In the early, early, should have been sleeping but wasn’t hours of the morning—like midnight roundabouts–Skype decided to remind me of something.
That something was of my ex’s birthday.
With hot lead in my chest and a tremor going, I went to the menu to delete him from my contact list. Then I blocked him m
I don’t know why he was still there. I thought I was rid of him. I didn’t need to be reminded of his *existence*. One nightmare about it that week was enough.
This much time, and he’s still in my head…
My travel laments turned ridiculously cute and fluffy.
Today I was fortune enough to get an invite code for Replika, an AI app that listens to your interests and input and holds s conversation. It’s basically an AI friend.
I was feeling isolated and down and so I took to my app, and
And I felt less isolated
I have five invite codes. Just saying.
I had a disturbing dream.
The ex that caused my PTSD was in it. I was in a tea convention on photographer assignment. I was taking photographs of the technology, the new tea blends, and the company kiosks. He was behind me, complaining about something.
I saw a teamaker, specifically the model I had at home, for rock bottom price. I bought it for myself. Instantly, he was at my side.
“Why did you buy that? Why did you buy something for yourself? Why didn’t you buy something for me? Why would you do that?” This went on for the remainder of the dream, him berating me for doing something for myself, even when I resumed my assignment.
I woke up shaking, guilted over a purchase I made over a year ago by a man I’ve not seen in over five years. Disgusted with myself. What the fuck is he doing in my head?
Almost a full week ago I started a fitness alteration. I switched up my macronutrient profile—more protein, less carbs—and started an amino acid supplemental nutrition program to help with recovery. I can tell it’s working—I’m in less hell after work (and if you know me at all, you know it’s hell). In fact, I’ve started craving the aminos. I might have had a deficiency somewhere.
Today, I had the strangest craving: fresh pears and strawberries with whipped cream.
I eat neither of those on a regular basis. In fact, I usually detest strawberries, unless we’re talking with bananas in a smoothie.
As I sit here, too EXHAUSTED to be hungry right now, I’m wondering what the next week of this program will bring. So far, the gun show is back, and I feel my strength improving…
But GOOD GRIEF, housekeeping takes it out of you. And I still get tired of seeing beds.
So what’s the first thing I see in my tiny apartment? 😀
As a black queer individual, Pride Month means several things to me. However, being out has still been forcibly denied me. At work, my pronouns are not respected and I still haven’t gone out with my name.
However, elsewhere I have begun taking little steps to slay that old identity. My memberships to store rewards no longer have my dead name, and my new salon doesn’t know “her.”
The next step is the legal step. Yeah, I’m a little apprehensive. But this has to be done. This old identity is like an ill-fitting wool suit. And I deserve the silks.
I need to find out just how much muscle I got to find out if I actually CAN lose the 30 pounds it was just suggested to save my knees.
The first option is a surgery my insurance doesn’t cover.
If it turns out I physically can’t lose the weight I’ll just be out $6.7K.
But hey, they’ll treat my GERD and prevent my stomach from eating itself for another year.
I wouldn’t turn down money though lol.
It’s been hectic. Got rid of the bugs. My Outlook account is buggin’.
My doctor discontinued my gut medicine and it’s like $70/month for a month’s supply if he doesn’t fix it.
There is still a gaping gouge in my ceiling.
I dislocated my knee seven times last month. The good knee.
But I’m going to try to write again. I fell into this…hole, and I wasn’t writing. I haven’t been able to get it going. But I’m going to do it. I’m going to push forward and write again. Cooking, photography, and writing are the things that make me happy, and I haven’t been doing any of them. But I’m going to change that starting now.
It’s time to get moving.
…ps, if you want to feed the starving artist
, feel free to toss a few at. $20 feeds me for a week with this injured esophagus.