My tweets

• Mon, 20:17: #happybirthdaymisha

BRAIN VOMITTTT

Yeah, so yesterday I did some puttering around the house and all was fine until around 4:30 when I decided to walk to the gym, and my knee started to feel... funny. Didn't really hurt, exactly, but felt like... you know how sometimes you get, like, air bubbles of whatever in your joints, like you just need to pop them? That happens to my knee with fair frequency, and usually the only fix is to walk it off, basically. So I walk to the gym, and while at the gym, I continue with my 5k routine. I'm on Week Seven of Eight -- run 1.5 miles, walk two minutes, repeat once. I run a 10.42 minute mile, but I decided to run 17 minutes for my 1.5 miles, just because it was an easier to pick a whole number than try to remember that I was running an extra 5.21 minutes, and besides which, the next step up is "Run 2 miles, walk 2 minutes," so I figured the closer I could managed to two miles this week (even if it's only marginally), the better.

On the first run through, my knee felt basically the same as it had, and then, right before I switched to the walking portion, it started to feel better, so I figured, problem solved. On the second leg of running, about seven minutes or so before cooldown, it started feeling weird again. I finished out my run and hit cooldown, and that's when it really started hurting. I finished out my regular weight routine, minus legs weights, and walked home -- my knees actually hurting at this point, but there was no one to call to get me, so tough shit, really. It's been bothering me ever since, and stairs are a real burden today. My mum was kind enough to lend me the brace, which does help a bit, but what really pisses me off was after a week of doing fuck all NOTHING physical, I finally manage to gather my willpower to get back on track, and I manage to incur an injury doing fuck all NOTHING, seriously. I'll lay off because I basically have to, because if I push too hard now, I'm just going to further incapacitate myself and possibly even do some real longterm damage, and while I'm not exactly renowned for my great life choices, I'm not a complete fucking idiot, either. The race isn't until September so it's not like I don't have plenty of recovery time AND training time still left, but this feels like a huge pain in the ass.

It's not even that I've been suffering huge set backs in terms of objective "evidence;" my weight has been holding fairly steady at around 141, which is the lowest I've been since, um, 7th grade? (The summer after 8th grade, when I had my physical before entering high school, my records say I was 148 lbs.). I have better stamina (shit, running 1.5 miles without stopping? Three years ago, carrying the groceries upstairs was reason enough for a time out while I got my breath back and recovered. When I started going to the gym, two minutes on the elliptical made me dizzy and prompted a ten to fifteen minute recovery period). I look at myself in the mirror in the morning, naked, and in generally, I'm fairly pleased with what I see (minus the saggy skin and the stretch marks, but I have a few specialized lotions that are supposed to help with those particular maladies -- and really, because the weight loss was so gradual, the saggy skin thing isn't AWFUL, but it's not great, either. And I'm almost resigned to the stretch marks; I've had them for basically my entire life, but if the lotion can help, even better). I'm happier with my appearance now than I ever have been. I'm proud of the headway I've made, I'm proud of the fact that I've stuck with this as long as I have, because for years (and years and years) I would embark on this journey and then throw up my hands and scream "FUCK THIS" every time an obstacle cropped up in my path. So why am I still so obsessed with this?

Because I am afraid that at any minute, that person -- the lie down and give up person -- is going to resurface, and I have to push extra hard to keep her at bay. I have to remain constantly conscious of where I am and what I am doing, because I am afraid that I am going to scream "FUCK IT" at any second and go back to the way things were. It's an equal battle, because I want to actually have a healthier attitude towards eating in general, and that means NOT being such a fucking "health" Nazi that I DON'T sometimes let myself skip a day of exercise (or two) or that I DON'T sometimes let myself eat a (reasonable) portion of ice cream, because for fuck's sake, indulgence in moderation is fine, it keeps us sane -- except when it drives us crazy. But I try to ride out the anxiety and the gult and hope that I can condition myself to accept that fact that this is okay, it's okay to not always be on guard, and that I am not going to become this unhealthy, sedentary person again just because I allow myself the luxuries that everyone else is allowed to have.

I think I'm less worried about actually gaining weight than I am worried that I'm going to fall back into bad habits, because my entire life has been a series of attempting things and (eventually) giving up, because they were to difficult, because I was not rewarded with immediate gratification, because "what the fuck is the point, anyway," because giving up was easier than trying and failing, etc. I want to know I can do something and stick with it, and despite proving to basically everyone else who isn't me that I obviously can do this -- and despite knowing, intellectually, that I have achieved this goal -- I instead instinctively wait for the other shoe to drop, because that has been my life, my entire life.


