bipolar swirl

the end

2008-09-16T18:11:00.001-07:00

My dear readers, all good things must come to an end, and unfortunately, I feel it is time to end my blogs.

I have been debating this decision for a long time, yet I keep coming back to the idea that it is time to shut them down and move on. With how my life has changed, and more importantly how my life is going to continue to change soon, I simply have not had the time to devote to them. I have not been maintaining them in any decent way; I have not been able to follow other people's blogs. I have lost my readerships, and my commenters have fallen silent. I'm unable to keep up readable, worthwhile blogs, and I have lost the feedback that motivated me to do so.

I simply don't have the time. My new position at my job will be monopolizing my time a lot more than my current one does. I will be on the road, and I will be overseas for three months in Iraq or Afghanistan. My maintenance will only continue to deteriorate from this point, so I feel it better to call it a clean end now, rather than let them pathetically peter out to dormancy.

I no longer live alone either. I used to spend my calm, wonderful solitary hours writing and reading blogs. But now, I live with Guy #2, and he soon won't be traveling anymore. I want to put my time into that rather than chaining myself to the computer more than I already do at work. I missed so much time with him traveling, and will continue to do so with me traveling, but I want to try to make some of that up.

Plus I feel I have said everything that I can say. I feel that my blogs do nothing but repeat themselves. How many times can I fuck the same guy? How many times can I ride the same bipolar cycles? Everything I write now echoes something I have written before. It bores me, so I imagine it is just as tedious to my readers as well.

I stopped documenting my sexual misadventures a while ago, which you could probably tell from the dates on the sex posts, and I have felt liberated by not thinking "oh I have to remember this for when I write it..." while I am fucking. I have basically been putting fragments of my journal on bipolar swirl. I am just not a blogger anymore; my mind does not demand it anymore and has even started to revolt against it.

So for all these reasons, most importantly the new job and all the other major changes in my life, I have decided to close down My Sexual Misadventures and bipolar swirl. It's the end of an era for me. I started the blogs as a Writing for the Media project in college in 2004. I have poured my life, my mind, and my soul into these posts and laid myself bare on the internet. I have met fascinating people and caught glimpses of their minds and lives. I have made friends and met other bloggers in person. I had my very first reader die. It has all been an experience I am happy to have participated in.

And I thank you, my dear readers, the commenters and the lurkers, for reading me for so long. I don't think I would have blogged for long at all if it wasn't for your feedback and numbers on the stat counter.

I will still be posting the occasional sex toy reviews on Sexperimentation, and depending on where I am sent, I may try to put up another blog for my time overseas under my real name. Email me if you want that address when/if it all comes to pass.

I have also decided that I will leave fragments of these two blogs up as archives. I can't bring myself to delete them completely. And I feel compelled to leave How to Kill Yourself Slowly up specifically because of all the response and emails it has generated over the years.

Please feel free to email me anytime and for any reason at chris.sexmis@gmail.com. Love and goodbye...

twilight zone

2008-09-14T13:42:00.000-07:00

Friday night was a weird night. After flying home from North Carolina in the morning and drastically changing my hair in the afternoon, I met my coworkers for happy hour.

Once I arrived, an hour late, I was the center of attention, at one end of the table at least. All we talked about was me, me moving, and me going to Iraq.

My department head told me HR was initially reluctant to help me stay with the company because they assumed he was doing me a favor and we were good buddies. Yeah, right.

They told one of the big developers that I was opening the "Tennessee office."

One of the VPs talked to me about Iraq and said they needed to meet Guy #2 so he could go through the "approval process."

My department head and my boss told me how popular I would be in Iraq and that soldiers would be lining up to escort me everywhere.

My boss told me how important I would become going to this other program, how brilliant of a writer I am, how hard it will be to replace me.

Fucking weird.

I go from nearly being fired because they think I suck so much to being significant, important. I'm not used to being the center of attention--especially at work. I accepted long ago that no one gives a fuck about the tech writers; I was not prepared for EVERYONE to give a fuck about me as a trainer.

It's so weird, but fuck, it feels good.

It was creepy to hear my department head and boss and the other men talk about how much the soldiers would like me with that creepy old man tone. The way all the men at work have treated me since I lost weight is creepy, but I'll use it. I'll exploit their attraction to get what I want, even if it is pathetic.

This is all just so weird. I never expected my job to go this way. Hell, at this rate, I might be able to stay with my company all the way to Ft. Lewis in Seattle...

first

2008-09-10T17:40:00.000-07:00

So I am in North Carolina on my first training trip.

So far, it has gone well. Fayetteville is a shithole, but the girl they sent me with is awesome. We clicked immediately, and she has made me so comfortable. I have also started picking up a lot from her already.

When I came out, I had zero intent of doing any training myself. I planned to sit there and drive while she trained. But by the third day, I started doing the second part of the class. Sure, it's the easy, self explanatory part, but I still was standing there in front of a military crowd, training on a program I barely knew.

I think that will make a good impression with my new bosses.

But more than anything, I think I can do this job. I think I could like to do this job. AFTER I get some experience.

I have never felt more like a civilian in my life. The gulf between the worlds is so great. I feel like an idiot talking to them about software when I have no context to provide. I can't use the acronyms; I can't speak to Iraq or Afghanistan. So I need to go over there. I need to see it in real life. Then I will be all over this job.

guilt

2008-09-05T17:10:00.000-07:00

I think part of my amplified anxiety over the move and job change stems from the fact that I feel like a fucking hypocrite. #2 doesn't seem to be bothered by me begging and us making all these drastic changes for him to stop traveling just to have me then start traveling, but I am.

For over two years, I have waited and wanted for him to be home, for us to be together and around each other. I poured so much effort and guilt into getting us to this point where we could settle; then I turn around and do the opposite. I am going to do what I hated him doing for over two years. The hypocrisy makes me feel like shit, makes me sick. The guilt urks me, accelerates my anxiety.

Not to mention I am nervous enough about this new job in itself.

I know this is to keep my good paying job and benefits, plus a shit ton of money for my overseas rotation; I know it will be different and less travel than #2 did; I know he supports me in this; I know it should be my turn on that side of the situation, and I need the experience--yet I still feel hypocritical and guilty and... well scared.

I know #2 and I can survive the situation; we have the entire time we've been what we are now. But I don't know if I can.

I had finally found a sustainable balance with routine and exercise and self-management. All of that goes away with travel. I'm scared to fall apart; I'm terrified to go back to how I was before I was in control. I already feel my mind fraying with all this change. I feel so crazy lately, and it worries me. I hate how it feels--like I'm losing my control, like I can't trust my mind anymore, like I'm ruining things--just crazy.

this move is going to kill me

2008-09-04T19:36:00.000-07:00

This move is going to fucking kill me.

I do not deal with this shit well.

I am at home, dealing with all the changes needed for this move, and I am also dealing with all the changes needed for my job transition.

Everything is changing (DRASTICALLY), and I have no damn time.

I cycled more in the past 5 days than the past 2 months. I cannot see or think straight, and it feels like my mind is falling apart.

#2 and I keep "fighting" (read arguing and irritating each other) about the dumbest shit. We can't seem to communicate, and it feels like it will never get better.

I have my first trip for my new position at work next week. I am fucking nervous because I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing, and it robs me of one of my last weeks at home.

Travel organization at my work is fucking hell.

My mind is fucking blank from stress, and I feel like shit.

My arms felt heavy like when I cut myself today.

I feel like I should be this broken, but that doesn't fix my mind.

last bbq

2008-09-01T20:51:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, we had out last Colorado barbecue. The annual Labor Day bbq.

Already there were tears. Already we talked constantly of us leaving. Already they all lamented our departure. It is the beginning of the end.

I hadn't planned on drinking because I am on the diet, trying to lose the damn summer weight. Then I was just going to have a six pack of beer. Not so much. After one beer, I really wanted to get hammered.

Once the Purple Passion everclear emerged, I was drunk enough for it to sound like a good idea.

Bad idea.

I had the most vivid hangover I've had in months, if not years. When I drove #2 to the airport, I had to pull over so we could both throw up. We sure are not kids anymore.

I drove #2 insane this weekend, I think. I was cycling hard, slamming from manic to irritable and sensitive. I could even tell I was irritating him.

But he should be on the road for a month; then he gets home the week before we leave. It's all happening so fast.

collision

2008-08-27T18:46:00.001-07:00

A few weeks ago, I went to a goth bar up in Denver after the worst photo shoot ever. While there, she was working on a couple different girls. She went on "walks" with them, and I sat in the booth.

I sat alone in the booth, amongst the goths, dressed uncharacteristically vanilla. I had been in corsets and fishnets all day and was now in the middle of hardcore goths and punks in a blue tank top and flip flops. I tried not to look angry or judgmental as I sat alone.

Then a guy came up to keep me company. He bought me a drink then just sat there and talked to me.

As is my nature, I slipped in up front that I am with Guy #2 and unavailable. Since breaking my horrid habit of teasing mercilessly, I don't like to waste a guy's time if he's just there for sex.

He stayed. He said he "respected" it. We kept talking. For hours.

Unlike most people I meet randomly, he interested me. We had a real conversation, mostly about me. He was bluntly honest, as was I. I enjoyed it, especially since the alternative was sitting by myself.

We had told him our horrible photo shoot story, and he asked me why I modeled. I said I liked being a part of someone else's art. He said he was a painter and wanted to paint me. I gave him my number, never expecting to hear from him again.

He called the next day.

He texted me about my rope bondage photo shoot later than week.

Then he called me again yesterday, weeks later, to see if I could still pose before I moved.

Why this long story about some random guy? Well because this situation represents the collision between everything I used to want with everything I have now.

This situation is exactly what I wanted. When I was single. This guy is the epitome of everything I ever wanted. When I was single. It is a mind fuck to actually confront what I thought I wanted once while I have the opposite.

This guy has a dark, deep mind. He's an artist. It's hard to identify it all, but he is just everything I used to want. Yet here he is, and I don't want him.

I am attracted to him, no doubt. I enjoy talking to him; I think about him, but it hasn't been sexual. I didn't want to kiss him or fuck him; I don't fantasize about any sexuality between us. Every part of my sexuality, even in my mind, still remains #2's effortlessly.

Looking at the kind of interest from the kind of person I always thought I wanted or needed, I have no doubts that I am exactly where I should be, with who I should be. I have no doubts about me and #2 or my faithfulness.

This collision of my past desires and my present reality just makes me realize that while I thought I needed someone like me to understand and embrace me, what I really need is someone different than me to balance me out and compliment me.

I have talked to #2 about this situation since I met the guy. Since I have no unfaithful inclinations, I wanted everything to be in the open to not appear shady. I want to see this guy again; I want this guy to paint me, but I don't want to do anything to upset #2 or make him think I'm doing something I'm not. He has been ok with it so far. He says he has confidence in himself and our relationship. He also would like to see me get painted.

We'll see how this situation pans out in our waning weeks, but if nothing else, it is fruit for my mind and perspective on my former self.

developments

2008-08-26T16:55:00.000-07:00

I'm pretty sure I get to keep my current job full time when I move. It looks like my assorted bosses are going to pull it off. They are sure bending over backwards to keep me. I need health coverage; I'll stay for health coverage.

The twist? I may be the one traveling now, including a rotation in Iraq or Afghanistan. Things may get very interesting.

seven

2008-08-25T19:58:00.000-07:00

Seven week from today. Seven. That's less than two months. We leave seven weeks from today.

Things are closing in fast. We're finally seeing real progress with our preparation. The house is more than half ready; we are more than half packed; plans are almost half made. Things are coming together and accelerating quickly.

Part of me is so ready, impatient to leave; yet part of me is freaking the fuck out. I've never left before. I can't stop thinking about all I'm leaving and all I'll miss.

But I need to leave. I have to get the fuck out of here. It's beyond time, but I think I will always be torn about it. I will be happy and sad.

babies

2008-08-24T20:39:00.001-07:00

I visited my oldest friend in New Mexico this weekend for her baby shower for her accidental third child with her husband she is married to for the second time.

While I was down there, I found myself envious of her pregnancy on a very subtle, instinctual, almost subconscious level. I have been around her during all of her pregnancies, and this is the only time I found myself thinking "I want a baby inside me" as I saw her belly move.

It's entirely new for me to crave that state, and I did. And I didn't even think about it. I saw the baby kick, and my body thought it for me.

Yet around her children, I didn't feel ready for the child part. I wasn't ready for the constant noise and raising.

Maybe it's a process. Maybe I get ready for pregnancy first then the actual child. I don't think I'll ever truly be completely ready, but this step freaking scared me.

On a side note, after attending this shower, if I ever have a daughter, my baby shower invitation will read: "NO FUCKING PINK! Any pink gifts will be returned and/or burned." It's like pink went to die at this shower in a horrible explosion of rabbit dawned clothes.

2008-08-18T15:40:00.000-07:00

Home remodeling sucks. Moving sucks. If we don't stop bickering over nothing, I may freak out. If the stress doesn't kill me first.

Forgive me if I'm having trouble digging my computer out from under the dust to post.

worst. photo shoot. EVER!

2008-08-11T16:26:00.000-07:00

A photographer had contacted me over Model Mayhem about doing a vampire shoot. The idea intrigued me. I asked Essinem if she wanted to join me because I really wanted to do a shoot with her before I moved far, far away to Tennessee. We planned it out, but we had no idea what we were in for.

I met Essinem at her apartment, and we drove up to the address the photographer had provided me. As we drove around, looking for the address, we found nothing. The street dead ended with no houses in sight. Then it dawned on us that it might be the buildings we had passed. Unfortunately, it was, and it was far more unfortunate that it was a nursing home.

We drove around the parking lot confused, looking for a building number or something to confirm we were in the right place. Finally, the sign that dawned the name of the care facility gave us our answer.

We found the main entrance, littered tragically with old, feebled bodies stationed in wheelchairs. They sat lifeless everywhere. They grouped together yet didn't talk. Nurses in colored scrubs wheeled them here and there.

Dressed for a vampire shoot in a corset with my breasts tumbling out, I did not want to venture in. I let Shanna find out if, in fact, the photographer truly did live here. I prayed it was a mistake. But when she returned, it was no mistake, and we even had a wheelchaired guide to lead us to him.

The tension in the hallways was palpable, or maybe I just felt it because my heart was pounding out of my chest. As my heels clicked down the floor, the old people stared at us. They stared at us from slumped position in their wheelchairs; they stared at us from immobility in their hospital beds, food dripped all over their bibs; they all made excruciating effort to stare at us.

When we arrived in the photographer's room, he was sitting topless on his bed. His large manbreasts sagged down to hang beside his half full catheter bag. Black sheets were hung in the corner of the hospital room and spread over the floor into a makeshift studio. Bags of a woman's clothing and underwear where strewn over the floor. He claimed the model from the night before had left her stuff there for the day. Essinem was convinced he had killed her. My chest tightened even harder.

As we began to awkwardly discuss the shoot, an admin person came in. She said there had been some complaints that they would need to discuss later. The photographer insisted on talking now, so we excused ourselves to the hall. However, they left the door open, and we could hear the entire heated arguement. Apparently, other residents and staff had been complaining that he had scantily clad women (hello, just like us) in his room at all hours and walking the halls (as we stood in the hall). The photographer raged back that it was his room to do whatever he wanted in and on and on.

As Essinem and I listened in the the debate, Essinem texted the madness out to other people furiously. I looked past her to see a frail old woman turn her wheelchair to stare at us. Then, staring, she began to creep towards us. One foot at a time, she inched herself down the hallway towards us, blank faced. This was Essinem's last straw.

We wanted to flee, but our shit was in his room, past the bickering admin staff and photographer. We resolved to go get it and run.

We walked in, said there appeared to be a problem and that we were just going to go. They both railed passionately against it. Somehow, and I don't know how, we got talked into staying. I don't quite know how it happened. We were both ready to leave; we both needed to leave. Yet one minute we were walking in to grab our shit and bail, and the next we're going through what outfits we brought. We should have just left.

But we didn't. For whatever reason or miscommunication or fear, we stayed and did the horrible photo shoot. On the four foot (maybe) corner of his nursing home room floor, both Essinem and I modeled awkwardly. I was never able to get comfortable, and I have never been so thankful to not have been in such an odd situation alone. I looked to Essinem in every irritation and discomfort and awkwardness.

To compound the already dreadful circumstance, the photographer was fucking creepy. We had discussed beforehand including nudity and what degree and in what style. We had even gone over photos to get an idea that we were all on the same page. I made it clear I did not want to do a full nude shoot, yet this man was fixated on my vagina. Everything, unbenounced to us at the time, was about my vagina. As he had us posing, we had no idea he was cropping out Essinem or photographing only my vagina. Bodyscapes became vaginascapes. Vagina, vagina, vagina.

When the shoot was over, we could not get out fast enough. We threw our shit into bags as we said sure we would work with him again to do an 80s crackwhore shoot. We said anything to get the fuck out.

We hurried to the car, just as awkwardly down the halls as before, saying WHAT THE FUCK? more times than I can count. We drove to food and back to the apartment in shock.

Then the pictures arrived, and we were introduced to my vagina in unnerving intimacy hundreds of times. I had never seen my own vagina so many times, and I live and love it on a daily basis. I felt so oversaturated with glimpses of my vagina that I wanted to shower with clothes on for the next week. I never wanted to see myself naked again.

Besides the vagina montague, every picture betrays our disposition. Our expressions are painted with OH MY GOD and WHAT THE FUCK and WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE and I HATE YOU. We hid nothing, and the pictures turned out horribly.

undertones

2008-08-10T20:53:00.000-07:00

I don't usually talk about anything political on this blog. You can probably guess my party affiliation, but I don't choose to talk about it here. In fact, I don't talk about it much because politics get people too upset and hateful with each other. However, I'm making a little exception here. And this isn't all that political anyway.

