I never seem able to write about anything these days. I'm just so tired, but then I keep myself really busy because who wants to sleep when there's all this life to be living?? I mean really, I'm not a huge fan of sleep, it's a necessary evil. I do it simply because I have to but really I would do much better in life if I could find a way to get through the days without sleep.
I read once about a trial that was trying to prove that you could train the body to have twenty minutes of sleep every four hours, instead of taking a full eight hours (yeah right) straight. I keep thinking, hell I could do that! Every four hours just nod off and have a wee nap. Brilliant! Evidently it's what these sailors who take around-the-world solo voyages do, because if they sleep for any longer they could get pulled off course or killed. (Ellen MacArthur is an amazing woman, a modern day heroine. An inspiration. Plus she's a fucking amazing driver.)
I'm doing well at the gym, but it's now got a downside: I'm now getting fit enough that I'm burning fewer calories per workout. So unfair! I would burn around 1000-1300 calories per two hour workout and that was just awesome, I mean such a huge ego trip. But now my fitness has improved, since I began running, that the same workouts are only burning around 850-1000 calories. How can that be fair? On a regular run, which is now two and a half miles, my heart rate will average around 150-164 BPM depending on the hill I'm going up or down, where it used to be 165-175. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm fucking amazed at how quickly my body has improved in stamina and, uhm...I dunno what you call it. It's all just becoming much easier now. But, not burning the calories I was before, really is a kick in the gut. But, it's 100% true that working the pectorals and lats will give the breasts a surgury free lift. It's great!
I'm still having my struggles with anxiety, but I'm getting some good advice from my counselor. I only see her every few weeks, and in fact I'm not seeing her for another two months. My new challenge is to try and stop my irrational daydreams. One of the things that causes me a huge strain, and is very annoying is I get trapped in rather morbid scenarios. I've done this since I was a very little kid. I think about someone I love (as a kid it was my mom) has died, and I play out what my life would be like dealing with the grief and change. I will play out these thoughts until I'm reduced to tears. Now-a-days it's what would happen if the kids died, Husband died, or if I died and they were left without me. It's awful, but I've told myself that it's better to be mentally prepared for these worst case scenarios than be taken by surprise. however, they pop into my head without warning, and until it was suggested, i didn't stop them.
Now, I'm supposed to stop them before they get too far, because while I'm having these thoughts, my body is pumping out stress hormones and making anxiety. I'm supposed to challenge the thoughts, be my own devil's advocate, pretend to be a defense lawyer and attack, rip apart and destroy the fantasy in favor of the truth. so far it's been working, it's hard, but it's working. If anything, I'm forced to realise that I was having sometimes two-three of these scenarios per day. How fucking crazy is that? ugh, just so icky. But, evidently, one of the top symptoms and behaviours of highly anxious people. So does that make me normal, or just normal for a freaky person?
It seems that my ability to be silly, weird and playful has been the number one thing to keep me from having a depressive episode all these years. Who'd have thought, being crazy keeps me sane.
Getting ready for nanowrimo. Mother is coming to stay for two weeks. Sassy was puking her guts out yesterday, but is eating again and Shorty is keeping me awake most nights, but we're working on it. OH, I just started a night job too. Nothing big, just stocking shelves at the local grocery store for graveyard shift. I like getting away from the family, doing lifting work, making new friends and not having to bring my work home with me. I'll make a little bit of extra Christmas money and get the credit card payed off by Easter. I'm counting it as a five hour extra workout, three days a week.
Oh fuck, where's the coffee, I really need some coffee. I've typed this with two kids screaming (Sassy is still of school vacation and Husband has taken a week off work), crying and carrying on and yet they've still not dressed and brushed their teeth because fighting is taking up so much of their time. Husband is bellowing commands up the stairs as opposed to getting out of his chair to sort the problem but all the while telling me "Just sit and finish what your doing.". There's the occasional hysterical two year old wiping snot down my thigh and the guilt that I'm typing while all this fucking mayhem is raging around me. and I'm feeling guilty about all of it? Is it any wonder I have anxiety? You'll just have to sort out the spell checks yourselves, I need to dislodge the rocks that have grown into the back of my neck.