So, I missed an entry yesterday—but not much of importance occurred. I woke. I didn’t exercise, I needed to take a rest day. I did not have my cocoa, I had plain spaghetti for lunch and instead skipped dinner. I read. I napped. I wrote. I wandered through Mirkwood well until after 3 in the morning.
I also took a couple creepy late-night pictures.
Today was… no more lively than all the others, but here I am anyways.
Despite having stayed up well past the time I’d like to go to bed and despite having dutifully ignored my alarm this morning, I still managed to wake up before noon. Score to me.
I had my cocoa and I exercised— still only 12 push-ups, my plank went down to 48 seconds, and my squats went up to 35. When I plank, I shake a lot and that bothers me; I don’t know if I’m doing something wrong with my posture or if that’s normal. Obnoxious. I also figure I need to have some kind of post-exercise dairy, perhaps start putting milk in my cocoa or return to regularly drinking chocolate milk. (It’s good for the muscles, studies prove it!)
I don’t recall reading. Instead, I hopped right into writing for a bit.
I had lunch this time, omelettes. And while I ate, I watched Judge Judy.
(As I write this, I’m hearing Enya’s Orinoco Flow somewhere in the house and that makes me happy.)
And then I hopped over to a video for a crochet tutorial and began work on the beanie that mum requested. I have the top finished and tomorrow I’ll move on to rounds of puff stitches. There’s a lot of counting involved in this and I’m sure I’ve tripped up several times over, but I’m pushing ahead.
I also scribbled down a ton of notes to prepare for my quest to achieve kindred status with both the Inn League and the Ale Association. Wish me luck!
Then there was actually dinner tonight. (What’s that, two meals in one day?! Progress!) Breakfast for dinner— bacon, sausage, eggs and potatoes. Mmm mmm.
Finally… I absolutely have to go to bed on time. Because I need to get up early tomorrow and dress for real so I can take my sister to school, swing by the bank, and begin some job hunting. My anxiety is through the roof. I feel like throwing up, I feel like crying. I am absolutely petrified at the notion of leaving my home and walking into places to ask after any openings. How awful is that? It’s making my head hurt. But I’m going to do it, I will do it. Eughhhhhhhhhhh.
Let me head off to Middle-Earth now.
Again, did not fall asleep until much later than I would have liked and unfortunately did so without setting an alarm— but quite surprisingly, managed to wake up only an hour later than my ideal.
Exercises: I managed to upgrade to 12 push-ups, 30 squats and my plank lasted an easy minute and fifteen seconds. It’s sadly easy to tell that I’ve been out of work for four months because it’s only day two and my legs are absolutely killing me.
I read forty some pages, enjoyed my cocoa, skipped lunch again and whipped up a delicious dinner of chicken ramen noodles. Note to self: look up real recipes involving ramen noodles.
I worked on my crochet a bit more. I have the start of a blanket and the skein of my current color only had one more row left in it, so now I must put this project to the wayside until I find a new color that will blend well with the two I have in place now. But now that I have more hooks to work with, I can start on something new. I’m thinking of being ambitious and trying for a beanie.
I wrote. Not much, but enough. Still working on getting on the habit with that, and I’m unfortunately feeling tired around midday. I did not nap today! So maybe that will help matters.
I’m closing today off with some gaming. Hopping onto Lord of the Rings Online to conquer some deeds—today’s region is the Shire where I have some slugs and harvest-flies to slay, and some Innkeepers to assist. Then I think perhaps I’ll hop over to creep side and see if I can rank up my Warg a bit. Fun times, fun times.
Also, some peach soda.
I welcomed 2015 quietly – taco lasagna with the family and battling orcs in Mirkwood. A few more runs of the Stand at Amon Sûl instance and I’ll achieve kindred status with the Eglain. (And by a few more, I mean 29. And by everything else, I’m talking Lord of the Rings Online.) Then it was attempting to be in bed by 11, but lying around wide awake until about 2:30 and needing to set my alarm clock if I wanted to get up at a decent hour.
I managed to get up at eight in the morning and though I needed an hour nap in the middle of the day, an hour which extended into three hours because fuck the alarm, I managed a fairly decent start on the first day of the new year.
I used my new camera. After taking the pups out for their morning walk, I grabbed my Nikon and headed right back out for a few quick shots.
I read. Not the hundred pages that I would have liked, but at least sixty pages and that’s a decent start. I’m out of practice, but I intend to read every day and I should get back into the swing of things with ease.
I washed my face, took care of my teeth. I even remembered to do my exercises— I’m not setting a particular goal. I’m just selecting a handful of exercises targeting the areas I want to work on the most and simply seeing how many of them I can do, and then just watch the number go up and up and up. Today, I managed 10 push-ups, a 34 second plank, and I completely lost count of my squats because my sister was talking to me. Damn her.
Better diet? Maybe not so much. I had my cup of hot chocolate to start the day, skipped lunch, then ate a bowl of super cheesy macaroni for dinner. So that’s obviously something to work on.
Now it’s another quiet night, everything slowly coming to an end. My eyes are tired and I’m not sure how to spend my last few minutes before tucking in.
Either way. So far, so good.
I managed to make it all the way to the start of July with this journal before falling off the proverbial bandwagon of new year fresh start shenanigans—which is actually a record in and of itself! Perhaps I’ll make it even longer next time.