I'm reading a book about phobias -- Wish I Could be There: Notes from a Phobic Life -- and I just started it, only about 45 pages in. the author spends a lot of time talking about phobias being, often times, exaggerated versions of legitimate fears -- people who are hydrophobic, for instance, might be afraid of drowning, which is technically a possibility, but some hydrophobes won't even go near water, even water in which the possibility of drowning is practically non-existent (and frankly, it's a fair long-shot in general -- I can't swim, and can still go in a pool (if I lose balance, or feel "out of control" (weirdly enough, this includes being on a "floatie" or a raft!) I freak. the fuck. OUT) and have yet to drown... um, obviously). So, the "seed" of the fear might be legitimate, but the response to the fear is completely out of control.

But, like, what about fears that seem to come kind of out of nowhere? Like, that don't even HAVE a logical fear embedded somewhere in the exaggerated response? Because I can tell you two fears I have, one of which I will have a full on, phobic attack if confronted with, one of which I won't, but I will still freak out, and the thought of which makes me queasy and hugely uncomfortable.

The first one -- moths and butterflies. I'm PETRIFIED of moths and butterflies. I have a full on flailing, screaming, running for cover attack, heart palpitations galore if one gets near me. I loathe insects of all kinds, and have similar reactions to spiders (but, you know, so do a million other people), but not to flies, which is weird. I think something about the erratic ways butterflies and moths fly contribute to the freaking-me-the-fuck-out factor. I'm never quite sure which way they're going because they fly like they're stoned out of their fucking minds. I can't stand it. (My one consolation is apparently Karen Gillan is afraid f them too. That makes me feel a little better?)

The other not-quite-a-phobia-but-freaks-me-out people -- including, to a lesser extent, myself -- touching my belly button. Horrifies me. My husband had to touch inside my belly button for ~reasons~ a few months ago, and I was shaking and nearly in tears. It's awful.

There are other things that freak me out on a full-out phobic level, though the only one that comes to mind right now is heights -- and other things that just bother me on a level a notch or two down from phobia, like throwing up, getting injections, and eyeballs (watching people touch them, like putting in contacts, etc. makes me literally weak kneed and sick to my stomach).

Like, what ~legitimate fear~ exists as the root of any of that stuff??


Random other things that don't really warrant separate entries, so I'll just stick them here:

• The Boston Babydolls' Wrathskellar has a one-day sale today for opening weekend tickets. If you've never seen the Babydolls and you're in the Boston area, here is my official endorsement (yeah, that's right. I approve. And my opinion carries a fuck-ton of merit). They've been performing Wrathskellar for a few years now and I've yet to go, so I'm glad they're offering the discount tix. Andy and I will be there on October 6th. (my burlesque instructor is a principal performer as well, so I'm quite excited to go, she's ridiculously cute).


• Despite my injury, I registered for the Running Dead 5k this evening, before it filled up. Zombie reg. was already filled, which is what finally got my ass in gear. September 29th, 6:30 pm @ Gallows Hill Park in Salem, MA.


• I'm going to check when "last call" for registration is, just so I don't use up any single month's discretionary budget on future endeavors (I'd like to have some cash on hand each month for spur-of-the-moment things), but so long as I can submit my registration in a reasonable amount of time, I'll be taking a four week vocal workshop at NECCO in November/December.


• On Season Five of Supernatural, and someone posted a great thing to Tumblr the other day: "One does not like Supernatural. One simply hates themselves enough to allow their happiness to be permanently destroyed by Supernatural." OH GOD, IT'S ALL TRUE. (Also, I fell for the boys hard and fast, but HOLY FUCK, Misha Collins is a sexy beast).


• Going to Dave & Buster's tomorrow with Andy, Piper and Josiah. Betting money that Josiah is going to stake out the Star Trek machine, cash in his tickets ever round, buy a fuck-ton of candy, and go on a massive sugar high. If there's something there he really, really wants, he may forego the sugar high for a bigger prize, but the rest of my prediction still stands. I will personally be staking out the Mega Stacker, bitches.


• Avengers special features have been uploaded to Tumblr. Holy shit, is Steve's deleted scene depressing as hell. Oh, God. Also, Cobie Smulders during the gag reel ("COUUUULSOOOOOOOON! NOOOOOOO!") cracked me the fuck up.


• I've been crocheting a cool forest green vine scarf which has been turning out super well, but which has been put on hiatus for a few days because I've been wearing fake nails (cause I'm a classy gal) and don't have the dexterity to crochet with them on.


• Ordered 12 buttons -- slogan buttons, you know the kind -- with the money I earned on Zazzle from my fandom merch., and they are a pleasing mix of political, personal, and fannish -- and also completely cover my purse. I think I'm going to buy a messenger bag purse so the buttons can live comfortable on the shoulder strap and I can have one SANE bag to carry around to less "understanding" places.


• I've started calling River "Honey Badger," because she doesn't give a fuck. Every time she gallops across the house, I yell, "HONEY BADGER DON'T CARE."


• HOLY CRAP, that kid's movie, Paranorman, has an OPENLY GAY character, who is, apparently NOT a stereotype. That's....freaking AWESOME.

That's all for tonight, folks. Ja ne.