Ten godsdamned hours in that forsaken hotel.
My fibro picked today to assert itself over my body, remind me that it is a broken machine. Things burn, sting, and throb—some all at once. My head hurts, feeling like it has been inflated wrong.
… heads shouldn’t be inflated at all though, should they…
I plan on collapsing into bed when I get there. I’m in too much pain to eat. The only reason I am able to function at all right now is that I had my dear sweet Zappy—you know, my tens unit—in my bag. Enough muscles have been zapped into painlessness that I was able to get into the bus and train.
But I still won’t be home until ten thirty. An hour from right now.
And tomorrow is going to suck. I’m definitely in trouble with the boss. My only comfort is that I am not the only one in trouble.
… time to wait for another bus.
Bleach bathing bottles for more homebrewing.
If you told the me of last year that I’d be doing this, I’d tell you “No way, I ain’t no kind of hipster like that.” (Seriously, those exact words.) But here I am, cleaning and bottling, lovingly tending a colony!scoby named after Iggy Koopa, making fermented fizzy lifting drinks.
It’s the hobby I didn’t know I needed. In addition to giving me healthy drinks, homebrewing my own water kefir brings me much needed relaxation. The process becomes almost automatic, until the moment where I have to pick a flavor — then things get exciting. There are so many options, from plain apple to the allure of elderberry. It’s the real world equivalent of a crafting profession, and the grind is good.
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.