So I've seen The Dark Knight three times now. I love that movie! So dark, so good, and Heath Ledger is amazing in it. But holy political undertones, Batman! (Sorry, I couldn't resist.)

The first time I saw it, no one else noticed the political commentary underneath. I don't know how you could miss it. About halfway through, it was so clear I had even say wow out loud.

I mean, could they call the Joker a terrorist anymore times? Or rail on about how they shouldn't give into his terrorist demands?

Maybe it was how using surveillance on all of Gotham, even for a good purpose, was "unethical" and "wrong"?

Could it be the Joker's speech that included how a truckload of soldiers blowing up isn't upsetting to anyone because it's according to the "plan"?

And my personal favorite (I'll try not to ruin anything for those who have yet to see it). Two ferries. Liberty must destroy Spirit, or Spirit must destroy Liberty; otherwise, terror destroys them both. I mean, come on people!

I appreciate the political undertones. You can usually see it hiding in many blockbuster movies, subtle but visible. In this case, to me at least, it is just so blatant.

the good times

2008-08-08T16:27:00.000-07:00

From reading over my posts about my recent trips, you would think each of them was horrible. That is not the case at all. However, I find that when I write, I fixate on the negative. The bad parts, the upsetting instances are what I need to write about to process and get over them. They are what I need to express, but the good times don't need as many words, if any. I can write volumes on the bad, but the good seem to leave me near wordless.

But for clarification, let me say that all three of my trips (Hawaii, Minnesota, and Tennessee) were fabulous.

Hawaii was gorgeous. I slept in; I had a lot of sex. We lay by the pool and played in the ocean every day. I drank excessively and never cycled or even got a hangover. Guy #2 and I worked through our cohabitation adjustment weirdness and became ourselves again. I gave him his fabulous birthday present, which he loved more than I could have ever anticipated. I loved him so much and was so happy with him there. And I got along with all our travel companions. Everyone was a good time.

Minnesota was fun. We stayed with my favorite cousins. #2 fit so perfectly into my family. I got beyond wasted one night, more drunk than I have been in years. I got to spend time with my sister. I actually got along with my family, and they accepted #2 fully and wholeheartedly. I even briefly got to see my mother and godmother. They had no issues barbecuing with my father's family.

Tennessee was not at all what I expected. The downtown and the riverside seduced me. I met good people who I had fun with. #2 and I became closer as we worked together to make this huge decision for our live. I saw potential there; I could see part of our life there. Finally, we got resolve to the question of where the fuck we were going and when. It was the beginning of something.

So despite all the negatives I documented, these trips were overwhelmingly good.

ridiculous drunken fight

2008-08-06T18:39:00.000-07:00

In Tennessee one night, we played pool. I had a great time and got wasted. When #2's coworker called it a night, we stayed and played darts.

At some point, it came up, and #2 he still thinks about the guy I slept with when he was there. He said he thinks about it; then he thinks about how he could hurt me for it, but he never would. It killed me to hear it, but I can't say it wouldn't still be in my head if I was him. I know it would be.

It still bothers me that it still hurts him, but I don't regret it. That was our turning point; that was when things started to slowly change with us; that is what ultimately put us here. And we were so good and happy right there at that bar; how could I regret the horrible way that put us there?

We continued to talk about the move on our drunken stumble back to the hotel. He was adamant that he needed to know I would be happy to do it. I told him there was no way to know, but we could make a good guess.

We were still euphorically happy back in the room as we talked. Then we disagreed about the amount of interracial couples (actual amount versus me noticing them) and people staring at us, and it all started to go downhill.

I had told him I hate when he calls himself fat (or any variation) joking or not, and while I was brushing my teeth, he came in calling himself a fat bastard in front of the mirror. I told him I didn't like it again, and he just kept saying it, I think just to be stubborn.

We fought over the double standard of him being able to say shit like that and not me and the difference between our intentions behind such comments. When we seemed to reach some sort of resolve, he said he wanted me to for once see it from his side, but he said it so slow and deliberately like I was stupid and in a way to make it sound like I never even tried to see it from his side.

It was too upsetting and infuriating; I had to bail. When I pushed past him, he got fucking pissed. I had to chase him; I couldn't stand him being that mad at me. He was mad that I could bail and he couldn't. We argued; then I gave up to go to bed.

He said he was going to stand in the shower and not shower, and like a stubborn ass, he stood in the shower and didn't shower. I lay in bed, waiting for him and quickly forgetting why we were fighting. When I still didn't hear water, I went to the bathroom.

He too had forgotten why we were fighting but knew he was pissed at me and was going to stand in the shower.

We laughed at how ridiculous we were and went to bed.

In bed, we talked it out. The drunk conversation meandered to the emotion unfairness he felt with us. I started to feel bad for him and guilty; then I started to cry. He said it feels like he sacrifices everything to make me happy, and I fucking lost it. I started balling.

It was quite possibly the worst thing I could have heard, one of my deepest fears about my bipolar--that my disease was ruining someone else's life besides mine. The thoughts that I deserved to be alone and the fears of being a burden roared up in me. It hurt so deeply.

I just sobbed on his chest, and he hated it.

But I was also mad. There we were in Tennessee to see if we could relocate for his job, and he sacrifices everything to make me happy?

By the time I recovered enough to talk and ask him about it, it was not what he meant, yet he could not remember what he did mean. It happens all the fucking time when he's drunk, leaving a bad thought to breed in my brain and no explanation.

As I turned to pass out, I thought there is such a wealth of pain in our past--the guy I slept with in front of him, the tears still wet on my cheeks from his words-- such volumes of deep pain to contradict the blinding happiness.

meet the bitch

2008-08-05T15:57:00.000-07:00

Our first day in Tennessee, we went into Guy #2's office.

I was bombarded by meeting new people, everyone in the office who was in. Then, while #2 was in meetings about our future, I sat in a cube with one of his coworkers, looking for jobs. She may be my new networking queen though.

Then they split us up for lunch. I went to lunch with two girls from the office who seemed quite pleasantly surprised that I was not a spoiled cunt. After forceably cutting me off until August, #2 went to sushi.

He was out at lunch almost three hours after I was back in the cube, bored out of my mind.

The whole experience was simultaneously casual and awkward. They all looked at me so weird. It made me want to shrink. Maybe I was not what they expected. They clearly anticipated a stuck up bitch with no intention of even considering moving.

One of #2's "bosses" gave me a sugar coated asshole speech. He said everything politely, but I could read what he went. He went on about how #2 wouldn't be able to find a job anywhere else and wouldn't be able to find a job anywhere else and wouldn't be able to stay with the company if he didn't move. He told me not to treat it as a free vacation and actually consider it. He tole me how it was and what to think, neglecting the facts that he didn't know shit about me and that I would have to sacrifice my job, my entire life to do it. I nodded and said ok, but internally, I was livid.

I only became more angry as I processed and waited for #2.

Later, when at a baseball game with his coworkers, a different one caught himself in a comment to the effect that I was never going to consider moving, only confirming that they though I was a stupid bitch who was using their company.

I hated the misconception; I had pretty much decided to go before, and the trip was to confirm it. I hated the feeling of being the forced center of attention of people instructed by their bosses to entertain me for what they saw as no purpose. But such was the fucking situation.

travel and anxiety

2008-08-04T16:31:00.000-07:00

Before we left Minnesota, we went to the gym with my cousin. I made the mistake of stepping on the scale. Seeing I was up 13 pounds shot me down into depression.

Then at the airport, Guy #2 made me sad. Every single time we talk about having kids, he says it will probably never happen, that's he's infertile since he's never had a pregnancy scare or knocked anyone up. Every single time.

It's discouraging and depressing. I don't need to hear it every time; I need to have some hope that we can get pregnant.

So we bickered about it; then it was fine.

By the time we got to Denver, I was so over travel. #2 had to rub my forearm driving home to calm me. I just wanted to be home.

I was so blindingly irritated. My mind remained so overwhelmed that I was just raw.

And I only had one day to recover. I worked one very long day when I was completely worthless then off to Tennessee.

meeting his family

2008-07-31T19:03:00.000-07:00

In Minnesota, we went to meet #2's family. My cousins, E and A, came with us, and I'm glad they did. We drove out to a Mexican restaurant. #2's cousins were there, some of his aunts. Yet the whole time, it was like I wasn't there.

I got introduced; then I talked to E and A and maybe got a line or two in elsewhere. They weren't interested in me; they didn't make small talk with me; they ignored me. It wasn't like how my family was with #2 (chatting away with him, asking him all about his job, including him in conversation), and I didn't like it. I was glad to leave.

We saw them all and more again on Sunday for his grandparents' anniversary. We ate and hung out. Again, #2's family wasn't too social with me, though the "adults" were slightly more talkative with me.

And that was it. I met them all.

My family, however, loved #2. E was like his soulmate and kept telling me what a great guy he was. He fit right in, and to this day, they keep telling me how much they like him. They don't like anyone.

hawaii reflections

2008-07-30T20:00:00.002-07:00

The long flight was not as bad as I had expected; then we were in Hawaii.

Unlike my other vacations, arriving in Hawaii did not have that surreal or euphoric quality, like St. Thomas or Mexico or even Vegas for the first time. It was new and beautiful, but it didn't have that high quality.

We had a great trip, but unlike the others, I was ready to come home at the end. Our three travel companions all want to move to Maui, but Hawaii was my least favorite of all my tropical destinations. The trip was fabulous, but Hawaii is just too touristy. It's all shopping or excursions, no night or party life, no real visible local culture (current local culture, not exploited).

As places, I liked St. Thomas and Mexico so much better. I may even enjoy Vegas more as a place. Hawaii wasn't different or varied enough. I had a good time; it was pretty and fun but definitely not my favorite. I would go somewhere else before I revisited Hawaii.

However, sometime in Hawaii, after talking about it a couple times, #2 and I found our way out of our cohabitation adjustment weirdness.

home at last

2008-07-29T17:37:00.000-07:00

Back on the plane. This time, I'm heading home from Tennessee.

I am so over traveling. Planes, airports, foreign road signs, and especially other travelers are making me sick. I just want to go home and stay home, return to some semblance of a routine. But it won't be for long.

We're doing it; we're moving to Tennessee--in two and a half months.

We were pretty much resolved to go before the trip; the trip was to make sure it wasn't the seventh circle of my hell and to work out the details. I'm torn, of course; I think I always will be, but I think I can do it. I want to do it. I'm ready to start over and have a new life with him, even if it's not where I wanted.

And it isn't that bad. In a lot of ways, it reminds me of home, but I'm starting to think all American cities are about the same. I'll be leaving everything, but I need to take that leap; I need the change.

back out

2008-07-15T20:10:00.000-07:00

Well, I just got home from Hawaii, and I'm on my way back out again. I leave for Minnesota Thursday night, and I'll be having dinner with my former roommate tomorrow, so no time for the blogging...

I promise that I will be my blogging self once more, maybe in August. But of course that depends on the moving schedule, if and when there is a moving schedule.

Aside from travel, it's just been cohabitation adjustments here. Adjusting to living together was rough, especially on me. We were constantly mad or irritated at each other, and it was killing me, but somewhere in the middle of Hawaii, we found our place again. Now we're very good. It will be odd when he leaves again. Home for a month then gone for a month. Jarring.

I just want to know what our plans are. Maybe just maybe next weekend. I'm hoping, hoping for some semblance of resolve.

back from hawaii...

2008-07-13T19:35:00.000-07:00

Hello, my dear readers, I'm finally home... for now. I leave again on Thursday night, but I had to find the time to at least toss up a post about Hawaii.

Hawaii was a good trip. I had been a little worried because my friend, I believe I have called her Drama Queen in past posts, is super unreliable and was coming as the fifth wheel, and E had been annoying the piss out of me. But in the end, no worries. Everyone was fabulous.

We went out and got drunk in town. We spent the day on the beach/by the pool. Guy #2 and I got poolside massages. We shopped. We went to a traditional luau. It was a vacation.

I had a great time, but at the end, I was ready to come home. Drama Queen and E and M all want to move out to Maui, but Hawaii was my least favorite of my tropical destinations. The trip was fabulous, but Hawaii is just too touristy. It's all shopping or excursions, no night or party life, no real visible local culture.

At least where we stayed.

As places, I liked St. Thomas and Mexico so much better. I may even enjoy Vegas more as a place. It just wasn't different or varied enough. I had a good time; it was pretty and fun but definitely not my favorite. I would go somewhere else before I revisited Hawaii. And when I do visit, definitely another island.

check in

2008-07-03T15:46:00.000-07:00

I just wanted to check in and let you know, my dear readers or those of you who are left, that I am still alive. I'm all moved in to Guy #2's house and as settled as I'll be before we move again. We leave for Hawaii this weekend. Hopefully, when I get back, I can regale you with stories and pictures before we leave for Minnesota.

"postponed"

2008-06-25T20:19:00.000-07:00

So Tennessee is off for this weekend. Apparently, they didn't figure out until today that two of the owners will be out of town, so they want to "postpone" until they can all be there. Two fucking days before I was supposed to leave, after I had been getting up at four am to work ten hour days.

Now it will allegedly be the last weekend of July or the first weekend of August--another month and a half of wondering and worrying and not knowing.

I was fucking livid when Guy #2 called to tell me. I knew this would happen; I knew his company would pull some shit like this. I started practically balling in my cube I was so frustrated.

His company does this shit to him all the time, and he's used to it, but he's there employee. I'm not. They don't pay me. They are supposed to be schmoozing me and seducing me into moving somewhere I don't want to, but instead they're fucking up my life. I'm bending over backwards when they're supposed to be kissing my ass.

Not fucking convincing.

I want to refuse their offer out of fucking spite, but I wouldn't do that to #2. I'm doing this for him, but they are not helping.

Aside from utterly pissing me off, this kind of bullshit really makes me doubt them. #2's company seems wholly unreliable. I don't trust this deal; I honestly feel it's all going to fall through. They seem to talk about shit but not follow through; they're constantly changing things on him. Maybe this is something they talk about but never do; maybe we never go there, and it's an utter waste of time, trapping us here for months.

Maybe that's the pessimist in me, but I could lose the job I have over bullshit like this. I've already been told I shouldn't be so honest with them about what's going on. If I continue this yes/no bullshit, they will hire my replacement or not let me go remote.

I'm stressing about getting a new job when they're risking the one I already have. I'm running around like crazy to get shit done, working extra hours, paying N to clean my house for a trip I'm not even taking.

I'm still fucking bitter, but I'm calming down. #2 called me twice to check on me after he dropped the news; he was worried about m. Then he let me vent and told me he woudl tell them I was pissed so they would schmooze me better.

And, of course, I talked to my girls.

I'm trying to focus on the positive of being home this weekend. I have the time to get my shit done; I don't have to work tens; I can save my vacation for the alleged rescheduled trip, bla bla bla.

Ultimately, I just wanted to know what we were doing. That's where my supreme disappointment lies, in still not having answers, in having to wait and stress longer. I need to focus on going to Hawaii, but I wanted this settled before Hawaii. I was excited to know, and I wanted to truly relax.

Too much limbo.

mia

2008-06-15T18:50:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry I have been missing lately.

This week, I'm in the process of moving into Guy #2's house. After being in the same place for three years and with trying to combine two completely independent lives, it's more tasking than I expected. I have a million things to do and zero time to do them in.

And I'll be moving into his house... wait, our house... alone. He's on the road, so I'm doing this by myself. And I hate experiencing this milestone for us by myself.

Then an unexpected twist has come up in our moving plans. Now we might be moving to Tennessee for Guy #2's job, which comes with an entire new and huge set of complications that I will have to explain later. But long story short, I'm being flown out by his bosses to be schoozed the last weekend of June.

Then a couple days later, we fly to Hawaii for Guy #2's birthday. Then a couple days later, we fly to Minnesota to see both our families.

So don't be too surprised if I'm missing for a few weeks. I will try to update and read when I can, and I will empty my post queues. Don't forget me, my dear readers, I promise I will be back!

the wedding

2008-06-10T20:50:00.000-07:00

My teacher friend was really the most beautiful bride I've seen. Her look was perfectly her; she was glowing. Most women look like themselves in a white dress; she looked like a bride.

The ceremony was intense. Aside from my heels sinking into the grass the whole time, I was bombarded by waves of crying. One minute I was fine; the next I was staring up at the clouds fighting it off.

It's unreal to see someone you've been friends with since kindergarten get married. We have an entire lifetime behind us already.

I have to admit, this was the first wedding I enjoyed being in/attending. It was really a lot of fun, and I never have fun at weddings. Also, this is the only wedding I've been in that strengthened my friendship with the bride rather than distanced or destroyed it. With my oldest friend, her wedding solidified the distance between us and our lives. My bitch friend's wedding ended our friendship--and pretty much hers with my former best friend and teacher friend too. However, at the end of my teacher friend's wedding, I felt closer to her, happier for her, and better about her than even the day before.

Maybe that's what the bridesmaid experience is supposed to be like; maybe that's what it would have been like with my former college roommate.

The ceremony was quick, beautiful, and painless; the whole wedding was stressless--aside from the whole bridal party being late. The reception was really casual and fun. We actually got to see the bride and groom.

We mixed my family with my former best friend's. My mother was so outgoing and comfortable all weekend I barely recognized her. She chatted away with everyone. She got to come in back with us when we were getting ready. She really had a great time.

She and Guy #2 also got to talk a lot. I heard from them later that she thanked him for me being the happiest she's seen me and he said this is the happiest time of his life and only getting better.

I cannot describe how happy I was with #2 that weekend. My feelings were so blindingly and blissfully intense. It was one of those instances where our connection managed to become more apparent, more intense, just more. I could wallow in it forever. I barely know how to be this happy.

