5:00pm Thursday December 18 — 9:00am Monday January 5
17 days, ~423 total hours
Anticipating torture.
==Major Rewrite==
- I included my plan. Deleted. Less than 1.5% human interaction.
- I gave you a 20+ activity brainstorm. Deleted. In the end I thought it was lame, overly ambitious, and triggered the memory about “I don’t care what you do.”
- I baited you by telling you how little self care was likely to happen (showers/clothes). Deleted. But still, I’m not in the mood to embrace “fake it till you make it” or a forced “routine will feel better.” Instead I want to be empowered by having the freedom to not participate in activities with negative ROI. But can’t tell until after event is over
- I feel resentful that you infrequently ask me questions or even make comments about the stuff I send you. Snarly: don’t you have a printer & a highlighter, stack of post-it notes and a pen, copy/paste to a notes file to save aspects for discussion? I keep trying not to care, but apparently I do. Do better!
- I made it to ch1 pg 29. What is YOUR position on medication? My whole diagnosed life I have had to fight with family/friends about taking meds. I will be crushed if you have a negative view on “what role do medications play?” But I don’t want 45min dissertation.
- I still have time for a gift to grandson, but I’m angry at his mom.
Apparently I’m angry about lots of things.
Silly, I should be encouraging receipt of coping skills; next session on 01-09-2026 will be frickin’ long gap to survive.
Plan
1 hr Diabetes Educator, Anne H.Fun, I like Anne
2 hr Dentist
Payment due
4 hr Stranger Things Netflix Part 2
9 x >1 hr weight training / core work
Suppose to be every other day for rest
17 x 1 hr ACT (generous estimate)
stupid
medication
17 x >1 hr meals pets & self
No food / skipped Factor75
18 x ~6 hr sleep
Little sleep due to Max
3.5hr Sign up as volunteer, Saturday, December 20 (Santa’s helper)
Sign up for shift
Called to find out about bike donation
DONE — Attend community holiday dinner
~264 hr of … what?
=Activity Brainstorm=
Sleep
Breathe
Streaming
Audio Book
Watch/listen to clock
Purchase movie Apple TV
Clean Badger cage / playpen & Max litter-box
Sort previously downloaded photographs
Personal websites – site building
Update CafePress designs & store
Walk 1 block to Echo Tap for Bacon cheeseburger
Walk 5 blocks to bike shops on W Wash
Walk 4 blocks to CVS for nothing in particular
Walk 6 blocks to Panera Bread for tomato soup
Day pass to West Princeton Club resistance pool
Day pass to New Berlin, Princeton Club. Indoor Waterpark (Need Escape)
Ice skating in Middleton (expensive Uber)
Make returns at Amazon dropoff, USPS, Whole Foods (& get Sonoma Chicken Salad)
Continue declutter efforts
Arrange clothing & household donation pickup
Research alternative meal plans
Research scanners
I had a GT Backwoods mountain bike, Atkins Verona Bicycle Shoppe. White with just the right amount of red and black. Thick knobby tires. Installed, behind the seat: rack, black box, and panniers.
Work day. Drive from Mount Horeb. Parking lot at Olin Park. Ride along the lake. Arrive at GEF II.
Many times, riding my awesome bike on the way home… bikers, joggers, boats on the lake, cars traveling past, sunshine, my favorite puffy clouds. Why can’t I be happy? Everyone all seem content. Admittedly, I don’t know what goes on in their heads. I focus on my strength of my thighs, the grip of the handle bars, the breeze, the beauty of the water. Nothing. I feel nothing. Emptiness. Each cycle of the peddles takes me to truck, to belt line, to drive, to home. Then what? The workout report will include this ride. What is next?
Kevin said I needed something more outside of the gym. He suggested, “Do the Devil’s Challenge Triathlon, September 2008.” I signed up. I trained. I did a lake practice swim. I showed up. I had the map and all the advice.
Everyone had someone, waiting, watching. Buzz of race atmosphere.
I desperately wanted to ask Kevin if he’d be there. But no. He wasn’t mine. Just a trainer and client.
