I'm an idiot. Not usually what someone trying to blog would say about themselves I suppose. Particularly one who has written practically nothing, but there it is. What good is there in putting your words out for all the world to see if you're not unflatteringly honest? /sarcasm
So, here follows some probably whiny venty introspection. Pirates, ye be warned.
Since my last post there has been plenty of stuff I could have posted about. Little things it occurred to me to share, projects or things I could have done to blog about. Some things I could/might/will still do, others that seem kinda useless to include now that so much time has passed since they popped up. Obviously I didn't get around to any of them.
What started this post, though - aside from realizing how I'd once again fallen off of something I'd started - was the twelve-ish hours of misery I put myself through because I'm just that big a moron.
For years I've had these weird stomach attacks, for lack of an actual diagnosis. It goes from just feeling over full (or sometimes comes from out of nowhere and just hurts) to feeling like I have balloons inside of me stretched so taut they'll burst if I pull the wrong way, and it all hurts. It hurts to take a deep breath, or stand up straight, hurts my back and sides from being so tense. Pacing helps distract me in the early stages, but if it lasts long enough I always wind up hanging out in the bathroom, feeling sick and hoping that will make it all better, or sagging back against the wall, if I can, hoping I can just rest already.
I have no idea why they started or what actually causes them, only theories based on what seems to trigger and alleviate them. My gall bladder or a hiatal hernia are the two front runners. I haven't been to a doctor about them simply because at first they weren't very common, and then they seemed tied to what or how much I ate, so it seemed easy enough to either avoid or deal with them.
Over time they've gotten more frequent, lasted longer, needed Pepcid and such to help keep a handle on them, but as long as I didn't overdo the eating I was generally fine.
Hence the "I'm an idiot" part. Because I've mentioned before that eating and my weight was one of my biggest stumbling blocks. Night before last I ran right into it.
I ate WAY too much - and it wasn't even a special dinner or a holiday, so not even a flimsy excuse - even though I damn well know better, and spent the next twelve or so hours alternately pacing, throwing up to try to relieve the pressure, and soaking in water as hot as I can stand hoping it will help. It was the worst one yet by about three hours. By the time it was over it was dawn the next day, I'd run three or four baths of really hot water, and TMU had been up with me most of the night even though there wasn't anything she could've done.
This time left me tired enough to sleep till six yesterday evening, then some more probably starting after midnight, and for the time being really not being a fan of food. Macaroni salad, oven baked chicken, ranch dressing and squash/zucchini are going to be bad triggers for awhile.
You'd think with all that being the consequence it wouldn't be hard to reign myself in, right? You'd think. For now, yeah, I'm wholly committed to eating less and hopefully better. Guaranteed though the next time there's pizza, or awesome muffins, or my favorite chips, that will be in danger of being chucked right out the window. Again.
It's so stupid, because how simple is it for a thirty three year old adult woman to think "it hurts when I have an attack, don't want that again, I shouldn't eat anymore" and just stop? But I keep going, because I'm not yet mentally satisfied and it's really good and I want more, or maybe there isn't much left and I might as well finish it. Or maybe it's some leftover childish food jealousy or something where who knows if any leftovers will last till I get them?
Makes me wish I could physically kick my own ass. Every time I have a bad one I fear having something permanent happen, or needing to go to the hospital, something we really can't afford right now. Yet I haven't changed anything. I just keep going.
It's much the same with everything. I've gotten completely nowhere with my goals. I could blame it on homesteading taking so much time, or I just work slow in general, or needing to break off of the computer more cause there's too much stupid stuff on it I'm afraid I'll miss out on.Or maybe it's more that I just don't want anything badly enough. Truly want. I want to improve myself. My health, my skills, my life. But in the face of actually putting in the effort to make it happen being lazy just a little bit longer always seems more appealing.
I'm pretty sure I've crossed the line from lazy into pure sloth. Or maybe it's inertia. I've been inert for so long, through my own choices, just going with the flow, it's hard to get myself moving forward. I don't really know what direction I want to go in to begin with.
It seems like I just keep waiting. For a wave of motivation, energy, creativity. For a shove to make me want to do something. Something as simple as taking care of myself properly, taking care of what needs to be done around me, or something great, or interesting, or just fun for the heck of it. Be something. Instead of just deciding I'm going to do this. I'm going to figure out what I want or who I am. I'm going to just get done what needs to get done so I can realize there is much more time then to do other stuff I'd like to do, rather then get bogged down in not wanting to do it. I'll stop acting like such a lazy teenager.
What the hell will I do when I'm actually left alone?
Ok. Now that this sounds more like a stupid kids journal then an adults blog....lets move on.
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