During the ceremony, when I looked back, he was almost always watching me, winking and kissing at me. We were extremely affectionate at the wedding, in front of my mother and everyone. He kept telling me he loved me. He's not only to "I love you;" he's saying it now.

When we danced to the last song, we pressed our foreheads together. When I opened my eyes, he was looking into them. He wrapped his arms around me and held me tight, pressing his hard on against me. A hard on from slow dancing with me. A hard on from holding me close and whispering he loved me into my lips. It was perfect. I could have crawled into his body and died there.

bachelorette party

2008-06-09T18:51:00.000-07:00

We headed up to Denver for my teacher friend's bachelorette party. We met up at our ridiculously ghetto motel. There were stains everywhere, and it looked like a dead body had been wrapped in the shower curtain, but it was conveniently located.

We walked to the first lounge, with E straggling behind and bitching about walking the whole way--princess. It was actually a good turn out, 13 girls for the party. However, the lounge was pretty quiet, so I was worried it would be a lame night.

Even the club was dead when we arrived. But we made our way up to the roof. It picked up nicely. Here, we all got drunk. We danced; we ran into a bachelor party (not the husband's). Then we migrated to second phase of the party, gay strippers!

The strip club and the gay boys were fantastic. The bride got an outrageous and ridiculous lap dance on stage.

It was a perfect night. There were lots of girls dressed hot in cocktail dresses; we did a range of things; the bride got the attention she deserved; we all got very drunk.

My former college roommate was so drunk she kept puking in the gay club bathroom, so we had to call it a night. When we got back, I was so trashed I passed out on the floor with my roommate.

I awoke a couple hours later to cops asking "Who is Chris?" Apparently (I pieced together through stories later), the girls who did not pass out after the gay club kept drinking, had gay boys come over, and went searching for an after hours club. When they got back, they couldn't find the key. E's drunken yelling brought out the owner, who saw a shit ton of girls in a room reserved for one and called the cops.

I woke disoriented next to some random guy who had been directing them and we later couldn't get rid of. Being the first conscious Chris, I claimed the name, and they kicked everyone else out.

It's all really a blur in my drunken, sleep hazed memory.

They gave us three minutes to get all of our shit and get off the property. One cop was nice; the other was a prick. I kept talking with my hands up. They exiled us to an Arby's parking lot. Most of the girls were crying; the bride was blubbering like someone just shot her dog. And the cops left us there--all drunk, most crying, dressed like hoochies, in an Arby's parking lot in the ghetto.

Then everyone started calling people, still crying. We never got together and discussed our options and decided what we could do; they all just immediately called different people for help. I don't do well with that. I don't like to ask for help, especially from 10 different people with no idea what we're doing. I'm an adult who got myself into the situation and should be able to get myself out; besides, I have never had a parent of boyfriend to call--until now.

My phone had died. Guy #2 called me on my former best friend's phone to come and get me, after hearing about the incident from E's husband, but I refused to let him. Ultimately, the maid of honor's father and brother came to get us. However, they took half of us (those not close to the MOH) to a hotel to pay for another room and the other half home to her house, which I found to be complete fucking bullshit.

By the time we found our second expensive hotel, my former best friend was being a fucking pain in the ass. She was beyond drunk and being a cunt and doing the exact opposite of everything I said to help her drunk ass. I got so pissed I stopped dealing with it and let my former college roommate chase her.

In the hotel room, it was my time for tears until I crawled into bed with my roommate, as far away from my former best friend as possible.

I woke to E's husband watching TV on the floor between the two beds. He took me and my former best friend back to my car so I could pick my mother up from the airport.

And now what a fabulous story it makes!

family

2008-06-08T20:23:00.000-07:00

I am so sorry I haven't been reading lately. I am blindingly busy with moving and everything related to it, and I am horribly stressed out by things I will write about when I finally catch up. I still have old posts in the queue. But I will work on getting out there to read all of you. I love you all still!

I honestly forget how fucking frustrating my father's family is. My most recent visit, like many of them, was pointless and irritating.

I hate being talked to like I'm stupid and useless and always wrong; I hate being told what my life is like by people who weren't there, and that is what I get with all of them--all of the top generation, the "adults."

It's fucking maddening, and the older I get, the more stupid and ignorant they sound. Usually, they have no idea what the fuck they're talking about. Now that I'm older, I can see that and blow them off, but fuck, did it damage me as a kid. I'm almost grateful for it, though, for giving me such tough skin and perspective on other people's opinions.

Some gems from this visit were my aunt telling me that I shouldn't tell my kids I'm bipolar and that I should get married so I don't have to explain to my kids why I'm not. This is the ind of thinking that ruined my fucking life! Why my parents got married, why I never knew what my mother's breakdowns were. Fucking bullshit.

Then my father was unrecognizable. He sat and said nothing while his sister and I talked. He let the child continually interrupt us and turned his attention to him every time. He's rewarding instead of beating the child for Cs and being in the 73rd percentile. Who the fuck is he?

Not only am I ready to leave this life, I'm ready to move farther away from family.

the opposite same

2008-06-04T19:06:00.000-07:00

It's amazing how somethings can simultaneously be so completely different than they once were yet also remain entirely unchanged. Camping was both like walking into an echo of years ago and like broaching foreign territory. I don't know how it can be both. It seems impossible to be such opposites at the same time, but it was.

And in the midst of this awkward duality, I had one repeating realization. I'm done with this life and ready for a new one. That one thought just kept spreading over my mind. Even when I was enjoying myself, it came up as a kind of calm acceptance--like this is great, but I'm ready to move on. Even when it's good, it's still done, and I'm ok with that. That's how I know it's really time.

Initially, I was disappointed that it wasn't the full circle. Aside from three couples, it was just FFB's coworkers. It felt wrong to have so few of the boys then just their girlfriends and new people. This made camping so different, and I lamented it. But when more of the boys showed up the last night, it proved we were better off as just a fractured piece.

One was wasted, started cutting down a tree; he and another got into a fight over it, and it was ridiculous, raging drama from there. Most of them ended up leaving again, and it was all for the better.

Some of them haven't changed since I met them, while some of us have grown up; maybe we just can't coexist as one circle anymore. I won't miss the bullshit.

When they started fighting, it was as if not a damn thing had changed in the past eight years, and I hated it more than things feeling disappointingly depleted compared to the past. Maybe I just can't be in new configurations of old scenarios; it's another limbo, straddling the familiar past and the unrecognizable present of the same places and people.

Again, I just feel simply done.

graduations

2008-06-03T20:20:00.000-07:00

I know I've been gone a long time. I did not intend to be separated from my computer for so long. However, May kicked my ass! But I'm back now and have a lot of back posting to do. Let's start here, a few weeks ago....

My former best friend's graduation was surprisingly anti-climatic. It only went to show how drastically different things are with us. I couldn't help but compare this graduation and associated festivities with our high school and my college. The gulf between them is depressing.

I look at high school when we were completely together and in synch, then my college when we were less so, then hers where we didn't seem to be at all. We're unrecognizable when compared to our pasts.

After her ceremony, it was like my teacher friend and I weren't even there. It was all hugs and pictures with family and her boyfriend's family. We just stood off to the side. So different from celebrating on the floor together in high school or driving to my party together in college.

I know things grow and change; I know we are and should be different, but it still made me sad.

Her graduation party only augmented it. I hung out with my teacher friend and my former college roommate while she took endless shots with her boyfriend and mingled with her family who didn't even recognize me when they used to know me so well.

Changes, distance. I didn't like the sad, crushing feeling the realizations called up in my chest. I didn't really enjoy her party.

There is no circle anymore. Only a few of the boys showed up (like my party). We're all separated and split and grown apart. It seems pointless to try and do anything when our lives don't overlap anymore.

viral blogging

2008-06-03T20:13:00.000-07:00

Shiv tagged me. I'm totally plagiarizing his entire post hehe.

Here the benefits of viral linking go:

One of the fastest ways to see your technorati authority explode!
Increase your google page rank quickly
Attract large volume of new traffic to your site

What more does a blogger want?[:D]

The not-so difficult rules:

I am selecting 5 bloggers, and all you have to do is tag 5 other people and the list goes on.

One important rule is just keep adding your blog to the long list! Do not delete the other blogs. This is a viral linking post!

And the blogs tagged are:

Traveling Chica

Bondi Betty

Wendy's Mighty Minutiae

Publish or Perish

It's Going to be a Long Winter

Here comes the loooooong list! Add your blog to the end of the list!

financial concerns

2008-05-22T16:54:00.000-07:00

We have no funding at work right now, hence why I have no work. Lulls in funding are nothing new, being that we are a government contractor; this one just happens to be multiple programs simultaneously. The rumors have started, however. The word layoff has started floating around.

When my boss and I talked about it, I volunteered for the chopping block. I don't think we are truly headed for a layoff in any way, especially considering how pointless our last one was, but I thought I would throw that out there just the same. I'm leaving anyways; it might as well be me. Give me the severance, and I'm gone!

It really seems like the country, specifically the economy, is going to hell lately. We're in a recession; the housing and job markets are horrible. The news is very ominous, but then again, when is it not? Prices keep going up. Gas and groceries broke me this weekend, two days after pay day.

I'm starting to stress out about money and saving and find a new job and selling Guy #2's house and moving. This seems like such a bad and inopportune time for all of it, and it keeps getting worse. I feel such dread when I see the news or the paper or the gas pump or the price stickers. No funding at work just seems to augment my worry.

I don't believe our economy will be cured rapidly or with a stimulus check. I'm worried about our future; I'm terrified of turning into my mother.

However, moving into #2's house will help initially. I have decided that I'm moving at the end of June, new renter or not. When I told my property manager, he said I would probably not have to continue paying for July and August to complete my lease since I have been such a fabulous tenant. That would save me a substantial amount plus two months of utilities and cable/internet, depending on how much #2 wants a month.

That consoles me; that gives me hope. I was severely overwhelmed fathoming affording everything this summer (graduations, camping, wedding festivities, Hawaii, Minnesota...) plus saving money plus moving with potentially no job at the other end.

I miss the website money!

But if I can put a large chunk towards savings and my credit card every month, I'll be more ok.

My compulsive spending has declined sharply. I haven't done it in months. It took me an entire day to convince myself to use my phone upgrade. Apparently, it's only enabled by feasibility.

I'm just so scared about money. Being able to save and pay down my looming credit card debt will console me.

I'm so ready to move too. Half my shit is packed; my house is impersonal. It's just hovering in the future. And I'm ready to live with him. No more packing my shit when he's home, no more shuffling between houses--all of us mingled in one place. Sure, it will suck to have all my shit packed up, but it's a step towards moving for real. And even if--perish the thought--we end up trapped here for a while, at least we'll be together. I'm as ready for that step as I am to leave Colorado.

And I need to get the fuck out of here. New scenery, new job, new friends. #2 and I have already discussed leaving the country if it goes too far to shit, so there's always that...

the diet after the diet

2008-05-21T19:39:00.000-07:00

Being off my diet is exceedingly harder than being on it ever was. I dropped 50 pounds like clockwork in 6 months, and it seemed so easy. I ate how much I was supposed to; I exercised all week, and poof! I'm a different person. My commitment never wavered, and I couldn't understand why people have such a hard time losing weight.

Now, I do.

Now that I am off the diet and have tasted freedom again, I find commitment elusive and motivation impossible. I have maintained for the past 4 months pretty well. I still have to count my calories, and I still go the gym all week. However, when I have gone up a pound or two intermittently, I find it excruciating to return to my diet I skipped through with such ease initially. Even if it is only for a week or two.

The self-control that came so fluidly and effortlessly the first round no longer exists. I'm back to talking myself into just one more and not caring about it. I'm still at my goal weight, but my compulsive eating is definitely visible. If I were not still counting my calories everyday, I would have put back on a good deal of the weight. That would have been tragic considering how unmotivated I am to return to the diet necessary to lose it.

I want to lose 5 pounds in June, a preemptive strike for Hawaii so I don't have to diet post-vacation. I honestly do not know that I will be able to convince myself to do it. I can talk myself into eating what I need to to stay where I am but not what I need to to lose.

I'm not entirely sure what has changed. You would think after such simplicity and so much progress, it would be easy to slide right back into the routine I followed like a nazi for 6 straight months. Yet it is the opposite. Perhaps I need the drive of health risks or the size I didn't want or something. I never hated my body, so I can't say that it was self-loathing that fueled my commitment.

I just find it odd. In many ways, habits formed in my diet continue now in my daily life. I still drink very little. I still eat out very little. I still eat the same kind of food as on my diet, just less of it. I'm only eating 400 more calories a day, yet I have a death grip on them. I simply just don't want to.

I'm hoping I can conjure the motivation and commitment to drop next month. I would like to drop a full 10 and see if I like myself there better, but that is looking less promising.

I can say with full understanding now that I see why many eating disorders start in dieting. Dieting turns food into an obsession. It makes it taboo almost and even more desirable. Food becomes a reward and a prize. Diets make you covet food. I can see why so many people become compulsive eaters or obsessive dieters after a diet. I find my mind already poisoned that way from mine, though I have managed to keep my behavior from following as well.

I wish I could just eat when I was hungry and maintain my weight, but my body does not work like that. It tells me to eat until the happy feeling from eating goes away, which is far beyond how much I need to eat. So I still count; I still obsess; I still drive myself fucking crazy.

(And btw, eating health is so much more expensive too! Especially with the way prices are headed.)

balance

2008-05-20T19:35:00.000-07:00

I posted a long time ago about a conversation Guy #2 and I had while on vacation in Mexico. When the memory crossed my mind, I looked up my own post and reread it. Reading my own words, I remember that point in our relationship so vividly. There was such a span of time where I felt so much for him and didn't tell him. It's almost funny to consider that place now.

But I digress.

This particular conversation was when #2 told me he believed the right person for you would balance you out, when he insinuated that he was not the one for me because he did not fix me. I did not agree with him. I told him no person, no matter how perfect for me, would ever cure or fix my bipolar; I said no one would balance me out.

Now, from our evolved relationship, I still believe the majority of what I said to him then, a couple years ago. I still don't think any one perfect person comes along and fixes you. I still believe you are responsible for your own life and happiness. I got my own shit together. I went and got help and learned my mind and formed my own ways to deal with my bipolar. I balanced myself out before he ever had a chance to do the same for me.

I don't think our relationship would be successful if I had not gotten my shit together and balanced myself out. I know it was tragically damaging and ragingly unsuccessful when I was fucked up and lost. But now, in truth, he does balance me out. He has become that perfect person who can help me.

I still struggle with my bipolar; that is undeniable. I'm not "fixed" or "cured" in any capacity. It is part of my daily life that I deal with, mostly on my own. It is something I have to deal with mostly on my own because it is in my head. No one can see it except in the way that it changes my behavior. No one can touch it except through the filter of my broken mind. It is only mine, and I am responsible for it and for dealing with it.

But that doesn't mean I can't have help.

In a way, we both ended up being right. What he said about the person for me being the one who could balance me out is true. What I said about being responsible for my own life and not being able to be fixed by someone else is also true. Somehow, in our development, we ended up together in the middle between our two poles.

fading fear

2008-05-16T22:00:00.000-07:00

I let Guy #2 fuck me bare twice last weekend. I think that the fact that I'm not so scared of getting pregnant might have something to do with it.

Part of me is just so ready, and I feel it more and more as time passes. I mean overall, I'm not ready; I want to wait until we've done more and are more prepared. However, this resolved and ready part and this waining fear is new.

I want more time me and #2; I want to do more traveling; I want to make more money and be settled in where we're moving. I want all that, but the idea of kids just feels right with us.

I think #2 is feeling more ready too. He's been talking about it more. We've been talking about it a lot. We talk about how our kids will be, how we'll raise them.

But he also said he doesn't think I'll get pregnant; he said he thinks his sperm doesn't work since he was so careless when he was young and never knocked anyone up. The thought alone upsets me. I can't imagine not being able to get pregnant--the tests, the invitro, the failures, the miscarriages. Fathoming it makes me sick, depressed. I hope we never have to experience it.

I want our bad to be behind us.

tranquility in us

2008-05-14T17:40:00.000-07:00

Saturday night, after visiting my aunt and uncle and their 50 kids (read 5), Guy #2 and I went out to dinner. #2 working at this particular hotel is just perfect. Aside from him being in Denver and delivery range, he's right on the 16th Street Mall, and we can walk everywhere.

I continued with the wine I had started with my aunt. I got a nice, comfortable buzz.

As we ate by candlelight, talking and holding hands, I felt so content and relaxed. I was in a perfect, calm mood, and so was he. I wanted nothing else than to just hang out with him.

We went to the same bar he had been drawing earlier that day. We had a couple more drinks and watched the band. The entire time, we were extremely affectionate, sweetly affectionate. I could not stop touching him. I wanted to wrap up in him.

The mood, the affection, our chemistry felt so good, so calmly perfect. I was so it love with him, and it was all over both of us.

When we were leaving, a woman sitting at the bar said she had to tell me how cute we were and that she hoped it would last another 50 years. Apparently, they saw what we felt. It was nice in comparison to people staring because of our height or color differences.

We went upstairs and had another round of hot, intense sex. He breathed he loved me as he fucked me bare. I couldn't ask for anything else. I felt all of me as his; I felt such consuming happiness. I never thought I could love someone so much. It's terrifying and intoxicating.

empty

2008-05-13T17:00:00.000-07:00

Over the weekend, I went to Denver to hang out with Guy #2 as he worked. During the day on Saturday, I hung out with him while he worked. He drew a bar in the hotel while I sat nearby writing. It was nice.

When I went to the empty bathroom, I was struck by a familiar feeling. It was the same reaction as in childhood. I loved being in empty or abandoned places, places that are usually filled with people but closed, quiet, dark. It felt the same as going to church after hours or the YMCA lock ins in junior high or going to the bathroom during mass.

