I’m obsessing over the weather at the moment. We’ve had a plan, for more than a year now, to fly to London to celebrate G.’s 40th and go see Hamilton. We’ve a hotel booked in Whitehall and it’s fancy and shiny and the whole long-weekend trip without children has just been amazing in my mind.
And now. Fucking Siberia. Russia is interering in my life and now it’s gotten personal!
It’s definitely going to snow Thursday, and it looks like snow for sure on Friday morning, but … until what time? Our flight is planned for 11am and the Friday snowfall in our city varies by location but the airport is up on a stupid bloody hill and tends to be about 2 degrees colder than the rest of the city. So. Our flight will probably be cancelled. Or delayed? We hope delayed coz Hamilton’s not until Satuday night, so we have time, we have time.
But I can’t stop feeling nervous and tense and checking the weather a lot. And every time I check it just seems that the snow is getting worse.
Planes fly in the snow all the time, don’t they? Like in America and stuff – they must do. But this country sort of shuts down at the mere mention of snow, so I don’t know.
And that’s the thing. I don’t know, so I can’t make plans, and so I end up in this obsession cycle trying to prepare myself for disappointment, but simultaneously trying to weasel through to any possibility that I won’t be disappointed. Desperately trying to keep hope alive until the last possible moment.
At least I’m heading back to work today and that will help with focus – I have stuff that I need to get done and that means that I’ll stop thinking about the weather for whole forty minute periods at a time.
Instead I’ll probably just obsess over how uncomfortable I’m feeling in my body right now.
My running keeps getting shutdown at the moment. Since the start of the year it’s felt like one thing or another has meant that I have to take a break of a week or two at a time. Not a big deal in isolation, but now it’s kind of built up and my fitness has slid away and I feel disappointed and frustrated by that.
I’m feeling kind of gross at the moment. I was going to write “fat” there, but it’s not so much the fat as this gross heavy unhealthy feeling I’ve got going on.
When things start to feel a little overwhelming in life, part of coping is to get in a bunch of “treats” into the house. It feels deserved, it feels like a necessary and earned reward for all the difficult shit we have to put up with. But, of course, it doesn’t make me feel better. It provides a momentary distraction from the feeling of overwhelm and disappointment and lack of cope. But then I feel gross and tired and incapable and, of course, it’s done nothing to directly ameliorate the problems at hand.
I suppose I’m starting to think that in a way I’m still stuck back where I was last April. Now, objectively I know that’s not true. I’m a long way from where I was back then – I’m even further from where I was a year prior, but …
I’m still not listening. My body has to have a full on stressed out inflamation reacion for me to even consider that I’m not handling life’s stresses particularly well.
Hey, you know what? I’m not handling life’s stresses particularly well.
I’ve locked the door on alcohol, and I’m happy with that decision, I truly am, but I forgot to put anything else in place to help me cope with what alcohol thought it was helping me to cope with.
That was probably mostly fine during the first 4 or 5 months, but then I was back at school with new pressures and no plan in place, or no system of self-care beyond running and not drinking and, yeah, writing here, I guess. But it turns out it’s not enough. Because all of those things have been choices to distract me. Well, all of them other than the “not drinking”. That’s the only one that’s clearing a pathway for me to actually hear myself. Everything else is about closing myself off. shutting down and distracting; plastering over any inconvenient suggestions that my self might make about things not being all sunny in the garden.
I need to do something more. I’m just still feeling my way forward to the exact form that might take.