I finished. But I felt empty. My accomplishment didn’t stick. Drove home alone.
I loved my bike. A machine was my partner. I have the obligatory photo as I run into the finish. Nice photo. I actually look pretty good. No one to show it too. Why can’t I be happy just for me?
You asked recently, “how often do you think of him.” Today I was triggered.
Simply pouring a cup of milk reminds me of a day of putting away groceries. As he was placing a gallon jug of milk into the refrigerator door shelf. I asked him to adjust the orientation. He wanted to know why, and I said, “My wrist hurts a lot less if the jug is in that position.” He proceeded to explain how he thought a different position would be more advantageous, and I stood there with my mouth open, finally saying, “No, I have established that this position is the best one for me.” He proceeded to want to question my evaluation or decision. Finally, I just had to sternly say, “Do it this way.” To a phantom roommate today, I’m saying in my head, “My apartment, my refrigerator, my groceries, my decision. I shouldn’t have to show you my research that proved that this position in the door shelf is the best one for decreasing the pain in my wrist when lifting a full gallon of milk.”
How do I stop the trigger that results in explaining to a phantom how I want things to be?
I’m looking at my phone multiple times a day anticipating a message requesting to grab stuff from the storage locker.
I missed a text the other day saying he wanted to pick up one specific item. I reply, “When would you like to stop by? I just got your message now.” However, he did not reply. More than a day has passed.
Waiting. Just waiting.
And no more bike fantasies. Questioning my ability to adjust seat height.
Do you know the difference between a huff and a sigh? I’ve calculated the subtleties of both.
One hour. Most recent time passage. Listen to the tick. Analyze the sunshine, through the open blinds. So cold. Hungry. Bored.
Everything is too far away
1’ Study the book, learn something.
2’ iPhone, computer, TV remote, entertainment.
15’ Ball, no whisper today.
20’ Thermostat.
25’ Fleece pullover. So cold.
35’ Food. But nothing fun to eat.
Shaking with cold
Can’t move.
I’m told this isn’t mindfulness. Stuck.
Do you know what it sounds like to have a guinea pig rummaging in a hay pile looking for just the right morsel to eat? So there’s a rustling and once you know what the rustling is, you know it’s the guinea pig eating. Just eating. Just doing guinea pig normal stuff. I want to be a guinea pig just eating my hay.
Maybe ten times this past hour, noises outside the apartment are making me flinch, jump. What’s up with that?
“The Waystone was his, just as the third silence was his. This was appropriate, as it was the greatest silence of the three, wrapping the others inside itself. It was deep and wide as autumn’s ending. It was heavy as a great river-smooth stone. It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die.” — Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind
Took my own garbage down to bin. Yeah, I’m cured! Maybe waste will not get 20 bags deep in apartment. [actual truthful disfunction]
Take a glance at storage locker; exactly what I imagined. Open boxes just jumbled haphazardly. Look at my bike. Had a sudden desire to ride around garage; not a lot of space; place for a small circle. Where the HELL did that thought come from? But I hate my bike: dormant for maybe five years. (I loved my GT Backwoods). Bike lock key in pocket.
AGH! PWS maxed out the seat height months ago. I don’t know how to fix it back. No bike friends. No car for bike repair shop trip. Helpful Claude says, “Ask CTK!” Snap back, “Dude! CTK doesn’t make house calls!” Claude apologized, and he told me to watch a YouTube and grab a wrench. Double snap.
An impulsive desire to ride circles in a garage becomes a chain of complications and discouragement. Seat, tires, griminess. May not know how to use a bike tool, but I do have a really cool one.
Toolbox scrounged. My bike tool set is missing! The one in the cavas case. Let’s guess where it went. Do I search through boxes in storage? Or, just order a replacement one. “Merry Christmas, YOU get a FUCKIN used bike tool set.”
Thursday, $49, I’ll have what I need. Still doesn’t solve the “how to use it” question; can one person set height by themselves? Is it possible there will be marks for where it use to be? At least I’ll have the actual tool.
But really I won’t have what I need. Big emptiness blocking way.
Family drama reprieve.
Spent time decluttering.
