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The ceiling beckons.
Jan. 10th, 2006 06:45 pmI've been writing a bit more negatively lately.
Okay, that's an understatement, I've been whining, kvetching, and bitching a whole lot.
I'm not depressed. In fact, I'm doing quite well mentally and so-so physically. The better I'm doing, though, the more I'm able to attempt do and as such . . . the more roadblocks I hit. I vent all my frustration here. I sometimes vent it when I drink, which is another reason I try to avoid drinking--I don't like ranting about my health to folks in real life, period. It's boring and makes people uncomfortable.
I'm not surprised that friends who know me well offline still put up with me online--they know this is where I vent. I'm rather shocked that folks who don't know me elsewhere or pre-illness put up with me. I think I'm shortchanging you all. It's been said that I'm a bouncy, vibrant, and charismatic human being, though those things are only said of me when I'm three sheets to the wind (and obviously not ranting about allopathy or my intestines). I have it on good authority that I'm cheerful, quirky, and flighty when I'm stone cold sober.
I make it sound as though I drink a lot. I don't. I just take advantage of it when I do and enjoy being pain-free. Pre-fibro, my normal social demeanor was so bouncy and scatterbrained that plenty of folks thought I was intoxicated most of the time. I wasn't. I was just exuberant. Too many folks inhibit their natural exuberance. I wish I could express mine more often, but exuberance and pain are not good bedfellows.
Someone described me as placid and graceful recently. They obviously weren't watching closely. I'm deceptively smooth-surfaced. Inside is chaos--turbulent eddies that swirl in every which direction. And any grace I have comes from moving slowly and deliberately, so as not to trip and explode.
Anyhow, these recent bouts of illness have made me a bit cranky. I'm in good spirits, but I'm short on patience. I find myself unable to read LJ communities or freecycle without wanting to require parenting licenses (whether the children in question are human or furkid isn't an issue). I find myself wanting to suggest amputation to folks who write to natural med boards about treating third degree burns without medical supervision. And I find myself wondering why, exactly, I want so desperately to be a contributing member of society if this is what society tosses back at me.
So, I'm feeling a bit better. I'm not quite well enough to build the bookshelves or straighten up the house. Heck, I have issues boiling water at the moment, but my physical being is slowly catching up to my emotional self.
Okay, that's an understatement, I've been whining, kvetching, and bitching a whole lot.
I'm not depressed. In fact, I'm doing quite well mentally and so-so physically. The better I'm doing, though, the more I'm able to attempt do and as such . . . the more roadblocks I hit. I vent all my frustration here. I sometimes vent it when I drink, which is another reason I try to avoid drinking--I don't like ranting about my health to folks in real life, period. It's boring and makes people uncomfortable.
I'm not surprised that friends who know me well offline still put up with me online--they know this is where I vent. I'm rather shocked that folks who don't know me elsewhere or pre-illness put up with me. I think I'm shortchanging you all. It's been said that I'm a bouncy, vibrant, and charismatic human being, though those things are only said of me when I'm three sheets to the wind (and obviously not ranting about allopathy or my intestines). I have it on good authority that I'm cheerful, quirky, and flighty when I'm stone cold sober.
I make it sound as though I drink a lot. I don't. I just take advantage of it when I do and enjoy being pain-free. Pre-fibro, my normal social demeanor was so bouncy and scatterbrained that plenty of folks thought I was intoxicated most of the time. I wasn't. I was just exuberant. Too many folks inhibit their natural exuberance. I wish I could express mine more often, but exuberance and pain are not good bedfellows.
Someone described me as placid and graceful recently. They obviously weren't watching closely. I'm deceptively smooth-surfaced. Inside is chaos--turbulent eddies that swirl in every which direction. And any grace I have comes from moving slowly and deliberately, so as not to trip and explode.
Anyhow, these recent bouts of illness have made me a bit cranky. I'm in good spirits, but I'm short on patience. I find myself unable to read LJ communities or freecycle without wanting to require parenting licenses (whether the children in question are human or furkid isn't an issue). I find myself wanting to suggest amputation to folks who write to natural med boards about treating third degree burns without medical supervision. And I find myself wondering why, exactly, I want so desperately to be a contributing member of society if this is what society tosses back at me.
So, I'm feeling a bit better. I'm not quite well enough to build the bookshelves or straighten up the house. Heck, I have issues boiling water at the moment, but my physical being is slowly catching up to my emotional self.