Quiet, empty, closed but still resonate with life.

I remember writing about settings like that as a child, and they affect me the same today. Solitude with echoes of others.

clarification

2008-05-12T17:55:00.001-07:00

After my little hourly/salaried chat with my boss recently, I have been bitter. My work ethic has dropped to nothing, and I haven't been motivated to do shit. Even when I have work, I pretty much just sit in my cube and stare at the walls. I just haven't been able to care since I was told I wasn't "dedicated" enough.

I, of course, thought a lot about why I was angry, what about our chat upset me. I hadn't wanted to talk about it with my boss again since I am leaving soon anyway and didn't entirely trust my self-control to tame my tongue. But with a little nudge from a coworker, I folded.

I went to my boss' office, and we had another little chat. I told him our previous talk had left me confused, and he said he hadn't communicated well. He said he was pretty sure he hadn't been clear but didn't want to drag me into his office for another talk.

This talk, however, went well. I explained my upset at doing all my work, picking up the slack for one coworker, editing for all my coworkers, and mentoring the intern in less time than my coworkers do less work and being told I was not dedicated. I had him tell me exactly what he wanted to see from me.

So now everything is sorted out, and I feel better. I'm not so bitter and unhappy. I think I can manage to do my job now. That's all I need until I leave.

pessimism and twisted perceptions

2008-05-11T18:15:00.000-07:00

After all was said and done my birthday weekend, I truly realized some things about the low points.

I realized that I really ruined my own party for myself. I didn't have to get upset over people not showing or bailing early; I didn't have to care. Sure, it was really shitty of them, but I shouldn't scrap my night over it. It was truly all in my perspective. I chose to focus on the bad, on my shitty friends. I should have realized the other people who actually mattered were there. I should have said fuck everyone else and had fun with them and enjoyed my own party anyway.

I saw all that later, but at the time, I was drunk and felt that stinging disappointment and rejection, and it was all cycle after that--no coming back. I wish I could rebound from a cycle; I wish it didn't have to ruin my entire night, but drunk I just can't; I'm gone.

It was the same with the tattoo on my birthday. A logical, sane person would have thought that perhaps the artist was just late, would have realized that an appointment is easy to reschedule. It was in no way the end of the world or even the end of the day, yet my twisted little mind made it so painfully disappointing. Once again. I should have just said "Oh well. We'll wait for a bit then just come back tomorrow" and not really been upset. It's just a damn tattoo appointment.

However, in certain states, my mind is simply not capable of that kind of thought. Even when I have it fed to me calmly and logically, it just doesn't fit into the scrambled puzzle in my mind. It's all roulette. In one mood, something intense won't phase me; in another mood, the slightest push sends me reeling. So fucking frustrating because I have no idea how to change or control it.

Then, that night after drinking all day, E pissed me off, and that was just it--pissed off. No cycles got involved. It didn't such the life out of the rest of my night. It was cycle free, so it was just the base emotion--no embellishing, no traumatizing, no generalizing. Just getting irritated was a true noncycling reaction. It astounds me what a difference there is between the two (well really, hundreds).

It's good that I realize these things. It's good that I get my perspective back and see that the weekend really wasn't shitty and my life isn't really horrible, but at the same time, I fucking hate it. I hate that I fall apart over nothing because my mind is broken when I am fully capable of handling so much more, even handling what broke me when I come out of the cycle. I hate that I lose control of how I react to the external world, that I get lost in the pessimism of my depression or the twisted perceptions of a transient cycle.

It's such an old mindset for me. I'm trying to get myself back to my good place, but mad and sad are just so easy and comfortable--familiar.

But there's really not shit I can do about it, so why get upset about that too?

feliz cumpleaños

2008-05-08T19:39:00.001-07:00

My actual birthday started with Guy #2 going to the doctor. After two years of my nagging and begging, he finally went for a check up (after nearly dying of a blood clot in his lungs two years ago), and I feel better.

We had lunch and wasted the morning. I asked him to shower with me. He totally missed the clue and didn't fuck me. I didn't think I had to ask AND spell it out AND initiate on my own birthday.

In the afternoon, we walked down to the tattoo parlor. We found it closed, dark, empty. We waited; I called. As it looked like the artist wasn't going to show, I fell apart. The same disappointment from my party rose in me compounded. I never wanted to anticipate things again as my eyes welled up. Even #2 knew his optimism would send me over the edge.

But, of course, the artist was just late. He thought the appointment was an hour later. #2 gloated silently.

With me freshly inked (one new, two touched up), we walked down to the Mexican Restaurant/Bar. My former best friend, my former roommate, my other college roommate from New Mexico, E, and M met up with us. A good turn out for a Monday. We started our bar crawl downtown. The bars were surprisingly lame for Cinco. It was dead; prices went up; there were no specials. We made our way down with drinks and shots, having a good time.

Then E went princess. This is the first time (aside from trying to fuck me) that she's irritated me, and it was bad. She bitched and whined the entire walk from the bar to #2's house; she yelled at my former best friend for not drawing right during dirty Pictionary; she whined about not being her character in Rock Band; she took over the controls when she got impatient. It was just too much.

Other than that, it was a great time. My former best friend actually stayed out without her boyfriend; we were drunk; there was dirty Pictionary and Rock Band. I just got too damn irritated at E. My former best friend and I had to walk to 7-11 at three in the morning to get away. My former best friend, of course, thought it was her.

Then, #2, E, and M were hardcore sucked into Rock Band, and I had no desire to play. I talked to my former best friend until about five then said fuck it. I wasn't disappointed or upset; I just wasn't having fun anymore, and I was done.

I waited in bed for the others to leave; then I went back out to #2. He thought I was irritated at him. Right emotion, wrong person. We went to bed and called it a night.

back to the 80s

2008-05-07T17:51:00.000-07:00

Guy #2 and I spent Saturday prepping for my 80s birthday party. I got him to pack and go through his spare room. Well, more I got him to sit and help me while I did it. Either way, it's ready for me to start moving my stuff into.

My former roommate and my teacher friend showed up in the afternoon to get ready. The 80s outfits were truly ridiculous. I could barely look at my former roommate in her pink prom dress and bright blue eye shadow or my teacher friend with her crimped hair and purple tights--not to mention #2 in booty shorts and a crop top.

Everyone who participated was just ridiculous, but of course, some people were lame. Even worse than not dressing up, a lot of people didn't even show. #2's friends never even heard about it, and besides three, the boys didn't show. Then those who did show bailed before midnight.

It was truly #2's lamest party. Of course, it was for me; no one shows up for my shit, and I knew that.

In the end, it was pretty much me, #2, my former roommate, E, and M--a normal weekend. And just when I was starting to like the boys again and want to hang out with them...

I was severely disappointed, and that drunken upset got me to cycle. Hard. I stopped talking; I pulled away from the group. #2 kept pulling me into the kitchen to ask what was wrong, but I wouldn't tell him; I just kept kissing him.

My mind turned on me, and I fought the tears. It really ruined my night and my party.

Then when #2 and E kept pushing me about what was wrong, I told them, and #2 and I got in our same old argument about the boys. We went round and round until he yelled at me, making me cry. Icing on my fucking birthday cake.

After my tears and E and M left, #2 and I had a long talk. We talked over our same argument over his friends we keep having--how him defending them sounds like he's saying I'm wrong, how he doesn't know what I want him to say. We were both right, and we were both wrong.

It all inevitably led up to talking bout me being crazy because there I was, cycling in his lap. He said my crazy was wonderful; he said he loved it, but sometimes he just does not know what the right answer is.

We agreed I wouldn't tell him nothing was wrong anymore (I will tell him I'll tell him later) and I will work on what I need to hear from him when I'm venting about the boys.

The talk was good and good for us, but I wish it wasn't how we ended that night.

fuck.

2008-04-30T19:43:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, in the course of my shitty day, I set up my doctor's appointment. When I told my boss about the appointment and that I would make up my hours, I triggered something in him.

He sat me down later in the afternoon. He, yet again, asked me if I knew what I wanted to do with my life and career, if I was happy in what I was doing. This led into him asking me if I wanted to be treated hourly or salaried (I'm a salaried employee). Apparently, he had been tracking when I came in and left, noting that I came in and left at the same time everyday, 15 minutes early.

What the fuck? Am I 12 years old? Is my work somehow unsatisfactory, as I do all the damn work on the team practically? Is this about appearances yet again?

So we talked about being salaried and balancing staying late and leaving earlier and how I need to be more "dedicated" to do it. I said it's hard for me to sit there when I'm not busy and don't have work.

And somehow, at this inopportune moment of talking about me bailing those damn 15 minutes early and not having enough work, I ended up having the moving/remote work talk with him. I was trapped. I couldn't avoid it.

I do not know how it went. I do not know how to read it. He wasn't upset or an ass about me moving or not knowing where or when I'm going; he was actually encouraging. But he didn't seem receptive at all to the remote and editor ideas, which is what the fuck I need.

Basically, he indicated they could use me in a part time, contractual capacity randomly when they were busy. That doesn't solve making regular money or having benefits or fucking anything! It would be a fucking side job, extra income. That does shit for me!

So I don't know how the fuck it will work out. I feel there will be no remote and I'll just move on. That makes this move so much more complicated. No jobs for me in California, coordinating finding a new job and moving, long distance job hunting. FUCK!

I don't feel better; I feel fucking worse, more stressed. After processing it, I'm pretty fucking bitter. I'm being monitored like a fucking child even though I get my work done faster and better than the rest of my team, and they're just going to let me go and not work with me. I want a new job now; I want to fuck them over.

I'm going to have to detach at work again--no associating, no caring. How's that for fucking dedication?

***

After rereading this, I feel I sound somewhat like a spoiled child. That is not my intention. I'm not upset because he called me on leaving early, because I had been; I'm not upset that he clarified the difference between acting "hourly" and "salaried," because I needed to learn it.

One of the reasons I'm upset is the double standard.

Does he talk/reprimand my one coworker who fucks around all day and talks to anyone with a pulse rather than work and lets her deadlines slide into crisis so she can work 14 hour days and play the self-sacrificing martyr, making her books horribly inaccurate and sound like utter shit? No.

Does he talk/reprimand the other coworker who cannot write to save his life and is a "Senior Technical Writer" and is yet to perform what he has been hired TWICE for? No.

No, he pulls me aside. I carry the first coworker's dead weight when she is not taking care of her shit. I edit my second coworker's writing so he doesn't sound like a complete fucking idiot. But because when I'm not busy I don't hide from my personal life for extra hours at work, I get a chat.

I work my fucking ass off when I'm busy and don't when I'm not. I thought that was what salaried was. More when needed, less when not.

And I am also upset by the realization that what I actually DO means shit, that the other thing that matters is what it LOOKS like I'm doing. I produce a product for a living. You can actually see and touch how much I've accomplished. But no, that doesn't matter; what matters is if people think I leave too early.

This drags up my bitterness of getting my own personal dress code due to my tits by a flat chested girl in a low cut shirt. I could see her breastbone, but somehow that is different than my cleavage.

I suppose I should be happy that I'm nitpicked for this frivolous, collateral shit and not my work. My work leaves them no opportunity to reprimand me, so I get this ridiculous shit. Yet it still just pisses me off.

I'm bitter. I'll get over it, and I'll get to leave them with no competent writer or editor.

i think my doctor's associate might be a fucking idiot

2008-04-29T18:33:00.000-07:00

Allergies. Fucking allergies?

I've never had allergies; I didn't respond to over the counter allergy medication; I don't itch or sneeze. But fucking allergies to answer my month long cold and oscillating pink eye. Somehow, I don't buy it. And between copay and scrips, $80. The icing on the fucking cake of my shitty day.

Kill me now.

nothing

2008-04-28T20:25:00.000-07:00

I really have nothing to say. My mind is quiet, so my words are subdued. I'm sleeping compulsively and still mildly sick.

I just got home from a yoga session that was excruciating. It felt good and was necessary, but my body is so fucked up that every stretch and pose hurt. Quite a feat for a flexible freak like myself. I have knots from my fever weeks ago and knots from working out. I'm sure from stress too.

My body just pretty much hates me right now.

I want to eat compulsively. I find myself constantly fighting my desire to eat and eat what is bad for me. So far, I'm still winning, but I wonder when I will get too lazy to care. I just feel off.

May starts on Thursday. May is going to be insanely busy for me. I think I'm booked every single weekend.

There's my birthday weekend, complete with my first birthday party in years, tattoos, and the Cinco celebrations.

Then Guy #2 will be working in Denver again, so we know where I'll be.

Then my former best friend has her graduation and graduation party. It took her seven years to get her bachelor's, so it's quite the big deal.

Then it's Memorial Day weekend camping. Fingers crossed that no one dies or nearly dies this year.

Then it's my teacher friend's wedding. My mother will be in town. We have the rehearsal, the bachelorette, the wedding... all of it.

Fuck, I'm tired already, but it will be good.

packing

2008-04-27T18:21:00.000-07:00

I packed this weekend.

As suggested by my real estate agent friend, I packed all my "unessentials" to make it easier for my landlord to show to renters. The majority of my pictures and stuff are off the walls. My books are packed. My DVDs are packed. I went through all my closets and sorted and packed them. My shot glasses and liquor and sexual paraphernalia are packed.

One big step towards moving in with Guy #2.

Every day, the move seems to get closer and more real. Spending a weekend sorting through my stuff to decide what to throw away, what to give away, and what to move had to be one of the bigger solidifications. I haven't moved in three years. I have accumulated a lot of shit. It feels good, in a way, to purge it all, to get more back down to what I need.

I still have a lot of shit that is somehow going to need to get stored at Guy #2's house until we move out of state. California or Washington, we still don't know which.

I don't really like the idea of living in his house. I would prefer we be getting a new place together that would be ours. No former ownership or territory. It's not even really like I'm moving into his house. The majority of my shit will come into his house and stay packed. I'm not unpacking and integrating with all his shit. So, more or less, I'm staying there with my boxes until we move.

I've told Guy #2 how I feel about starting in HIS place. He's said he'll do whatever he can to make me feel comfortable there. I'm sure I'll be fine. I'm perfectly fine there when I stay there the entire times he's home. He has already said it's been our house for a while.

But, more than anything, I'm ready. As I prepare, I feel nothing but ready. My nervousness has faded for the most part; it is just a small echo in the back of my head. I actually find myself anxious to do it. I crave the simplicity of living together, the next step towards the two of us getting out of here and starting a new life together.

sick and sick

2008-04-22T18:18:00.001-07:00

When the fuck will I get better? I have been sick for weeks.

I had pink eye in my left eye, followed by pink eye in my right eye. Now my damn right eye is all red again. I have been taking the drops and not touching my eyes and sanitizing and disinfecting. Give me my fucking eyes back!

I have not been able to breathe normally in forever. I can't remember the last time I wasn't congested. Just let me breathe through my nose for more than an hour!

Clearly, I'm getting a little fucking frustrated. I'm sick of feeling like shit.

physically needy

2008-04-21T19:29:00.000-07:00

I am physically needy. I fully admit it.

I NEED touch. I NEED physical affection. I crave it, desperately at times. The more emotionally close I get to a person, the more I need from them physically.

It probably comes from my mother being very physically affectionate with us as children. Hugs, cuddling, what have you. I associate physical affectionate with emotional closeness.

Now Guy #2 gets to deal with it. And I believe, with him, it is amplified since he is gone most of the time. When he is home, I latch onto him. I make him cuddle with me; we hold hands; we make out constantly. Sometimes, he whines jokingly about it, but I always tell him, better to be physically needy than emotionally needy...

ready

2008-04-20T17:49:00.000-07:00

I am ready to move into Guy #2's house. We began planning it a couple months ago, for me to move into his house when my lease is up and then for us to move out of state together when we sell his house.

At first, the idea made me quite nervous. I've never lived with someone I've been with. Hell, this is the closest thing to a relationship I've ever had. And I would be living in his house. It won't be our place like it will when we move to a new place together. This is his house he's had for three years. It will be weird living in someone else's territory.

But I'm past all that. Every Sunday night when #2 is home, it becomes harder and harder for me to get my shit and go back home. He tugs at me, holds me down to the couch or bed. I find that I just do not want to leave. I want to stay; I want to sleep there every night; I want to share a place with him.

The desire crept on me gradually, much like my increased affection for him. But it feels right now, natural. But the four or five months left on my lease seem so long now.

However, it may be sooner. Having talked to my landlord, we may terminate my lease two months early, putting me into his house in the end of June. And his work has also raised the possibility of moving him to California for a couple years, which would put us on a little detour from Seattle. So now more options, more possibilities.

I'm just ready to live together.

growing distances

2008-04-17T19:57:00.000-07:00

We went to our bar briefly on Saturday night. I didn't really interact with anyone because I didn't really want to. I feel less and less connection with the guys. I don't exist to them anymore, and I resent them for making me nothing more than Guy #2's sex. So fuck them. I don't jump when they call me drunk at midnight; I don't go talk to them; I don't care.

Things with my former best friend and I are not the same. The distance and the difference between us just keeps growing. I cannot talk to her anymore. As we sat at the bar, our conversation stumbled; it didn't flow. We're no longer on the same wavelength or even similar ones. I don't know if I like who she's become; I think she irritates me more than I accept.

My teacher friend has become painfully lame. She always flakes; she never wants to do anything fun. She cringes at the things I talk about. She became old overnight.

Both my former best friend and my teacher friend seems less and less recognizable; the distance between us grows every time I see them. I feel they will be gone completely after I move.

the photo shoot

2008-04-16T17:53:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I went up to Denver for my photo shoot, and it was awesome. However, the whole world really was against it until the bitter end.