There’s only a day left between right this moment and a brand new year, and I am absolutely not ready for it.
I should be preparing. I should be getting everything tidy and organized, I should be getting my routines in place. There’s writing to be caught up on and so much cleaning to do, and I’m still just so damn tired all the time. I’m still so completely listless about just… everything. That’s going to be the hardest part of bettering myself: pushing myself to continue even when I’ve lost total interest in pretty much all of life.
But I’m writing this out in the attempt to kickstart myself because there’s never enough time and what’s left is just dwindling away.
I have new routines to start— I need to start taking care of myself better. I want to start a more regular sleep cycle, going to bed and waking up at roughly the same time. Work on cleaning my face, work on eating a little healthier.
I need to find a job. It’s been about four months since I quit the inn and the longer I stay at home without work, the more anxious I feel about the idea of leaving the house to find it.
I want to keep things clean. Stay on top of things.
I want to write more. I want to game more. I want to read again. I finally got my camera and so I want to try to work on photography. I picked up crochet and I want to work on that too. I really want to fill my life with hobbies.
I want to save money.
I want to see my best friend in the universe graduate.
Fuck, I’d love to just be happy for once and for it to not be so difficult.
Here goes to another year though. Here goes to 2015. So much left to do in order to feel remotely ready and time is just not on my side.
It started out fine. Splendid. Good humor— hilarious movie, awesome food, the freedom to shop— and then the mall. Where aggressive salespeople live, and we were so focused on avoiding the Dead Sea stall that we weren’t prepared for the Straight Styling kiosk.
I got caught.
And he treated me excellently. He was extraordinarily nice. And the deals he offered? Amazing. 50% off, plus he offered to pay $80 of it out of his very own wallet. Who the fuck even does that? I’d have likely gone for it if my mother hadn’t abandoned me to such torment, my debit card in her possession. It was all amazing. I was impressed. Also incredibly uncomfortable because I don’t know this man, he doesn’t know me, and I couldn’t grasp why he was being so kind. Why?
He owns that kiosk, he can do whatever he wants. He makes $86,000 a year, he doesn’t care about $80. He tells me this, tries to reassure me, insists that he wants to help me— but I just can’t. Because of all the people that walk by him on a daily basis, I can’t accept that I am somehow the one that he picks out from the crowd. I can’t. I don’t feel good enough. There’s nothing special about me, nothing that defining. And isn’t that sad, such self-perception?
And when I finally manage to say enough to make it clear that I won’t be buying anything, that I cannot bring myself to accept his offer, it’s like a switch— gone is the sweet tone, the pet-names, the kindness, and it’s simply: “Alright, have a nice day.”
It’s like a switch, my good day is done. I am wracked with guilt and insecurity.
I’ll be torn on the drive out of the parking lot, should I go back? Is it too late? Is he mad at me, did I hurt his feelings? This total stranger, pushy salesperson, and I am beyond concerned that he now thinks ill of me.
I’ll say—“That fucker ruined my day.”
And perhaps it’s supposed to be a joke when I say it, something to make my mother and sister laugh in the face of my ill mood, an attempt to move on… but it’s accurate. This simple exchange spirals me into solemn-faced depression because I am a chronic over-thinker and my inability to compartmentalize is blasted into full-effect. I am now thinking.
I try to justify why I don’t need the flat-iron or the hair products. I rarely style my hair anyways. Why? Because I don’t go anywhere. Why? Because I have nowhere to go. Why? Because I have no friends.
This branches off into the realization that I don’t need anything that I bought.
Why buy new clothes? I don’t go anywhere. I wear pajamas and my work uniform.
Why buy new books? They’ll sit on my shelf, unread, for weeks. Right in the massive pile of other unread books that I’ve yet to get to.
Why buy a random fucking chest? Where am I going to put it, what am I really going to put in it?
Why buy jewelry? I don’t go anywhere.
Why have I wasted my money?
It’s a terrible experience, that sudden blast of loneliness. Hopelessness.
By the time we get to the last stop, good ol’ Walmart, these thoughts have settled. I’m asked: “Do you need anything? Do you want to look at anything else?” No. I just need to stop being me.
And inevitably, this all boils further down into a litany of self-loathing. A long list of all the things I hate about myself, a long list of all the things that I will never be able to fix. And furthermore, apathy; an inability to care enough to continue pursuing a fix anyways.
All because of a simple exchange with a salesperson in the mall.
How are you going to spend my entire life just picking picking picking at everything that I have to be embarrassed about, then get mad when I’m embarrassed for someone to see it?
Very often, I believe there to be a quality of writing that I’m straining to achieve, but I just can’t quite get there. I fail miserably, and I continue to read the work of others, read words and sentences and phrases that rock me right down to my marrow and I continue to think—I want that. I want to do that. I want to piece together words and sentences and phrases of my own that will just shake someone, make their throat close up with emotion and place a weight on their chest with just how fucking intense my work is. I want that quality of writing, and I’m straining, and I don’t feel that I’m getting there. I feel myself falling short all the time, every time that I read something that I perceive to be remarkably better than anything I could produce.
—and then I realize that it is not a quality that I want to achieve. I have that. I am damn good. I just need a comfort in it. A comfort in my words, a comfort in my skin.