Two point balance on core ball is so close. I fell hard recently. Smacked my good knee. Another time nearly cracked my head. Tuck and roll. I am stubborn and a risk taker. I can’t stop. Compulsion towards success. Chasing possible.
Weight training. Nearly past the effectiveness of the 5# hand weights on most exercises. Fake shoulder needs more time. Impulse Amazon order of new pair of 10# & 15# hand weights. These, as well, will be insufficient soon. Silly purchase. Apartment as home gym, impractical. Lack of full time trainer, unfeasible. I miss Kevin.
Grief soaks in.
I don’t know why I’m doing this. I don’t know why.
There is a tightly woven noose, I need you to help me untangle the knot.
I sat with Max; soft petting until enough. He’s off; gone. Then he did a famous sneak attack. FUCK, that HURT! Two deep punctures and a tooth racking. The holes are beading up blood, pools, runs. Fascination; enjoying sitting with the pain. Something better than numb confusion. Maybe he knew I needed the distraction.
Decade of my kid farm experience meant you don’t wash, don’t add ointment, don’t add gauze. I’ve lived that way my whole life. Bite has coagulated. See? No need to get up from chair. Left arm is marked up Max bites and scratches. Sneak attacks are part of life.
Apartment main area strewn with workout gear. Why? What’s the purpose?
Unattainable goals. Loneliness. Not about living longer.
I don’t want to do this anymore.
I slept most of the day A phone call from JC broke the stillness; but again more support for PWS than me. No Friday meetup with her; maybe Saturday afternoon. Read a couple of pages of ACT, but stopped when I just got mildly angry. Watched more Netflix, but kept falling asleep. Woke up and felt sad that JC never dropped by. Felt frustrated that I didn’t get to send a Friday daily, because technically I already sent one. Then I realized it was still Friday. I’d slept so much I didn’t know what day it was and decided I could sent another note. Not doing well. Maybe 10 min from now will be better.
Thank you for offer to proof read
Email sent.
Family Question / Conversations that Went Poorly
PWS Q: Why couldn’t you wait until I got out of jail to … [deal with my things]?
My A: I gave no answer, because I didn’t know how to explain “reclaim my space.”
PWS Q: Why couldn’t you have asked me to move out [with a deadline] instead of calling Lea?
My A: I said, “I tried to talk to you, but received no response.”
PWS Q: Who helped you with the storage locker?
My A: After several moments of badgering, I said, “BM” and provided no additional explanation.
PWS Q: Did you get rid of the mini fridge?
My A: “Yes. The white one is still in the locker.”
PWS: I don’t want that one.
PWS: Some of my meds are missing.
[I made no comment. (All med items from bedroom were packed together in 2 boxes).]
PWS Q: Why didn’t you put… [like stuff with like stuff]?
[I made no comment. (I did my best to put similar things together).]
PWS Q: Never, Never call Lea again. Don’t you realize that just causes more problems for me?
[I made no comment.]
PWS Q: Why did you have to get the police involved?
My A: I did not call the police.
PWS: Yes you did… [something something]
[I made no comment.]
PWS Q: Can I leave these things upstairs while I go to the gym?
My A: No.
PET: email about storage lockers with stuff from deceased SAM and other antiques from PET which will go to auction if the late rental fee is not paid off soon.
Me: have not answered; I don’t want to co-sign a loan and I don’t have ~$2000.
PWS came by to pick up a few things.
He made a mess of the orderly storage locker while looking through duffles/boxes. Tape on boxes ripped off.
[Skipping awkward situation of very little productive communication. Skipping the stress and nauseousness felt. Skipping describing full details of the angry, hostile atmosphere. Skipping notes about my son, seeing his stuff packed up and confronted with the reality that I disposed on some items, ignites his fury.]
Once he had sorted out what he was going to take with him on this trip, he asked if he could put the items upstairs in the apartment while he went to the gym, and I said “No.” And he’s like, “Seriously,” and I said, “No.”
I was about to get on the elevator with him, and he said, “No,” holding hand in stop signal.
I don’t know when he’ll be back.
I don’t know where he is staying.