good is a thing if it never gets used for its intended purpose?  My house should not be a museum of unused items like my grandmother's house was.  I shouldn't save things for a special occasion that never happens because I don't deserve to use nice things myself.  I shouldn't worry that they might get broken. Recycling bin.



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Cyrano de Univac


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