Progress, or not.
Jun. 26th, 2002 05:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladyspriteSo. The bronchitis is getting better. I have a voice again today, and I'm not coughing near as much. I didn't get winded carrying loads of worthless junk from my apartment to my car.
Painting is actually moving forward. We have one room done - you can still see incredibly faint red lines from the previous paint job through the sky-blue we've repainted with (or at least, I can. I don't know if anyone who's not aware of their existence would notice them), but after five coats we've given up. All the old wallpaper is down, and the hallway is all spackled and almost all primed and ready to paint.
All I need to do now is put my head back together, and I'll be fine. I've been working like a dog today, painting and fetching and carrying and retouching and painting more, trying to keep busy enough to keep my head quiet. There's paint in my hair and on my hands and toes and legs, under my nails, bits of old wallpaper stuck to my feet, and none of it is armor against my own thoughts. My hands have started to cramp from holding the roller for so long, and I'm just sitting down to catch my breath before switching to a brush to paint around the banister on the stairs. I have to keep busy, I have to work, I have to keep my mind off.... me. Because if I stop and think, it'll escalate from vague mopiness to the same thoughts that were pestering me yesterday.
I don't even know why I'm writing this anyway. I'd say I'm writing it for myself, but I know what I'm thinking and how i feel. When I was growing up, I'd write journals like this just to get the feelings out of me and onto paper, but that doesn't seem to be working. And it's not like anyone else is reading it, I'm sure. It's called a friends list, but that's most likely because 'vague acquaintances and people who have since learned better who have much more interesting things to do than listen to some freaky pain-in-the-ass pseudogoth mope about her raging inferiorities' won't fit on the page.
Blah, blah, blah. Mope, mope, mope. It's hot, I'm covered in paint, my hand hurts, I'm fat and worthless, and we're out of sorbet.
Back to work. At least I'll be at the office tomorrow, and it's air-conditioned there. At least the painting is getting done. And my sweetie is helping and marvelous, and there's no goddamned reason for me to be moping at all. Damnit.
Painting is actually moving forward. We have one room done - you can still see incredibly faint red lines from the previous paint job through the sky-blue we've repainted with (or at least, I can. I don't know if anyone who's not aware of their existence would notice them), but after five coats we've given up. All the old wallpaper is down, and the hallway is all spackled and almost all primed and ready to paint.
All I need to do now is put my head back together, and I'll be fine. I've been working like a dog today, painting and fetching and carrying and retouching and painting more, trying to keep busy enough to keep my head quiet. There's paint in my hair and on my hands and toes and legs, under my nails, bits of old wallpaper stuck to my feet, and none of it is armor against my own thoughts. My hands have started to cramp from holding the roller for so long, and I'm just sitting down to catch my breath before switching to a brush to paint around the banister on the stairs. I have to keep busy, I have to work, I have to keep my mind off.... me. Because if I stop and think, it'll escalate from vague mopiness to the same thoughts that were pestering me yesterday.
I don't even know why I'm writing this anyway. I'd say I'm writing it for myself, but I know what I'm thinking and how i feel. When I was growing up, I'd write journals like this just to get the feelings out of me and onto paper, but that doesn't seem to be working. And it's not like anyone else is reading it, I'm sure. It's called a friends list, but that's most likely because 'vague acquaintances and people who have since learned better who have much more interesting things to do than listen to some freaky pain-in-the-ass pseudogoth mope about her raging inferiorities' won't fit on the page.
Blah, blah, blah. Mope, mope, mope. It's hot, I'm covered in paint, my hand hurts, I'm fat and worthless, and we're out of sorbet.
Back to work. At least I'll be at the office tomorrow, and it's air-conditioned there. At least the painting is getting done. And my sweetie is helping and marvelous, and there's no goddamned reason for me to be moping at all. Damnit.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2002-06-26 03:18 pm (UTC)Wanna bet?
no subject
Date: 2002-06-27 03:46 am (UTC)And when I stop to think, I know that. I shouldn't have written what I did, I just... sometimes when I hurt I talk without thinking first. Thank you for being there, both for me and when necessary in spite of me....
no subject
Date: 2002-06-27 05:53 am (UTC)As for what you write, it's your journal. Write whatever you want in it. So far, it's one of the most enjoyable and informative journals of those I read. You're a wonderful writer, and I've really enjoyed seeing the depth you're capable of here.
no subject
Date: 2002-06-26 03:35 pm (UTC)Love,
-R
no subject
Date: 2002-06-26 03:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-06-26 04:52 pm (UTC)I may be wrong, but I have the feeling that a quick trip to the grocery store to pick up some more sorbet would help.
For the paint in your hair/under your nails, etc., I can recommend (from frequent experience painting sets - I'm a *messy* painter) slathering your hair with your favorite conditioner, wrapping a towel around it and having a nice long soak in a bathtub (hot or tepid, as the weather dictates), preferably with some good music playing in the background and maybe a big ol' bowl of that sorbet close at hand. Once you're well and truly soaked, loofa the paint off your skin, drain the tub and take a shower to wash the conditioner (and paint) out of your hair.
Then go smooch your sweetie. What the hell, if he hasn't caught the bug yet, he probably won't now.
no subject
Date: 2002-06-27 03:49 am (UTC)Luckily, the paint came off fairly easily. And we couldn't find any good sorbet, but Ben & Jerry's ice cream makes a reasonable substitute. And you're right, it's amazing what that can do to improve one's outlook.
Now all I need to do is survive the next week, and things should be fine....
no subject
Date: 2002-06-26 05:25 pm (UTC)I know it's hard to shake the mopes, particularly when you're in a situation where what you're aware of is your own state of being. Take it from me hon, you're not overweight. And even if you were, you'd still be lovely to look at, and nicer still to talk with.
I know that won't chase away your blues, and I can't help that. Only you can give yourself the confidence you need to stop the cycle of self-loathing.
Meanwhile, invest in yourself. Test out your new shower with your SO, have some sorbet, I recommend Sharron's if they have it out in Boston. I think it might be a New York thing. If so, buy your favorite kind and cool down for a bit. You're working hard enough that you've got yourself all tied up in knots.
Relax for a little bit, and remember why it is that you're doing all this work.
And smile, there are people who love you.
*hugs*
LMG
no subject
Date: 2002-06-26 08:20 pm (UTC)Bronchitis, moving, heat, and lack of AC is ample reason to feel blah!
I hope that one of these days, "fat and worthless" stop being linked for you, and that each separately ceases to be an automatic reaction to feeling down.
no subject
Date: 2002-06-26 10:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-06-27 06:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-06-27 10:09 pm (UTC)*big hug*
a.Q
silliness...
Date: 2002-06-28 02:31 pm (UTC)oh, and yes, I have responded to one other of your entries. The traditions, or lack thereof entry.
Be well, okay...