I don't agree with T.S. Eliot that April is the cruelest month. November is the cruelest by far. It's dark, it's rainy, everything is dying in this beautiful kind of way, and every day you feel more and more bound to the indoors. You want to cuddle up and hibernate. I always feel this dark emotional ache in November.
Anyway. I am just MRSINAFUNK. It is so unattractive. I miss my summer self--tanned, beach-bound and insouciant. Okay, whatever, I am rarely insouciant. Let me dream, here.
I'm done with thinking about this blood chemistry shit. I feel fine. I don't feel tired. Sure, I need to rest for the next month, but that doesn't mean that I have to sit on my ass. I'm going to continue to swim and do Masters. I will continue to do a few easy runs and rides. And after I blink a few times it will be Thanksgiving, and then it will be after Thanksgiving. And then I will have my blood drawn again and discover that I AM FINE.
That's the deal, and I will hear none other.
My esteem appears to be in the shitter right now, which I don't quite understand. Is my ego really so fragile that it can only take one little hit before it retreats-- tail between its legs--like how could you EVER have thought you were so tough and cool?
I feel like transforming myself like Salander did at the end of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. I want money, and tons of it, a blond wig, new tits and to go south to the sun, where I can read all day and get myself a teenage lover who totally worships me. Larsson really knew how to create the perfect fantasy, huh? Either that or I want to wake up Blomkvist, fully realized and strong and good, with women swooning over me even though I am clearly just your everyday strong, cool, smart guy. Or maybe best of all would be to be Erika. She can have her husband AND her lover and everyone is just peachy about the whole thing. Maybe I just need to stay me and move to Sweden?
Sorry, I realize that whole paragraph was lost on those who have not read that trilogy.
In short, I want to feel vivacious, dramatic, wanted, and ALIVE! What a drag to be on the computer, staring out at the rain, knowing that if I whale on my body at all it may crumble in its infection-vulnerable weakling state.
What a drag it is getting old....
The pursuit of happiness just seems a bore....
My little yellow pills come in the form of sweat and exertion...
I need some help getting through my busy dying day!
At least I feel better today than yesterday's Landslide. When I start quoting Stevie Nicks you know things are really bad in Mary-ville.