Thursday, July 31

Nutrition: Pork jerky, why must you be so expensive? I want to eat you every single delicious day. (Hey, remember the fun: tomorrow = food logs, stay tuned!)

Sleep: 8 hours in bed, 9p-5a, 64% quality. Weirdly rated, the graph is better than that; it felt more like 80%. I made it all the way to 4a before waking up, and I was able to keep dozing. Wish I could have gone even longer, though. Brain is still struggling.

Healthy Movement: Still a little extra achey & tight in lower legs. Session went well but the stress is very obviously having an impact.

Wish I had the ability to go run at LCSP to relieve this stress, but I knew I was far too mentally and physically wiped. I desperately need more recovery. So tonight's plan: book + hammock. Sorry, ROUSers!

Fun & Play: Plans to hook up with old friends on Sunday for lunch and a play! Downside: no time for a nap. (Also, Sunday I gotta do hair & makeup, what the hell?) The day improved from a shit attitude early on. Thanks mainly to Dustin, and awesome TS coworkers.

Temperance: No ability to work NSS until sometime this weekend, when it'll be silent and no fun. 

One thing that's going well is that I'm not beating myself up. I'm just hating on my job, not me, so that's a very nice bonus, for once. 

At least, that was true until evening. 

Stress Management: At home in the hammock, I was so perfectly comfortable, on a beautiful night, not hot, slightest of breezes and happiest of chirping birds; it could not have been a better setting for hammocking...except the husband was mowing. And mowing. When I needed absolute peace and quiet more than anything, more than ANYTHING, EVER, ANYWHERE, the noise of the mowing completely broke me. 

I don't mean I cracked. I mean that it totally 100% fucking shattered me. 

So I went in to shower at 645pm, hoping he'd be done by the time I was out so that I could hammock in quiet. He was and I did, except for the slimy wet ball that Lexi kept dropping on me, then hovering over me, panting in my face, waiting for me to throw it. Each time I did, she brought it back. Even if I yelled at her to go lay the fuck down.

So I got back out and threw her stupid ball in the house, then crawled back in, where she stood over me, panting, wondering where her ball was and when I was gonna throw it. Poor sweet beloved pooch, I hated her completely & thoroughly at that time.

And because I got so angry at her...I of course got angry with myself for being so entirely incapable of handling this stress. 

I mean, doctors lose and save lives, on no sleep at the end of 36-hour shifts, then go home to their needy children, and they don't fall apart screaming at them; but I have an overwhelming month in the Finance world, and the fucking mower and a panting dog slay me?!

Why do I have zero capacity for stress?

Why am I so emotionally tied to everything I do?

Why do I take on the weight of the world?

Why can't I handle this?

Why can't I put the motherfucking glass of water down??

I gave up and packed up the hammock and at 745p, I took a Benadryl and crawled into bed like a weak child needing escape. 

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