Tag: DST-TK

Awake 22 hours. Most recently, Max constant asleep 6 hours next to me; apparently feline contact can be the equivalent of 5 hugs daily, per author of DOSE. Normally to catalyze tears, must run movies from the crying list. Tonight, a rarity, sitting quiet in emptiness with wandering thoughts pushes them through. Functioning on the bare minimum, log in to work and feed the pets; just let all else skip. Wait. Wait out. Breathe. Wait for passage. Something will happen and move back to the below zero baseline.
 
Chills. Both the thermostat and the Whitney Point blanket are equal distance. Sit with discomfort, instead. Closed eyes just causes a silent music video to auto generate. Bizarre imagery themes, flowing one to another. Lots of holes, falling, trapped, charcoal Swiss cheese like passages. Philippe (Matthew Broderick) is swimming through the sewer for escape. Seventeen creatures assemble in an overcast meadow, none are in the correct placement.
 
Across the mountain, an enormous elk is trapped solid in sheets of ice; the woodsman brings a mallet to snap the bondage away. The elk thunders away with thanks. Somewhere else the calmlings either sing, lecture, or quote poetry. They all hate work and seek sympathy for back pain. The do love unusual vocabulary.
 
The Budweiser commercial is out of focus; can only pretend to know what the clydesdale foal is up to for cuteness, and perhaps mischief. My own 2026 fire horse is stuck in half done; stuck in analysis paralysis.

Max bites twice. More coagulated blood a top of past bruises. What I thought was a cleaver solution I tried, fails to deliver. Maybe my best purpose is cat toy.

I returned to exploring MyChart after visit notes from all sorts of people in my past. The greatest disappointment is Stephen Weiler, favorite PDoc, records will not load.

Taking a break from non-fiction. Enticed by 2 for 1 sale on Audible.

Fantasy. The Seven Virtues. “Aaron pulled the sword free of the sheath at his back and lunged forward, plunging the cold steel through the heart of the other man before he had a chance to draw his own blade.” Compassion may be the first of seven virtues.

Novel. I See You’ve Called in Dead. Obituary writer Bud Stanley isn’t really living his best life. He’s about to be fired for accidentally publishing his own obituary one mildly drunken night. He goes to the wakes and funerals of total strangers to learn how to live. His friends give him some pretty good advice.

Both books started strong based on the previews. Struggling to stick with the new books past the middle chapters.

Left the apartment. A weekend delivery: needed my milk and Mountain Dew. “…trying to build routine” is mostly fail. Insomnia. Not eating. Reestablished my workout record system. Now, just need to actually record. One act of social courage planned this week.

I’m grateful for Haagen-Dazs vanilla milk chocolate almond ice cream bars. I just don’t want one right now. Having a hard time wanting anything.

Dark out. A day of ultimate isolation. Did not open the front door, did not open the patio door, and did not even enter the bedroom. I could step out onto the cement patio in t-shirt and jeans, and barefoot just to feel something. Similar shock as a cold shower?
 
When you’re feeling really really crappy and nothing people say is soothing… apparently there is a magical phrase that would help but it’s a mystery, even to oneself. What’s the name of this situation? And of course, even worse when the someone is imaginary.
 
It was a special kind of day where there is absolutely no todo list, the day proceeds, and as something inspiring causes attention, there’s follow-through, but there’s no plan, no expectations, no ultimate goal except to live through the day. Like for example you never put on a todo list: take out a new roll of toilet paper and put it next to the toilet or take the empty Mountain Dew carton out of the fridge (now it would’ve been really something if carton had been torn apart and put in the garbage).
 
Core ball balance, all-time best. Accomplished a lengthy amount of time with 12 points of contact; it’s fingertips, not palms, this time, slowly stretching upward, activate the back and glute muscles; at one point, one hand was resting lightly on a knee.
 
Downloaded photos from camera and iPhone. Organized such subjects as Thanksgiving and Hop Garden.
 
Months have passed since the curiosity was first launched: I still don’t know the purpose of the 3-D printer.

Not sure what the exact words for naming of this goal… get out in the world, be more social, healthy connection?

One

Dinner out for fish fry—at a noisy bar. An item that was troublesome, I mentioned that in the elevator going to the lab on Park Street, a man around my age said something to me. Elevator talk like. The key thing was I wouldn’t even look him in the eye, because I didn’t want to get hopefully that a random, older guy took the time to be nice and speak to me. My feeling in the moment, without looking at him, just his tone of voice and the atmosphere… it seemed just a bit more than elevator nothingness. I hated myself for even giving any thought to wondering; wrong to not be nicer/polite. Instead I was cold and depressed. Anyway, I was trying to understand my fear of how do I not keep doing the Limerence thing… and cut off my thoughts and told myself it was on elevator talk and to drop it. Later, I wondered how old the two cute men were across the way. I was huffy. So take away. I don’t have a right person to bounce off thoughts about men. Realized that struggles with different issue with men changes per person.

Two

Back story first. During a period of hypomania that included posting/responding to personals on craigslist and having lots of promiscuous sex… I met a guy, J-NT from Milwaukee. We became penpals. 2007-2011. Never met in person, relationship never became obsessive. Instead, I could tell him anything… long core dumps about everything: childhood abuse, sexual history, orgasm difficulty, mom’s violence, 10 years without sex, everything intimate. He would listen, he would write back, ask questions. The correspondence slowed down, we stopped writing. A decade went by. I impulsively reached out via email anew. 2022. Our intense conversation resumed for a couple of months. He said something, that made me angry? I didn’t know how to reply. J-NT learned about the 20 bags of garbage piled up in the apartment and how pain and depression had let things get out of control. He then made the connection that if my physical health was so bad, how would I be able to have sex if the opportunity were found. Claude and I discussed. We identified I was feeling shame about the garbage, I was strongly reminded about my fear of future intimacy ability. Without asking for anything in particular, Claude basically gave words for what I’d say to J-NT, regarding ghosting him. I sent him a fresh email. No expectations. Just to explain the cut off. It doesn’t matter if he is at that address, doesn’t respond. I felt healthier for, maybe, closing the loop? For facing the reason for the ghosting.