Mar. 28th, 2017

quirkytizzy: (Default)
I've decided to come up with two goals a day. One will be of the necessary type: Appointments, self-care, etc. The other is what I will call my Bucket List goal. They will be comprised of things such as cleaning or fun things to do.

I, in general, LOATHE setting goals of any kind. If there is one, singular lesson life has taught me, it is that it changes. A lot. Over and over and over. And for me, usually in traumatic ways that upheave any thoughts I had about how the next 5 or 10 years might go.

My life changes so fast and on such a tight spin that if I were to have goals, they'd have to shift lifetimes in moments.

I'm just not that fast. I can't adjust that quickly. It's like that old joke - Wanna make God laugh? Make plans. God's laughed at me enough. I don't make plans anymore.

Goal setting of the tiniest kind )

Forgive me, world and beyond, but I'm just not caught up on catching up yet.

I read the funniest article on the thoughts that go through a chronically ill person's mind. I thought it would be funny to write out a few daily thoughts that I have, every day, good day or bad.

* Where are my granny panties? (Known for being super comfortable while also being the most unsexy thing a person can don on their derriere.) Goddamnit, why do I own anything BUT granny panties? I need to buy more granny panties!

* Is this the day something is going to go terribly wrong?

* Hurry up, 3-D printing. I need new joints and new kidneys STAT.

* Why me? No, shut the fuck up, Teressa. Why NOT me? There. That's the better thought.

* Can I reeeallly pull off this outfit with my size 11 leopard print boots? (Which are the only shoes that fit when I'm edema's bitch.)

* At least I know of three places I can go into in any manner of dishevelment and not get strange looks. Doctor offices. Psych offices. Walmart.

* Who am I going to annoy for money for gas, cigarettes, and shampoo from this week? (This is a constant, daily, reoccurring thought.) And as the months stretch on, it becomes a SEVERE source of fear and anxiety. I know my loved ones have only so much to give - and only so much I should ask from them. (If I were a good person, at least.)

I have enough sense to ask anyways, as things need to be bought and bills need to be paid. It has, though, shredded what pride I have in asking for help, in ways that I've never been ashamed of before.

And as of the last couple of weeks....

* You are not hopeless. Give yourself credit for the trauma your body has been through, and then it will be easier to give yourself credit for the trauma your mind has gone through. BE. PATIENT.

That last one doesn't always work, but the thought is there, even when I don't believe it.

That's a good thing. That's a very good thing.
quirkytizzy: (Default)
Which is terribly silly, as I can't imagine why McDonald's would make anyone cry. (Sans anti-fast food zealots, of which I am far from. I fucking LOVE fast food.)

This happens ONLY at McDonald's, not in any other fast food joint I might be stopping in at. And this ONLY happens when I'm eating alone at McDonalds. But sure as shit, if I'm there by myself, listening to whatever concoction of soft pop and country they've got playing over the speakers, I find myself fighting tears.

Every. Damn. Time. For some reason, eating alone at McDonalds prompts feelings of loneliness, depression, resignation, and even despair.

But ONLY at McDonalds. Only there. Not at Burger King or Jack in the Box or anywhere else where the food is fast, cheap, and as equally bad for you. I can eat alone anywhere else and feel just fine, or even feel joy at being able to indulge in fast food.

Just not at McDonalds.

I dun get it.


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