First, both of my eyes alternately went to shit.

Then, her memory card died while new ones were still in the mail.

Then, the site where we were going to shoot had been torn down.

But when it all finally fell into place, it was a great experience.

We drove around for a while, looking for a new location. We found an abandoned house off the interstate. It was trashed and filthy. All the windows were broken out; the doors and walls were torn apart; dirt covered everything. It was perfect.

Recycled Cha0s, the photographer, and I clicked right away I think. Instantly, we were just chatting away. It's weird to meet a blogger. They know intimate details of your innermost mind but don't know you at all. It's an interesting contradiction.

I was far more comfortable in the experience than I ever imagined. As I got ready and went to pick her up, nervousness rose in me, but when it came down to it, there was none. I undressed and changed as if I was along; I walked around naked outside as I would with full clothing--no modesty, no apprehension, no self-consciousness. In fact, I only found myself worrying about how my body looked when I was in clothes.

It was liberating to be so natural naked and to feel so comfortable in my skin again. I haven't felt so at ease in myself since I was fat. I feel whole again, instead of estrange from my reshaped flesh and foreign body.

And Recycled Cha0s was great. I had no idea what I was doing or how to pose or how I wanted or should make myself look. She gave me the excessive amount of direction and feedback I needed, which I imagine was irritating. I am no model; that's for sure. I have no idea how to pose or look. I was awkward and inexperienced. But her direction helped me find some semblance of pose without feeling condescending. It was exactly what I wanted.

We took photos in numerous places in all levels of undress in varied positions at different angles. I sat on a filthy counter; I looked through a broken window; I lay naked in the weeds. The sunlight was intense and bright with the sun low in the sky. I think the pictures are going to turn out great; I can't wait to see them.

It was well worth the money even without yet seeing the end result.

It even felt good to go to the salon beforehand and get pampered getting my hair and make up done. I didn't particularly care for the make up, but I made it my own afterwards. I needed it, all of it, after the week of feeling like such shit and all the stress over my eyes.

I still don't feel well, but my eyes are white, and I am getting better. I just now have to work long hours with no work to make up for leaving early yesterday. It was worth it.

weirdnesses

2008-04-14T16:44:00.000-07:00

Guy #2 was home for nearly three weeks; he was only gone for a couple days for training. After all this time with his job, it was weird. In ways, it was great. I didn't miss him; he didn't miss anything; we got more than those fleeting days. But we saw more of each other than we're used to anymore; it took some stumbling and adaptation.

And instead of my routine getting fucked up for a few days, it was three weeks. I've missed classes and work; I've gained two pounds. Our lives are just not adapted to three weeks. I mean I loved it, but we both needed it to end. There will have to be serious adjustments when we live together and he doesn't travel for work.

And in this time, he had to deal with the weirdness I was experiencing. One day at lunch, over salad, he told me I had been bitchy lately. He asked if he had been home too long. I knew something was off with me, but his joke about being home too long tickled my fear.

I fear that we will become complacent and drive each other crazy. I fear that things are only so good between us because he's gone so long and we can't irritate the shit out of each other. I know my reaction was tainted by my unexplained sensitivity that grew and faded without pattern.

Then after the Kava Kava night, we talked about our weirdness. He had seemed off too. I told him he was right about me being sensitive and bitchy, and I explained my odd cycles. I told him he had been ornery and edgy since he got home from training. He said it was because he wasn't working and because of his trip out there.

I told him that I get scared, even though the rational part of me knows ups and downs and changes are good and normal, that all this is still new territory to me. He said after seven years, I should know we're good.

But after talking about it, I felt instantly better.

supposed to

2008-04-13T10:11:00.000-07:00

Today, I was supposed to be getting photo taken by a very brilliant photographer. I was supposed to get my hair and make up done this morning and be in Denver this afternoon. I was supposed to be posing for nude photos outside.

But no.

Instead, Thursday morning, I woke up to one eye bright red, crusted over, and nearly swollen shut. I iced it; I put a warm compress on it; I flushed it. I did everything to little to no improvement. So I had to cancel everything.

Then yesterday afternoon, I flushed an eyelash from behind my eyeball. Yes, behind. After I got that out, it seemed to improve. The swelling finally went completely down, and my eye started to look something resembling white again. However, it was too late to get a new appointment and make it up to Denver.

I was so excited about this session that I am sorely disappointed.

Now, both my eyes are slightly pissed off but not swollen or red. So I feel I'm getting better. Hopefully, I'll be able to get back together with said photographer one evening this week. That's what I'm hoping for.

This, pretty much, is how my luck works out on the whole. If I plan something and get all excited, it somehow falls through. Disappointment every time. I'm trying to remain optimistic on this one. I just don't want it to end up like the watcher thing.

Guy #2 and I decided we wanted a watcher to watch us have sex. We talked about the terms and boundaries. We got on alt.com and looked on craigslist. Finally, I found a girl who wanted to do it for part of her degree in sexual counseling or something. We emailed back in forth, set up a couple meetings that never happened, and then the whole thing kind of went away.

I don't want this fantasy to end up like that too. Fingers crossed...

weird cycles and kava kava

2008-04-09T18:58:00.000-07:00

I had some very weird cycles the past couple weeks. Usually, my cycles are large, individual occurrences. When I'm depressed, I'm noticeably low. I can tell I have dropped below what I consider my "balanced" or middle. Not these.

These cycles became a subtle blend of rolling waves. Instead of being depressed or manic and knowing it, I got touchy and irritable without even noticing. It was hard to ride them like I usually do because it was hard to see them, and I did not control it well. They took me by surprise, and I just followed them mindlessly.

Once I realized what I was feeling, I could not understand why I was upset or irritated. I knew nothing had happened to really cause it, yet I felt it just the same. It was so disorienting.

Then I took Kava Kava. Kava Kava is an herb that's supposed to act as a mild sedative, helping with anxiety and muscle tension. I took it because my neck has been so horribly knotted lately. And it worked for all that, but unlike I expected, it was more of a mental sedation than a bodily one.

But then it fucked with my head. It made me even more moody and more sensitive, and it came and went even faster. I was so completely lost in my head in addition to being so relaxed that all I did was lay there.

Needless to say, I will not be taking Kava Kava again. I thought the reaction was just me because of my bipolar, but my coworker who also took it said it messed with her head too and made her so bitchy. Bad, bad stuff for me.

sick

2008-04-08T18:22:00.000-07:00

I woke up with potentially the worst cold I've had this morning. I had had the chills all day yesterday but no other symptoms. Then this morning, I woke up unable to breathe or swallow.

But it's the muscle aches that are killing me. Every joint of my body is achy and sore and throbbing, even each vertebrate along my spine. My neck has never hurt worse, and it has been bad lately. It hurts to move; it hurts to be touched--by the blanket, by the couch, by my damn clingy cat.

My head is throbbing too. I think it's sinus pressure from not being able to breathe. It just hurts. Fucking hurts.

It's getting better, granted I slept through half the day while I was working. I had like two two hour naps. But it's still clinging on.

I'm fucking sick of snow and being sick. When is winter going to be over?

weird dreams

2008-04-07T16:10:00.000-07:00

I have been having the weirdest and the most vivid dreams lately. They're not nightmares, thankfully, like they usually are, but oh they are weird. Consider this sampling...

I was back in my old apartment. It was somehow now but simultaneously back then. Guy #2 and I were simultaneously like we were now and then. #2 just left, and I hooked up with some Indian (as in from India) guy who put small statues of buddhas and quan yins all over my apartment. I started out thinking it was fine because we weren't together but ended up feeling guilty because I was his.

I started working at the movie theatre where I have my first job to make up for losing the website money. My sister and my former best friend already worked there. As I was working the podium, I saw two guys I used to go to school with. One was talking shit; I worked to flip off the other (my dark friend).

My parents decided to have more children, while remaining divorced and not getting along. The issue was how they were going to do so without having sex. Then it dawned on my sister and me (and only us) that our mother was too old and already in menopause.

My next door neighbors from the house I grew up in had a separate house down the street for their dogs. For some reason, #2 and I stayed there for a night. My former dramatic friend came by after our bar to rant about drama. We talked about our weight losses.

See, fucking weird.

the doctor says...

2008-04-03T17:04:00.000-07:00

So I went for my weight loss follow up with my primary care doctor yesterday. I saw him in October for my weight loss, to make sure I was doing it healthily and to see how far I needed to go. My doctor is extremely knowledgeable and very good. Then, he told me to lose 20 more pounds over 6 months.

So I lost the 20 by the end of January and kept it off, so I made my appointment.

The verdict is that I am at a healthy weight, I look great, and I am now just to maintain. That made me so happy. I don't think I could have handled another 10-15 pounds after the 50 I lost. I'm done with weight loss. And now my very effective and reliable doctor confirmed it.

I mentioned my weird symptoms of random nausea and exhaustion. We dismissed the diarrhea as a side effect of my meds. So he ran tests, as he is want to do. I got blood work and urine tests done. He gave me a pregnancy test, even though he doesn't think I am pregnant. So results pending, but he thinks I'm fine and that I'll normalize.

bodily weirdness

2008-04-01T16:35:00.000-07:00

I have to say, since ending my diet, my body has become a jumble of foreign behaviors. You would think the true weirdness would emerge while on the diet, when starving the body, but no. Mine came out the minute I started eating normal quantities of food again.

*Warning: semi-graphic unpleasantness ahead*

The first symptom was that I had diarrhea for nearly a month. Every day. Multiple times a day. Complete with body twisting cramps. I would either have intense (sometimes explosive) diarrhea or nothing. For that month, it was constant; now it's more sporadic, as is normal with the crippled digestive system I inherited from my mother. Now, this could be a side effect from the Elmiron I'm taking to regrow my bladder lining, but I can't be sure.

There is always extraordinary exhaustion. I am tired all the time. I sleep like a narcoleptic. Every night, I would go to bed and fall asleep rather quickly and have to literally drag myself out of bed. I still got up on time (mostly), but it was excruciating to do so. All my body begged for was sleep. And then on the weekends, I would sleep 10-12 hours easy then maybe even nap. Any time my body could get sleep, it took it. Even at my desk. Now I expected to have more energy with more calories and the same exercise, but I am exhausted nearly all the time.

And finally, I have random bursts of extreme nausea. I have not been able to discern a pattern, cause, or common element, but sporadically throughout the months since the diet, I just get extremely sick out of nowhere. All of a sudden, I feel the intense need to vomit. I haven't, but it consumes me for maybe 20 minutes; then it vanishes. My first thought was pregnancy, but there's no consistency to the nausea, and I've been having regular periods right on time. And I haven't recognized any pattern in what I've eaten before or been around.

Now, my diet has not changed much since I quit the diet, which would be a good cause for all these symptoms. But instead I just eat a little more of the exact things I was eating all along. Not enough change and not enough increase to make me sick in all these weird ways. I'm going to my doctor tomorrow for my post weight loss check up, so things to ask him about.

2008-03-31T16:42:00.001-07:00

too low

blank mind

empty head

heavy, warm depression

laziness

i'll write later

printing issues

2008-03-27T17:29:00.000-07:00

So I produced these pocket guides for work. I'm a technical writer for a software company, so it's part of what a do. Basically, they are quick reference guides for Air Force software that fit in the calf pocket of a flight suit. I designed the template, generated the content, took the screen shots, put it all together, made a prototype; I did everything with these damn guides.

For the next major testing event of said software, the powers that be decided to professionally print these guides for the participants. We thought we would get a more professional looking product that way. Oh were we wrong.

Today, after much anxiety about the shadyness of the printing house, I picked up the pocket guides. There were completely fucked; my prototype was more professional. There was half of a hole from the binder at the top of every book. They shifted the back page down from the front so that the page numbers were half an inch apart. They misaligned and made their own margins to the point that text got cut into. A grade schooler could have produced a better product.

So I took the guides back to the office, showed them to my boss and the project managers; the unanimous decision was to send them back to be redone. With these little bitches costing over $25 each, there was no other option. To send these to a professional, government event would have made us look wildly incompetent and sloppy. Nothing something to do when you're trying to get your software fielded.

So back we went with the guides to the print house. They tried to blame it on the pdf file, but even when they printed out pages, the page numbers were not as skewed as in the product. And they had no excuses for the damned notch. They seemed to know they had created a shoddy product; who wouldn't? So they graciously took it back, all apologies, to redo it.

Now, I have my doubts about round two. I had my doubts before round one. I need these to be perfect--for this event, for my job security, for a sample for interviews. They are just stressing me out! You just can't seem to find good help these days...

one drunken tale

2008-03-26T17:24:00.000-07:00

On Saturday night, we went out for M's birthday. My sister met up with us after being out with her friends. We began with the resolve of drinking light and the same alcohol, but that of course went to hell.

We started at Mexican Restaurant for dinner and really strong drinks, then to Packers Bar and my former roommate's free experimental shots, then to Martini Bar for free martinis and more martinis, then to Other Martini Bar for The Shot(s), then to two more of the usual bar stops. So much alcohol!

My sister had two Jameson martinis followed by two shots of Jameson, while flirting and playing my former roommate's coworkers against each other. By the second to last bar, she was fucking trashed.

She said her drunk gauge was when she liked Guy #2; she said, "I like Guy #2; I must be drunk. I keep thinking he's a great guy; I'm wasted." In the second to last bar, the two of them were having a booty bumping contest and boxing and dancing. Hilarious.

However, at the last bar, it started to go downhill. She was ok and wasted; then she stopped talking; then she tried to pass out on the table. I took her to the bathroom to puke and no dice, but then she vomited all over the table--exploded. She was covered into it. I had to clean her off (yet again), and we got kicked out.

Guy #2 and I had to start walking home with my wasted, puke covered sister. Then Guy #2 stopped to pee on a building, and there were the cops.

The cops were total dicks, telling Guy #2 he was going to have to register as a sex offender and asking ridiculous questions. "Which one of you is the least drunk?" Umm, one of the ones not covered in their own vomit?

My sister would not shut up and stop talking shit. She ran her mouth the entire time, even as I threatened to hit her in the face with my purse. As Guy #2 was getting his ticket, some little white kids walked by talking shit about it. My sister lost it, yelling at them, trying to fight them; then she started crying, sobbing and all. I had to hold her to my chest and pat her head as the snow poured down on us.

We were forced to cab it home. My sister gave the cabby a $14 tip on a $6 ride, perhaps a reward for having to smell her for those five minutes. When we got to Guy #2's house, we got my sister to change and pass out. Guy #2 was livid about his pissing in public ticket. I slurringly read some of the book about our move to him before we passed out.

Early, early in the morning, my drunk sister and I dragged ourselves up to get her to Denver for her flight--after she showered off the puke of course. The entire drive to Denver, we were just cracking up and reliving the night before.

My sister was still drunk, and she's just so much more responsive, talkative, happy when she is. I just fucking love her.

Then I got pulled over for speeding--the icing on the cake of the weekend. Too many damn cops. Fortunately, this was the nicest cop I have ever come in contact with.

That was very lucky when he smelled alcohol (and vomit) and asked if I had been drinking.

Cop: "Have you been drinking, last night or this morning?"
Me: (In my head, "FUCK.") "Last night, yes, but not since then."
Cop: "Ok because I smell..."
Sister: "That's me. I'm still drunk."
Cop: "Ok, that's fine."
Sister: "Yeah, I puked a little in my purse last night. I don't even want to talk about it."
Cop: "Ok, that's fine." To me, "Can you take down your sunglasses?"
Me: "Sure."
Cop: "Ok, your eyes are clear. Her eyes are glossy. All right, I'm going to go write your ticket and get you out of her in about five minutes."

It was too funny. I was relieved to not get breathalized. I was sober and not hungover, but there is no guarantee I would have passed with all I drank mere hours ago. I would have killed my sister if her reeking ass got me a DUI.

But I got my ticket, got my sister to the airport, and went back to Guy #2's. And that is my drunken tale.

upcoming...

2008-03-25T14:31:00.001-07:00

I have a delightful little tale from my weekend that I am dying to tell you. I even have it written up in my journal. I just don't have the time to type it up for my blog just yet. And I want to do it justice, no summarizing and forgetting details. So, unfortunately, you'll have to wait. Only one more day hopefully. I promise it's quite a funny one though...

on hold

2008-03-24T15:55:00.001-07:00

The website I freelance for hasn't been doing so good. I can't really say with any detail what is going out because I am far outside the loop across the country, but business is unfortunately not going well. The first sign was the problems they had with Live Chat, the same problems that caused me to quit chatting. Then they gave their employees a pay cut, and a significant one at that.

Then, on Friday, I got temporarily laid off, or "put on hold" as they called it. In addition to my copyediting being on hold, so is the whole review project. No new toy requests, no new reviewers. It's basically all being frozen.

On the one side, this is good for me. I was edging dangerously close to an edge of burning out and freaking out. I do need this break, mentally. I need the time.

However, it does put a horrible crimp in my financial plans. Copyediting for them brought me between $500 and $1000 a month, depending on how much I felt like working and how much time I had. All of this money (well nearly all) went directly into savings for moving. I wanted to have $5000 for movie, which would have happened easily in five months with the website money. But now that that's gone, I'll be more likely to put $200 away a month, which will never get me $5000 before moving.

My contact or handler or whatever you want to call her remains optimistic as she keeps me updated. She's thrilled I'm being flexible enough to go on hold. As she's been updating me, she keeps emphasizing that this is a temporary freezing, and they're all working on getting to program back up and running.

I hope that is the case. I hope I get a month or two off and then back to work. Then I can hit it hard and make up the money.

I also don't want to lose my side job on principle. I like working for a sex toy website. I like being in that world. It has been my balance to my painfully mundane "real" job. I don't want to now tip the other way and be horrifically bored again.

So fingers crossed that things work out relatively soon...

winding down

2008-03-20T19:29:00.000-07:00

I am still insanely busy, but the end is in sight.

I have four deadlines at work tomorrow, then five on Wednesday, then one more in mid April, then back to my nothing. I will be able to use my time at work to care of other parts of my life again. As bored as I will be, I need it at this point.

Guy #2 has been home for almost a week. I've been with him nearly constantly, of course, so it's been fucking up my routine. I'm doing him then the stuff I normally do and need to do. I never regret it, but it does take a while to recover for it.

My sister is in town from Minnesota as well. So we're cramming as much as we can into the weekend she's here.

I'm behind in my copyediting. I'm behind in my writing. And I am fucking exhausted. Soooo tired. Indescribably tired. All my body cries for is sleep, and there is no time for sleep right now.

But soon. Soon.

a talk

2008-03-19T16:21:00.000-07:00

Guy #2 and I were sitting in the car, waiting in the McDonald's drive thru. We had just left our bar from celebrating St. Patty's. He was a little drunk, and I was feeling sick. I was driving his land yacht of a car.

I don't remember how we got there, but we started talking about my cycles, my disorder. I had cycled earlier that night when I was getting sick. I always cycle when I get sick, and I was extremely frustrated at being sick at this time.

I told him that I had gotten more frustrated and cycled more because I was upset that I was cycling again and being crazy again while he was home. I said I didn't want to ruin every time we saw each other. He said I wasn't ruining it.

We talked about his experience of my cycles. He said how much harder it is when it comes out of nowhere. He said he makes a real effort to react well or not react at all, but he knows he won't always be able to do it. That sometimes he'll snap.

We talked honestly. We talked blatantly. We were in the drive thru for a long time.

I love that we can talk; I love that we're honest, painfully honest with each other. As we talked that night, all I could keep thinking is how my mother used to tell me that she and my dad could never talk, that they never communicated. All I could think was I'm so happy we're not them.

more...

2008-03-12T16:00:00.000-07:00

So I've been thinking a lot about what I posted last time. Thank you to all of you who left such supportive comments. They really helped me put things into perspective and come to my realization.

This realization slapped me right in the face and laughed at me for being such an idiot. I had my blinders on; I wasn't looking past myself and my fear of my own condition.

Then it hit me. My mother was a fucking brilliant mother. She was an outstanding mother to me, my sister, hell, half our friends. All crazy as hell and with a mental disorder.

All of those things I experienced that I'm scared of my kids experiencing because of me made me who I am. Putting her back together taught me so much. Seeing her symptoms helped me to see. All these experiences made me empathetic and nurturing and caring. I wouldn't be upset if my kids ended up that way either. I wouldn't be sad if they turned out like me.

And with that realization, I'm not so scared anymore.

fears and cycles

2008-03-09T19:38:00.000-07:00

The last thing I thought was, "Wow, I haven't cycled in forever." Fucking idiot. Then what happened? I cycled intensely of course.

It started on Wednesday and Thursday with hints of depression. Licking reminders reaching up from that darkness deep within me to the edges of my mind. Then last night, I bounced up and down painfully. With Guy #2, unfortunately.

He just pushes me so much. When I'm in a good place, it's everything I love about him. But when I'm teetering, it turns into a volatile trigger. But I didn't just crash last night; I thrashed up and down more rapidly than I may ever had before.

I plunged down into a choking despair; then I blinked, and I popped back up into being happy and normal. Up and down, up and down with no rhyme or reason. I even felt the drastic mood shifts in my skin sensitivity. One minute, my skin was lighting up and screaming pleasantly at his touch; then suddenly, I went numb and retracted into myself.

It was horrible, and it had to be bad for him too. How do you even deal with me when I'm like that? I hate those nights. They make me feel so fucking crazy and even embarrassed in my disease. When I know how I feel and why, I have no regrets and can be honest in my emotion, but when they're shifting so fast I can't even identify them and can't control my behavior and reactions, I just feel lost and crazy.

Now I'm just sad--a combination of last night and more cycle.

But is this worth the past few weeks of blissful, authentic contentment? Yes. Undoubtedly yes. Even when I was busy and pissed off with work, I have been happy lately, so simply happy. I couldn't expect that to be free. And this kind of pain makes the happiness all the more vivid.

I am bipolar; this is my life, and I know it. I know every time I think I haven't cycle in forever, I crash. I knew I was cycling the entire time I was lost in my insanity last night. However, the knowledge doesn't prevent me from feeling it all.

Last night did end up a good night, despite me being crazy. Maybe #2 is the best one to deal with my bipolar even though it hurts at the time; maybe it's what I ultimately need.

I drove up, through traffic, to Denver after work. After #2 was done working, we went to dinner. This is where my mind started to turn on me. I was starving but had no appetite, so nothing sounded good, and I couldn't decide where to eat. #2 refused to help me; he said it was too frustrating since I just shook my head at everything, but it made it so much worse for me. I was so miserably hungry and frustrated.

But once we found a place, I was better again. We had a fantastic meal then went to the hotel bar. My moods roller coastered the whole time. He would say something, or I would think something, and I would plunge down; then instantly, I was fine again, like nothing happened. It was so jarring; I felt so crazy.

But amidst all that, we still had a great time. It was just me and him, hanging out and drinking, kissing and cuddling.

When we went upstairs, we had sex--even though my cycles made me not really want to and even though the beer on so much food was making me nauseous. It was great sex, as always, but he was too tired to cum, so we ended up just passing out.

In the morning, we went to breakfast before I headed home. It was on the drive home that the singular wave of depression hit me. It was thick and heavy, and I felt so upset about the night before and my disorder. I let myself embrace it until my teacher friend showed up and knocked it out of me. We went swimming, and I felt like myself again.

I hope this crash has bought me a couple more weeks of happiness.

Nights like that just scare me though. When I am reminded of the depths of my disease, when it hints at how bad it could really be, it scares me about if I will ever really be able to be with someone, if I will ever be able to raise children.

The more #2 and I talk about "our children," a phrase that still stops my heart, the more I have to face my fears about my ability to raise kids with my illness. Will I be my mother, ranting and crying hysterically? Will my child have to take care of me and put me back together every time, like I did with her?

#2 is convinced that I will be a great mom, that my nurturing instincts will override my broken mind. I don't know if I share that faith yet. And nights like last night, where the bipolar overwhelms and completely controls me though briefly, only fuel my doubt.

I fear that I won't be able to get pregnant after all these years of trying not to; I fear my babies could end up with a defect or something could go wrong; and I fear if they do get conceived and come out ok, I'll just fuck them up.

drained

2008-03-05T19:33:00.001-08:00

I am fucking exhausted. Every morning when my alarm goes off, my body begs for sleep. All I want is more sleep. But every morning, I heave myself up and drive my ass to the gym. I run; I lift; and I go to work.

Being busy at work has certainly changed things. I used to sit at work all day, either doing nothing or piddling around doing things not for work. Now I'm slammed busy for these converging deadlines, so I'm working my ass off at work then having to do all my other work and such at home.

I'm mentally running my ass off from the time I leave the gym until I shut down the computer and go to bed.

Parts of it are nice. I like being busy at work for once, for a first, for a change. I feel like I'm actually doing my job and accomplishing something, and the time and the days actually pass rather than dragging on tortuously. However, not having all those hours to accomplish everything else has made doing the rest more taxing.

I would estimate that I read and/or write no less than 10 hour a day. 10 full hours. And that's the minimum between my real job of being a tech writer, my side job of being a copyeditor and reviewer, my blogging, and my journaling.

Now why have I been unable to produce any of my other writing, like stories? Because after these 10+ hours a day, I have zero desire to read or write shit. I want to lay there mindless or just get fucked. That's it. I don't want to think or create. But I need to. I need to work on my writing.

But I'm just so tired, so exhausted, so drained. Yoga is generally my relaxation time, and it's canceled this week and next. I guess I'll have to find other ways to unwind.

busy

2008-03-04T20:14:00.001-08:00

I am so fucking busy! Accomplishing so much but I have no damn time!

catch up

2008-03-03T18:25:00.000-08:00

I finally feel a little caught up again. Being sick put me far behind. Though I always seem to slip behind. That is the larger pattern, the real routine in my routine.

I have a busy weekend, or Guy #2 comes home, or I get sick, and I slip behind my somewhat rigid schedule. Then I scramble to catch up and feel such a sense of accomplishment when I do. And here I am again.

For the first time in my near three year employment and my company, I was busy for more than two days. Really busy. It's amazing; I barely know how to deal with it. Granted, most of this work is a result of fixing my coworker's shit. And then there were the updates, the real work I was supposed to be doing that took me over a week to get to.

No wonder I got such a raise.

But I felt significantly better and less irritated once I got past the corrections and to updates. But after I finish this book, I have two more projects due by the end of the month. I'm actually slammed. However, this is all for one testing event and will vanish after April, but it's nice now.

I also caught up on my website work over the weekend. I had done practically nothing for it while I was sick, so it felt good to make a dent again. I spend Friday night copyediting and reviewing then Saturday copyediting and cleaning my house for the first time in three months.

All of it felt so good to get done, and I felt so much more normal.

the fat mind

2008-03-02T18:52:00.000-08:00

The words "skinny" and "hot" and "sexy" have never really been applied to me in my lifetime. Until now. Now, I keep hearing them.

E keeps telling me how skinny I am getting. Guy #2 keeps telling me I'm getting too hot. The boys keep telling me how sexy I look. It's kind of a mind fuck.

When I was younger, high school age, I looked just like this if not thinner. I may not have had an ass, but my breasts had not been stretched out. However, I did not have this confidence. I hated how I looked; I hated my body; I hated myself. I was painfully self-conscious. And apparently, that disposition changed how I appeared. #2 keeps telling me how sexy the attitude with this body is.

Yet, even though now I've lost the 50 pounds and I'm confident and comfortable in my skin, I'm still fat in my head. My mind still thinks with 50 pounds on it. Those words (skinny, hot, sexy) still jar me as foreign.

I did not expect losing weight to change so much. I did not realize that how I looked affected how other people saw and treated me so much.

A perfect example of the disconnect between my new body and my mind's residual perception of my body is the bikini dilemma. As I wrote about last time, we are going to Hawaii in July. The question I keep getting asked (and asking myself) is if I'm going to wear a bikini. It's a trivial thing but somehow has become the embodiment of my confused self-image.

Guy #2 was adamant about the bikini and said since he sees me naked, he would know best. I told him he was looking through sex-colored lenses. I found myself agonizing over whether I could pull it off. While I am happy with my body, I'm not sure it belongs in a bikini. So we agreed I would let him see me in one and give me his opinion.

I found a bikini I liked and just bought it. Then I took it over and wore it for #2. He loved it. In his painful honesty, he told me I could definitely pull it off.

So the bikini is going to Hawaii, yet somehow, in my mind, I'm a fat girl in a bikini. I'm just waiting for mind to meet body. Maybe by July, I'll think how I look again.

vacation plans

2008-02-27T19:15:00.000-08:00

As July approaches, we start planning for Hawaii. That is the next vacation on the horizon. It really seems so far away, but considering March starts this weekend, it is truly right around the corner. But we're starting to talk about resorts and flights and booking the trip, and the excitement is starting to build in me.

Hawaii is what I think about when I'm irritated at work, when I'm bored in my routine. It is my new glimmer of hope. I hate always anticipating something instead of living, but it happens.

Yeah, that's all I got today. Fixing bullshit mistakes for someone else all day has left me blank.

weekly irritation

2008-02-26T16:50:00.000-08:00

My coworker is driving me MAD. Fucking mad. She irritates the living piss out of me anymore, and it seems to only get worse.

I know the reason it is so bad lately. The programs our company develop are divided by their purpose, what branch or type of military uses it. She and I share one of these categories. In this category, there is a lot of overlap in functionality, so we end up sharing content, sharing books, sharing programs. It is a fucking pain in the ass, and it sucks. (I apologize for being vague in the description, but I cannot go into specifics.)

Recently, she became overwhelmed and devoted to one of the programs in our category. She made it a point to martyr herself every damn morning at how much she was doing and how they were abusing her. This in itself irritates me enough. However, since she was occupied, I took over the entire update of a book we share.

Here is where I was pushed over the edge. I did a once over of the entire book, updating and redlining every damn page (there are about 800 pages to said book). Every single page of HER content needed to be changed. And we're not talking because the software changed. No, these are bullshit grammatical, formatting changes that no one who writes for a living should make.

Every time I come across a misnumbered list or a mistagged paragraph or a mangled sentence I can tell is from a subject matter expert, the irritation just flares up over me. And as she whines every day that she wishes she had the time to fix "her" book instead of me, it only gets worse.

I hate fixing other people's mistakes, especially people who are supposed to do the same job I do and have been doing it longer than I've been alive. And I hate said people then martyring themselves about it.

At least my boss is aware of the situation. That at least helps.

Sigh.

therapy stories in dreams

2008-02-24T20:41:00.000-08:00

I had a dream the other night that I was back in therapy. I blame the setting entirely on HBO's new show In Treatment, which somehow has made me nostalgic for the idea of therapy. But I digress.

In the dream, it is perhaps my third session. My therapist was a man, odd since I have always preferred to work with female therapists. But in this session, I sat and told him my and Guy #2's story from beginning to present. From keg party making out to sex to hating eat other to HPV to fuck buddies to him almost dying to falling in love with each other and everything in between.

It was a very long dream.

I have always known that I have wanted to write our story. It's an entertaining story that other people seem to enjoy. And it always felt meant for me to tell. This dream seemed to confirm it.

And dreaming my own narrative of it also brought back so much of it. Living in the present, I forget how different things were and how much we have changed and how long and twisted our story truly is. I don't think either of us ever expected to end up here.

And I wonder why now that my subconscious decided to scroll through our summary; what happened in the waking world to conjure our story in my dreams?

I do still miss therapy. That damn show reminded me. I don't so much miss treatment or my therapist; I miss that outlet. I miss have an uninvolved party to vent to with no guilt, nothing at stake. As honest as I am in the rest of my life, it was still liberating to talk to someone about it who wasn't also in it. It was nice to have that segregated sanctuary. But I don't think I miss it enough to drop $50 a session and start over with a new therapist and have to fight off medication every time I say the word cycle. It's just in the back of my mind, especially when I see it on TV.

2008-02-20T18:17:00.001-08:00

sick. dying. damn head cold. no reading. no writing.

monotonous posting

2008-02-19T15:24:00.000-08:00

To be honest, I am sick of writing about Guy #2. I look back over my archives of recent posts, and it's all him. Over and over and over. I have to apologize for the monotony of this blog as of late.

My entire life is not Guy #2. I have my own life (hell, I have to with him gone most of the time), my own hobbies, my own friends. Every Monday night, I do yoga. Every Tuesday night, I copyedit reviews. Every Wednesday night, I have dinner and watch Nip/Tuck with N. Every Thursday night, I have dinner with my former college roommate. This is my routine. On the weekends by myself, I either stay in, go downtown with E and M, or hang out with the boys at our bar.

However, when he comes home, this all goes to shit. Since I see him probably one week out of five on average, I drop my routine to savor that one week. I need it to last the next four or five.

So Guy #2 is not the only thing I have going on in my life. He is by no means my everything (thank god). Yet he is mostly what I write about. Why is that? I think it is simple. Things with him are where the most emotional intensity in my life is and also where I have to analyze the situation and myself the most. Where we are now is new, whereas the rest of my life has been adjusted and balanced; I'm used to it, so I don't think about it as much. I don't fixate on the rest, so I don't write about it as much.

And I love him. The intensity of that feeling infects me.

But still, every damn post. This has to stop. Even now, I'm cringing writing about him in some capacity yet again. I sound like a silly, little girl. Ick.

He and I are great again though, by the way. Like every other breakdown, emotional beating, or awkward conversation, it eventually settles and helps, and we get closer and happier. As much as it hurt was worth it because it made us better. I feel better about us and don't expect him to reflect my identical emotions. All the premoving stuff is on the table and in the open, and we talk about it comfortably.

He'll be working very close for the next three weeks or more, so I'll be seeing him a lot and delivering sex to him a lot. So I apologize yet again that the monotone may continue, but I am going to try to spice it up--for your sakes and my own.

premoving talk

2008-02-17T18:56:00.000-08:00

In addition to the emotional beating with Guy #2's ghosts and vagueness, we got our premoving talk out of the way. It was awkward and abbreviated. I was emotionally exhausted, and he was expecting the worst.

I said I didn't want to combine our money at all, and he was right there with me, saying he didn't want my money.

I asked if he wanted kids, and he looked at me like I was crazy. He said yes eventually and that I already knew he did by the time he was 32.

I told him I needed him to be fully aware of how bad my bipolar could get (therapy, meds, hospitalization...), and he again looked at me like I was crazy. He said he knew and that I could never be worse than his mother.

I don't know that I feel better about any of it, but it's all out there for sure now.

adjustment period

2008-02-14T23:57:00.000-08:00

As always, as every damn time Guy #2 gets home, we had our readjustment period--the first day until after we have sex for the first time. Every time, I think we'll get to skip it and just immediately be normal, and every time, it ambushes and bruises me.

Honestly, I think it's on my part, my adjustment because I don't think he really ever changes. I think it's my reaction to my perception of the transition from the him in my head to the reality, my expectation to how it is.

This time, he felt somewhat physically distant and less affectionate. Yet I know that he truly was. Plus our physicality and affection always increase over the course of him being home, so he leaves at the peak and returns at the low; it creates a more stark contradiction.

But we moved past the adjustment period the same as we always do. I hate it every time.

ghosts

2008-02-13T08:26:00.000-08:00

Dual posting today. If you read both blogs, I apologize.

Guy #2's first night home, after we had fucked in the shower, we lay talking. I think we were talking about the I love lamp/chair arrangement and my abandonment of it. At one point, I asked him how many times he had been in love before. He said once, maybe twice besides me.

For some reason, this fucking upset me. I don't know that I ever believed he was never in love before and that I was his first, but I guess since he never said anything to suggest it and never mentioned a girlfriend after the age of 17, I never had to confront the idea of his past loves, these ghosts.

It affected me more than I expected. I felt at a supreme emotional disadvantage having no past loves and broken hearts of my own. Here he was, cautiously walking a road he had already known, while I plunged in completely, ignorant and inexperienced. I felt somehow more vulnerable, more susceptible to getting hurt by naivety. Our field became even less level.

And perhaps I was jealous of these ghosts. They got him loving them untainted while I now get to deal with and accommodate the damage they caused.

But it got worse. He would not tell me what happened with these ghosts to give him his issues. He answered with his usual infuriating vagueness, saying bad things happened and the word always got tainted for him. Never how, never why, never any detail to answer me or ease my mind.

I gave up, left him to his secrets, and went to sleep, but it gnawed at me. Knowing there was an explanation, a reason behind all the withholding and lamps and chairs infected me. It was in the back of my mind whenever I looked at him, whenever he said anything. It caused me to cycle, and my depression feasted on it.

More than anything, I think I was upset because he wouldn't tell me; I didn't even really care for the content of the explanation. It fucking kills me when he doesn't tell me things. I mean I am all in with us. I tell him anything and everything about me, more than he wants I'm sure. I show him my darkness, the tragedy of my disease; I confess my insanity to him. I give him absolutely all of me, and he doesn't do the same. Just like I love him recklessly, and he doesn't do the same.

I feel so along in where I am with us sometimes, and the unbalance makes me feel stupid and exposed. It really just, again, makes us feel on his terms. His terms to love me, his terms to tell me why he can't, his terms when he's here and gone. My emotions don't seem to run on his terms.

And of course, I couldn't keep how I felt to myself for even a day. Driving home the next day, it came out. I told him why I was upset to no change, to nothing. It came up again in my depression on his couch and only ended in him saying he wasn't comfortable telling me. That one cut me; that one hurt. Not comfortable telling me. I give him me, and he just takes me and keeps himself. I don't know how long I can be the only one all in.

However, having slept on it and cycled about ten times, I've been thinking about all this a lot; I might have some semblance of perspective. I have to consider the fact that I am overwhelming and intense, even when I'm holding back by my standards. I tell him I love him like ten times a day and could more. I know that's unnecessary and makes it worse since it makes him uncomfortable.

I am fucking emotionally demanding, and I know that. It's because my emotion level is so high. I instinctively want, almost need, my emotions and intensity matched without considering that a good part of mine is merely symptoms. I cannot and should not expect someone to meet me on a bipolar level.

But I lose perspective sometimes; I forget I feel so much because I'm sick and that other people won't feel the same.

And these things are his--his feelings, his past, his issues. I have no right to set expectations for them or make any part of me contingent on them. They are all his to deal with however he needs to (just like my shit for me), and I know that too. I would never want to push him or make him feel guilty, but I get lost in the storm of my fear.

I'm scared because my emotions are so intense and I could get so hurt, but none of that is his fault or responsibility. I need to deal with my shit on my own the same way he needs to deal with his.

However, my bipolar is making it all so much more difficult. My shifting perspectives are what's making me feel fucking crazy. One minute/mood, I'm ok with it; I'm fine with him; I feel good about us. The next, I'm torn up with doubt and pessimistic thoughts and fighting tears. What the fuck is real? How do I really feel? How am I supposed to carry on a relationship with someone and decide how to act and when to bring something up that's bothering me when I know even know how I feel? Fucking impossible.

drunken best friends

2008-02-11T16:45:00.000-08:00

Every time people get drunk, they tell me they love me and that I'm their best friend. Friday night, it was N and my gay boy--both of them, repeatedly.

I met N and B at our bar; then my gay boy and his friends came down to celebrate a birthday. I was relaxed and in a calm mood from getting a massage from my yoga teacher.

My gay boy was manic as all hell; I guess he had been that way for days. It was a trip to witness, seeing his elation, hearing him talk so fast. It was like being able to see my cycles on someone else again. Mania is fucking intense but, just as with experiencing it, was ridiculously fun. We joked and laughed. I really had a great time.

N and B had planned to go home early but of course stayed and got wasted and of course started fighting over dumb shit. N was so drunk she couldn't walk herself out--as usual. Pathetic. But this was after she vented to me about B and told me over and over that she loves me and that I"m her best friend.

The birthday girl ended up puking on herself and going home. My gay boy got ridiculously trashed. He wouldn't let me drive him home, but I did follow him. He was so drunk and driving like shit. When I did get him home, he kept me outside for nearly 45 minutes. He kept telling me how much he loved me and how no one ever did that for him before and how I'm his best friend as he hugged me and humped my leg and bit me.

He would just not go inside and go to bed. He straight face planted on the ice twice. I had to walk him to his door and put him in the house. Then I guess he had another blackout freak out like on his 21st birthday, beating up the shower and claiming he was possessed by the devil. I'm glad I missed it.

I just do not relate to getting that drunk anymore; I have no desire to. I wasn't even that drunk for Mardi Gras. I do not want to be like N and my gay boy were that night. Fuck that; I've grown out of it and see no point to it.

And as they both slurred that I'm their best friend, I can't say I would say the same. N used to be my best friend to be sure, but neither she or my gay boy are good or reliable friends. I love them both, but I accept that about them.

I don't know that I have a "best friend" anymore; I don't know that I believe in them anymore.

But in his drunken declaration of love for me, my gay boy said he was sorry he was never and could never be there for me or fix me as much as I had for him. I don't think I realized how much I needed to hear that. It felt so good to finally have someone acknowledge the lack of equality in my friendships. He may have been too drunk to remember it, but I still think he meant it.

blank

2008-02-07T12:01:00.001-08:00

I have really been blank for the past couple days. I haven't been feeling anything; I haven't been thinking anything; I haven't been saying much. It's like my head just became empty.

I have to admit, in some ways, it's a relief. Besides the fact that I know it's temporary, it's a break. It's a brief release from the incessant thoughts and emotions that usually jumble my mind. I am always full; I am always active. For once, it's nice to be nothing. Usually I'm overwhelmed; now, I'm very underwhelmed.

But I am pretty blank (If you couldn't tell from the bland way the words are coming out of me now). I talked to Guy #2 online last night, and between him being burned out at work and my head being empty, we could barely carry on a conversation. I am perfectly content to sit in my cube doing nothing when it usually drives me fucking out of my skin. I can just sit there and take my eyes out of focus and think of NOTHING. All very odd for me.

Yet I can't really introspect on it because there's not a whole lot of functioning going on in my brain. And since I feel nothing, I don't really care either. Maybe this is residual from getting oh so drunk over the weekend. I'm not really sure.

post-post-diet

2008-02-05T20:16:00.000-08:00

So I wrote my last post on Friday, and believe me, I felt as crazy and obsessed as I sounded. Then over the weekend, I said fuck it, and I binged a little. I went out for Mardi Gras and got ridiculously fucking drunk and had a fabulous time. Then when I finally stopped puking on Sunday, I indulged in the Super Bowl snackery.

I let myself eat and drink for sake of eating and drinking. I (tried not to) didn't count or think about it. I lived.

And I think this freedom may just have liberated me from my fixation. Emerging from my haze of hangover and sugar, I didn't feel so critical of my body or obsessed. Even though the scale said I had gained 6 pounds (physically impossible), I didn't care. I knew it was water weight from drinking and would fade away; I knew I would eat a little less and be fine.

In short, I felt better. Things felt a little more in perspective. I felt good about my body, which was definitely helped by the compliments I received over the weekend. I was reminded that I did make progress, did accomplish a lot.

Maybe this too is temporary; maybe this is as transitory as my insanity on Friday. Who is to say? It is characteristic of my mind. But I think (hope) that the obsession was just part of the transition, and this is me moving out of it...

post-diet

2008-02-04T17:44:00.000-08:00

I was more confident fat.

This diet/weight loss thing has fucked with me head, and I only now see the full extent being off it.

When I was fat, those 50 pounds ago, I was comfortable in my skin. I knew my body, and I loved it. I knew how to dress myself and held myself with confidence. I only started the weight loss to be in a healthy range so as not to cause future health problems or tempt my various bad genetic predispositions.

Now, I'm lost. It's like my high school insecurities came back with my high school size. I find myself so critical of my body. After being so fixated on pounds and inches, I am no longer content anywhere. I stare and pinch at my body, groping for a constant perception of myself, looking for the right answer for my body. My mind is always advocating less, less, less...

I started my diet wanting to lose 25 pounds and two sizes; I lost 50 pounds and three sizes. Why is that not enough? Why do I feel compelled to be skinnier?

I can't wear the clothes I now fit into the same way I used to wear clothes. That comfort and confidence is lacking. Now it's a constant evaluation of too tight? too lose? makes me look fat? makes me look skinny? It has become a fucking obsession that I cannot turn off. I never gave a shit before; I know deep down I don't give a shit now, but my mind has become addicted to and seduced by the weight loss rhetoric where nothing is good enough.

I think of the anorexic girl at the gym. She is the worse case of anorexia I have ever witnessed in my life. She is a skeleton with pale skin stretched over the bones. As she changes in the locker room, you can see every shift and twitch in her muscles and tendons beneath her thin skin. She looks like death and can't be far from it. Yet I see her, every morning, running frantically on the elliptical, not even able to sweat. I don't want my mind to become as lost as hers; I don't want my mind to even echo hers.

My bipolar doesn't help. Manic, I look skinny; depressed, I look obese; in wellness, I might be momentarily content. I am having such trouble acclimating to my new size because my new size looks completely different at different times. Perhaps if I saw the same thing in the mirror, or at least something similar, I could begin to adjust. I just look so different to myself all the time. My minds shift; my eyes shift, and I can't tell what fucking perceptions of myself are real anymore. I don't know this foreign body yet, and I can't resolve my mind about it. The fractures seems so much larger in confusion and obsession.

Every time I eat, I think about it, torture myself over whether I should have kept starving myself down. Every time I exercise, I think about it, obsess over whether I should be still be dropping pounds. It is infecting my thoughts constantly. Fixation. Obsession.

I am hoping this is only temporary, part of a crazy person making the transition out. My mind never transitioned easily; it latches too desperately to things. I am an extremist--all or nothing. I'm having trouble finding the middle between nazi diet and careless gorging. The diet was rigorous and required such mental commitment. I did have to turn on myself to stay motivated and on track. I am hoping this lingering obsession is only residual of that and will fade in time as I do not need such conviction. Can I for once find the middle ground? It's like the extremes of my cycles have left me unable to deal with anything between the poles in any aspect of life.

I feel like a fucking hypocrite. I never cared about this shit. I used to advocate not needing to diet and exercise and be that thin, perfect ideal. Now I'm fucking obsessed with it, ruled by it. And it's not even that I want to look a certain way; it's that I don't know how to stop; I don't know how to turn it off. I mean, ultimately, there is nothing wrong with being healthy and living a healthy live, eating right, exercising. These are good things, but somehow my broken mind has twisted them and taken them to such extremes as to make it damaging for me. Only I could turn doing something good into something bad. This is a good thing, and I have somehow still made it bad for me.

I think I could learn to love my body again once I know it, once it stops changing. I think I could find my way back to my real mind, rather than this infected one. I have broken obsessions and fixations and addictions before; this is just the latest. But I hate the misery of being trapped again with my own tormentor. Who knew getting healthy could be so damaging?

flash

2008-01-31T07:51:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I sat in my cube staring at my pictures pinned to the walls, as I am want to do in my boredom. Suddenly, I remembered the day I almost got fired, when my former boss led me to an empty office to say he didn't think I was working out.

I came out so angry I was fighting tears. I remember sitting down at my computer, and there was an email from Guy #2 saying simply "What are you wearing?" or something similar. It helped; it made me smile. It was the perfect timing.

I don't know what called this memory up so vividly in my mind, but that's around when it started. We started communicating online then and outside of just weekend drinking; he started making me feel better, even if it was accidental.

That was over two years ago; look where we are now.

timing

2008-01-29T19:21:00.000-08:00

I'm glad I fell in love for the first time now rather than earlier in life.

I used to feel so left out being the only one who had not experienced it; I used to believe it didn't exist; I never understood why my friends acted the way they did while claiming to be in love.

But I wouldn't change a fucking thing. My loveless, single years gave me such perspective. I was untainted and uninfluenced by those particular, intense emotions in formative times. I was able to mature completely into my own individual person and get my shit together before I even considered giving myself to someone else.

At the time, when I was young and insecure, I thought it indicated some fault or defect in me, but I think it was all for the best; I was lost and broken enough by myself. I think introducing any more strong or confusing emotions into my darkness would have killed me; it nearly did as it was.

I don't think I could have loved anyone; I was too busy killing myself. I look back now at my darkness and just marvel at who I was, how I was. I am still undoubtedly that person--all of that is still in me--but so changed.

I am glad I dealt with all that before bringing someone deeper into my life.

Now, I may fuck up my first love; I'll probably get my hear broken, but I think I will survive it better now than I ever could have young. My mother was right; staying single those young years is the best thing I could have done.

the moment of truth

2008-01-28T15:41:00.001-08:00

Tomorrow, I have my final evaluation with my personal trainer. Tomorrow, I quit my diet.

By my morning measurements naked on my home scale, I've lost 51 pounds and have 1 to go. We'll see if his evening measurements with me fully clothed on the gym scale put me at losing 47 pounds as I was supposed to. So many varying numbers; no wonder weight loss drives people insane.

I am going by my measurements, and I am done with this fucking diet. I am in the healthy BMI range; I am where my doctor wanted me; I'm happy with my body. I see no reason to continue torturing myself.

Hooray! I did it! Here's hoping he agrees... and if not, fuck him. :)

lame weekend

2008-01-27T12:08:00.000-08:00

My weekend was lame. Often, I struggle for a lame weekend because I need the time to relax and get things done. Not so with this weekend. This weekend, I wanted to go out and do something, anything different, yet nothing happened. I slept, took myself to a movie, and slept.

I am so bored. Every weekend, I have to identical options. I can go to our bar with the boys, or I can go downtown with E and M. That's it. The same two choices every weekend, the same places, the same people. SO BORING!

So I chose to do nothing over doing the same old thing, and it made me angry. Being this bored with my life made me angry. I felt like I was just wasting days, pushing through the hours rather than experiencing them.

I need to move. I need to start over. It may not make things any better, but at least it would be somewhere different.

countdown

2008-01-23T19:25:00.000-08:00

My life is nothing but a countdown.

I countdown the minutes I have left between snoozes until I have to get out of bed.

I countdown the seconds left to warm up my car before I leave the house in the morning.

I countdown the minutes and seconds left on the treadmill.

I countdown the number of reps left in my exercises.

I countdown the hours and minutes to lunch, to a meeting, to a snack, to when I get to leave work.

I countdown the days to the weekend.

I countdown the weeks and days left in my diet.

I countdown the weeks and days until Guy #2 comes home.

I countdown the months, weeks, days until I go on vacation or have anything planned.

All I do with my life is countdown. I don't live my life; I merely survive the waiting.

job changes

2008-01-22T18:21:00.000-08:00

After I got back to work after Vegas, I had my annual review at my real job. It went surprisingly well.

I think it was the most...accurate review I've ever had. To paraphrase, it basically said that I am very smart but unmotivated; I work faster and better than my coworkers, but that often leaves me with no work; I have substantial potential, but I need to decide if tech writing is what I want to do with my life. Yep, all true.

Then I got a promotion. We don't even have job titles, but I got a promotion. My boss wanted me elevated from the entry level I started at two years ago straight out of college. He wanted to put me on the same level as my coworkers (who have been doing this kind of work for 10, 20 years).

With this promotion, I got a raise. A 10.5% raise. Everyone else got a 4% merit based raise, but I was given a promotion so they could give me the 10.5% raise. More than double my coworkers.

I think they might want me to stay?

Every time I get ready to leave, they suck me back in. They know just how to do it: money and good benefits, especially as we head into a recession.

My website job has changed too but in the opposite direction. I continue to review toys and copyedit. I hope to be inspired enough to submit more writing again soon, but no promises. But I have decided to stop Live Chat support at the end of the month. The reasons are unimportant, but not more dealing with the gamers who pretend to be fucking their dog or try to cybersex with me.

I will, however, miss giving sex toy advice. I liked it, when the customers were being real. I thought I was kind of good at it. I guess I'll have to offer my services a little more freelance...

evolution and movement

2008-01-21T21:01:00.000-08:00

My relationship with Guy #2 has seemed to take another large step in its evolution. Of course, our relationship is always progressing and evolving (they all do), but sometimes, I can actually see and notice the change or the step or the progression. His last trip home over Christmas and New Year's was one of those times.

Gradually, I have been moving away from the I love lamp/chair thing. I see that whole thing as kind of like training wheels for us. As much as #2 needs it, I think it was good for me too. This is my first time being in love, and as much as I plunge headlong into it, it did terrify the shit out of me. It let me ease into it too. But I also got over it faster. I did it to compromise with him, to get the meaning I need without making him uncomfortable with the words. But it was an effort to say I love lamp when my emotions were saying I love you so much louder.

Drunk and during sex, I have more or less stopped saying I love lamp; I just say I love you. It also slips out other times when it is important that I say it or I really feel it a little extra. Otherwise, for sober and normal times, I still appease him with the I love lamp. He has been taking it all right; he is starting to move with me. Sometimes he says I love chair back; sometimes he manages I love you. The times he's able to say I love you back naturally without hesitation are one of the huge steps I see for us.

Our amount of affection has also increased, drastically that I noticed this last trip. When we are alone, we are almost constantly touching--cuddling, kissing frequently. Yet that kind of affection has spread into how we are in public and in front of other people. We hold hands now. Not just in a darkened movie theatre but when we walk places or sit with people. We kiss in public, not full on making out like high schoolers but random pecks. And it's so much more than it used to be. It always increases while we're on vacation, but it was so much in Vegas that it mentally gave me pause. I used to find all of this PDA shit disgusting, but now I cannot resist it.

And he's changed. I'm not quite sure how to describe it. He seems less...resistant, not that resistant is the word I would have used before. I guess it seems like he has started to really embrace us or how he feels or whatever and is finally starting to dive all in. It feels like he's finally catching up to me. Once I decided to tell him I loved him, I was pretty much all in. If I was going to do it and potentially get hurt, I wasn't going to hold anything back. He didn't start with the same philosophy, but now he just really seems there with me. And the I love yous and the increase in how affectionate he is with me seems like evidence of that to me, along with the progression of our communication and what have you.

All of it just seems like extreme progression that I was actually able to notice and see while it was happening.

Our moving plans continue to develop as well. When my lease is up at the end of August, I'm moving into his current house so we can save money. Most of my stuff will go into storage for a while. Then around October or later (before the end of the year if it kills me), we are moving to Oregon or Washington. Which location really depends on my employment situation. He wants Oregon, but it is more likely that I would find a job around Seattle. He's going to sell his current house and buy one where we move. Then there we're going to live together, have a house together.

Being a planner, my mind is fixated by the possibilities. I'll have these plans to keep me occupied for months and months to come.

first night alone

2008-01-20T16:28:00.000-08:00

The Sunday after we arrived home from Vegas was my first night alone in two straight weeks. Both my sister and #2 had been in town for two weeks, and I shared a room with five people in Vegas. My sister had stayed with me, of course, and if I was not with her, I had been with #2. As someone who lives alone and has a decent amount of alone time in a week, this was very different for me.

Other people have always been a distraction for me. They keep me out of my head and, sometimes, my bullshit. The best thing for me when I'm severely cycling or upset is to be around other people, though that might not be the best thing for them. It keeps me from getting seduced by my darkness and losing myself in my depression; it keeps some shred of rationality and control in me.

However, in the same respect, being around other people constantly keeps me out of myself. In a normal week, I'm used to having hours alone in my mind. I'm able to register how I'm doing emotionally, note what I'm feeling, process things that have happened. But when I have other people always around, keeping me at the surface of my skin, these crucial things don't happen as much. If I cycle, I don't see it coming because I wasn't paying attention. I don't fully process things that have happened, so they reemerge later.

When I cycled while having sex with Guy #2 in Vegas, I didn't see it happening, though he did. I only knew I was feeling. I hadn't been paying attention enough to know where it came from and that it was probably a cycle. Christmas and our trip and everything took days to process fully through my mind after everything finally stopped. It is a drastic difference between how my mind functions when I'm alone versus when I am with other people.

So my first night alone in two full weeks was jarring. To say the least. I arrived home from #2's house late. I had dropped my sister with my father that day to be taken to the airport to fly home. I had spent the whole day with #2 until coming home to sleep. The house was painfully silent. Unexpectedly, I found myself clutched my such an anxious feeling. It was a horribly blending of anxiety and depression that I had never experienced before. I felt scared, upset, sheepish, sad, depressed, edgy all at once.

The whole time, I knew it was because I needed to adjust back to being alone, that my mind was so loud and overwhelming because I had not listened to it in two weeks. I knew it would pass, but it was still consuming. I embraced it and let myself feel it; fighting it would have only made it worse. I resisted calling #2 for consolation. I simply put myself to bed and managed to fall asleep.

When I woke up, I felt better. And as I spent my normal time alone and with my mind, I felt better still until I finally adjusted back to normal.

seeing me in her

2008-01-16T20:32:00.000-08:00

I see a lot of myself in my sister. I know I have said that before; I think I say it ever time she is here. Yet every time, it seems more apparent; it seems clearer and stronger.

When we are around each other, we instantaneously fall into identical speech patterns. I mean we have always spoken alike in the words, phrases, and tones we use, but when we are actually together, it becomes indiscernible. We pick up each other's speak, and soon there are two mouths echoing the same brain. Much like how all the boys seems like drones of the same consciousness. Guy #2 commented on it repeatedly, and I even noticed it myself.

#2 started calling her a miniature of me. He couldn't stop mentioning how alike we are.

I honestly feel like so much less of a freak when she's here. Finally, there is someone there who also decides to take a shower in exactly 13 minutes when it will be 8:30 even or what have you. She either shares my ridiculous quirks or knows the origination of them. She understands my entire early past because she shared it; she knows my parents and my family like no one else can.

She also gives me a lot of perspective on myself. Since I see so much of me in her, watching her is almost like being able to watch myself. I still maintain that I think she's bipolar, even if differently than I am. But when she has a mood shift, I get to see what it looks like; I get to see what one of my cycles might look like to someone else. The same with many of our shared personality traits. When she does it, I get to see what it might look like on me. It is overwhelmingly enlightening.

In the same respect, I also understand her so well. I can explain to other people (and to her) why she does or thinks certain things because I've already analyzed them on me. When she was done in Vegas and the boys were bitching about it, I could explain to them the hows and the whys so they would leave it alone and not push her.
Plus we really just have a lot of fun together. I don't necessarily know how much she likes hanging out with my friends. Sometimes I think she likes it, but sometimes I think they irritated the shit out of her. But when it's her and me, it is a great time, especially now that she can legally drink.

However, it's good that we live apart and that she has gone home. I don't think we would be as close or that I would enjoy our time as much if it was frequent. We do well living separate lives yet remaining so similar.

the vegas burnout

2008-01-15T20:59:00.000-08:00

Vegas is an intense place. Everyone has a Vegas burnout point. Mine is three days, and so is most people's from what I hear. After three days, I'm just done with the sound of slot machines and drinks in odd plastic cups and constant alcohol intake, and I want to go home.

My sister's Vegas burnout was clearly visible. After our time at the spa, she was just done. Clearly and visibly done. She stopped talking; #2 and FFB were irritating the living hell out of her; she shutdown completely and went back to the room early. It worked out well that her burnout came on the last day, and we went to the airport the next day. I could actually see her coming back to herself and returning to normal as we got home. She started talking and interacting again; she seemed so much less annoyed.

And that's fine. Everyone has a burnout point in Vegas. My sister was very active up until she was done. She seemed to have a fabulous time, and that was all I wanted.

My teacher friend's burnout point, however, seemed to be New Year's Day (if not before we even left Colorado), and she took LP with her. She was just lame the entire trip. I mean she has become increasingly lame at home as well, but this was Vegas, and it managed to seem even worse.

She was painfully cheap. Again, cheap at home but this was Vegas and vacation, and it seemed worse. She didn't want her and LP to go Zumanity because it was too expensive; she and LP barely went to the spa because it cost money. She was stingy when putting in her share when we ate or drank somewhere. She bitched about having to buy lunch for her and LP. He's her fiance! They're supposed to share money! She got bitchy when she had to pay for her portion of things. After paying the lowest possible part of her bill at the airport, she actually went bitch then got up and left the table. It was fucking ridiculous.

Then she was just lame. She drank the first night and New Year's Eve, and that was it. Not again. She was cranky every time she woke up and bitched about getting it. It was after ten every morning we got up. While she wasn't drinking, she just whining about our pace walking down the Strip. Or she didn't talk. I have to say, I've known her since kindergarten, and I barely recognized her.

LP wasn't lame. LP was fun. And I feel he would have been even more fun without his fiance. She seemed to drag him down while he was having fun with the boys. I just do not know what her deal was. I just don't understand going to a place like Vegas if you're not going to drink or spend money.

My burnout point was delayed this trip. Since I ended up irritated at #2's first disappearance then upset and crying at his second, I was up and raring to party when we were all together and going out the nights after that. My teacher friend's lameness irritated me because I could finally have fun, and she was just being cranky and lifeless. I drank until the last night; then I was done and ready to go home.

As for #2 and FFB, I don't know that they have burnout points. They drank until we got on the plane and then the weekend after we got home. Crazy bastards.

zumanity

2008-01-14T21:13:00.000-08:00

I loved Zumanity. It was worth every penny of my ticket. I would go see it again and again and highly recommend it.

Zumanity combined two aspects very appealing to me--sexuality and flexibility. The themes of every act or scene in the show are sexuality based, whether it be actual sex or coming into your sexuality or exploring deviance. These are things I deal with daily in my writing and in my work for the website. To have an actor brandishing sex toys was just all too perfect for me. To be called out in the balcony by an actor on the stage for my tits was even better. I enjoyed seeing all these themes so common in my everyday life portrayed abstractly and artistically.

Not to mention the acts were beautiful. The men were hot; the women were hot. The scenes were sensual. Two topless women swirling and diving around a fish bowl and each other. A girl pulled into the air maintaining 30 hula hoops. An interracial couple slipping around a bathtub, pouring cream on each other. Aside from my affinity for watching naked women, the acts themselves turned me on in all aspects.

There was humor spliced in as well. A woman filling baggies with scotch as fake tits then inserting a straw.

It was just good. I have always enjoyed the arts, be it performing arts, written pieces, visual art. Working in an art gallery only amplified that love. And Zumanity was simply brilliant, even after a yard of Mai Tai.

Plus the exhibits of flexibility. I am a freakishly flexible person. My yoga teacher calls me Cirque de Soliel. But I cannot hold a candle to the performs they employ. Some of the contortions were simply amazing and breath taking. They bend beyond what you could imagine a body to stretch. Something to aspire to...

Now I need to go see more of their shows. I feel one with grace every trip I have to Vegas from now on. Though I think it will be a while before I venture to Sin City again.

disappearing acts

2008-01-13T19:07:00.000-08:00

They really should save the disappearing acts in Vegas for the magicians. Guy #2 disappeared while we were in Vegas. Twice.

The first night we were there, after drinking and gambling until six in the morning, the other five of us decided to pass out. #2 took $50 from his wallet and said he was going to go gamble that downstairs then be back. Yet I woke up hours later to an empty bed. When I woke up to an empty bed a second time, I called him. He said he had gotten too drunk, met some people, and ended up by Treasure Island. He said he was making his way back but had gotten lost due to being so drunk. I went back to sleep and woke up again to his void. I called him again, and again he said he was on his way back. Back to sleep and again waking up to him not there. I called again, and he said he had gotten lost again and was at a Blackjack table downstairs. Lost at a Blackjack table. I told him to meet me at the convenience store.

Turns out, he also gambled and lost $500 that he didn't remember and withdrew another $500 (at a fee of $28) that he didn't remember. He ended up losing the second $500 the next day, thinking it was the first, making his losses a grand total of $1000 in the first 24 hours. He always loses all his money when he makes me mad in Vegas. Every time.

I finally found him downstairs. It was after eleven in the morning. He met me all apologies and remorse with a rose. The rose was not part of the apology. He had finally bought me my first flower. No one I have been with had ever give me a flower before. I was irritated as hell, but these things happen in Vegas. People get obscenely drunk, and casinos are confusing when wasted. I could have gotten over it if he had not disappeared again the next night.

On New Year's Eve, we stood on the carless street in front of the MGM, awaiting the countdown. As it neared, #2 went into the the casino to go the bathroom. He never returned. As time wore on, I searched the crowd for him. I never saw him, and he never found us. The seconds ticked off, and the new year passed. He was not there to kiss me, a kiss I had been anticipating since we planned the trip. I was drunk and livid and upset. I could barely contain my anger; I was so mad at him. And with the alcohol and my insanity, it drove me down rapidly into depression. When we got back to the room, I immediately put myself to bed as the rest went back out.

#2 reappeared knocking at the door maybe an hour later. He was quite upset himself. He said he got disoriented leaving the bathroom and that he couldn't remember where we were. He said he searched frantically for us as the countdown ticked off but never found us. He even had a scrape and ripped pants from where he had scaled a barrier and fallen off. He was drunk and hadn't slept in 48 hours. He crawled into bed with me, and it got worse. Me being upset upset him more. He wouldn't kiss me, amplifying his absence when he should have. When I said I loved him, he told me he hates that I love him and made me cry sad, drunken tears.

The combination of two disappearances in a row and making me cry made them linger. I was upset with him for a while, and he was temporarily changed in my eyes. My sex drive virtually disappeared, which is unheard of for me. Aside from my sister being there, I just didn't want it. My desire was snuffed. When we did finally manage to sneak in some sex in Vegas, I cycled horribly. I found myself detached from him and questioning if he was right for me for the first time since I fell in love with him. Thankfully, all of this faded and passed, and we eventually fixed ourselves again, but it was unpleasant while it was happening.

Something about disappearance just unnerves me though. It feels like a mild betrayal to me. Consciously, I knew it wasn't, but the emotions were there just the same at being left, even in a drunken capacity. But with sleep and his wallet in my purse the rest of the trip, he didn't vanish again. He was always there, apologizing to me.

vegas summary

2008-01-10T20:46:00.000-08:00

Allow me to summarize our trip to Vegas for you before babbling about anything else.

On Sunday night at around midnight, we landed in Vegas (after the Broncos/Vikings game and our drinking in the airport). We met up with the rest of our group--FFB, my teacher friend, and her fiance LP. After checking into the Luxor, our luxury room for all six of us, we went out. We wandered through the casinos nearby--the Excalibur, New York New York, the MGM. We drank excessively, and everyone else gambled until about six in the morning. Then all of us went to pass out, except Guy #2 who stayed out for several more hours and never slept.

Monday was New Year's Eve. We slept late. I finally found #2 around 11. The three girls started getting ready in the afternoon. We all wore black dresses for the occasion. While we dressed and prettied ourselves, the boys lost hundreds of dollars on craps. All ready, we went to the Firefly for dinner. The Firefly has become a Vegas tradition for me for the past couple years, all due to the calamari and pitchers of mojitos. When we returned to the Strip, we hit the Coyote Ugly bar for footballs of rum smoothies then gambled downstairs in New York New York for hours. Well, they gambled, and I got drunk.

As midnight approached, we made our way to the street and joined the million other people gambled on the carless lanes of Las Vegas Blvd. We stood in front of the MGM and awaited the countdown. #2 went into the casino to go to the bathroom and never returned. The new year came, and I celebrated it with no kiss from him. As we walked back to our room to change, I was blindingly upset. Between how drunk I was and #2 vanishing at that crucial moment, I plunged downward. When we reached the room, I simply crawled into bed. I figured me as a pissed off drunk would be no fun to anyone. The rest returned downstairs to gamble, aside from my teacher friend who passed our drunk. Maybe an hour later, #2 appeared in the room and crawled into bed with me.

On New Year's Day, we wandered the Strip. We showed my sister the highlights. Well, FFB did as he is our Frommer's guide to Vegas. We walked up to the Bellagio and watched the water show and walked through the water garden. Around Harrah's, my sister and I purchased yards (yes, I mean literal yards) or Mai Tais. They had a convenient strap at the top for easy carrying. We walked back down the Strip, sipping our huge drinks and getting utterly wasted.

That evening, my sister, FFB, #2, and I went to Zumanity. It was a fabulous show and experience. Unfortunately, my sister sobered up enough during the course of the show to feel sick. As we ventured up to Fremont Street for an all you can eat seafood buffet, she stopped drinking. She fought as long as she could as we wandered the street, gambled a little, and drank. But ultimately, we ended up calling it an early night. LP suffers from a weak stomach and was still recovering from New Year's Eve as well, and #2 still lacked sleep from his late night out.

Wednesday was our spa day. We all had something done at the spa at the Luxor. #2, my sister, and I got packages including a Swedish massage, a body scrub, and a facial. The other three got deep tissue massages. It was wonderful. I emerged so clean and relaxed and smooth. I think we all could have been contented to call it a trip at that point, but there was one more night left.

That night, we walked the Strip again, probably from lack of anything else to do. #2, FFB, and I got drunk, yet the other three seemed very done with Vegas. They returned to the room early. We continued wandering, drinking, and eating a while longer before we too crawled into bed.

Thursday morning, we checked out and made our way to the airport. #2 and FFB continued to drink, but the rest of us were done. We came home to begin the recovery process...

the game and the plane

2008-01-08T21:18:00.000-08:00

I'm sorry I haven't been reading you all. I am crazy busy trying to catch up at my jobs and such. I miss your lives so much, and I promise I will be there soon!

With Christmas behind us, a couple days working at home flew into the weekend we left for Vegas. That morning, we went to the Broncos/Vikings game. Guy #2 and our father are from Minnesota, making it even more interesting.

We started drinking at 11 in the morning with spiked Slurpees. We tailgated before the game. My sister got passed off to my father for the game, and #2 and I sat with N and B. #2 and I continued to get drunk of course. However, N and B sucked. Just like when we went with them to the Packers/Broncos game, it was like we were segregated, like we didn't even come together; they kept disappearing to smoke and bailed on us again.

My father had the pleasure of driving the drunk and frozen three of us to DIA. With a three hour wait for our plane, we did the only logical thing--we got shitfaced in the airport bar. We made friends with the bartender over beers, drinks, and eventually shots. We managed to stumble onto the plane on time to find we were seated behind a Las Vegas cop. My sister instinctively started freaking out, forgetting she is now legal.

Our plane ended up getting delayed. They had the wrong plane; people had tickets for seats that didn't exist. They put us on, took us off, put us back on, had us sit there endlessly. Somehow, my sister had gotten ridiculously drunk. She was wasted. We amused ourselves taking a slew of horrible, drunken pictures.

Once in the air, we continued to drink. My sister was so plastered she had to pace herself by only taking a drink after every song on her iPod. Needless to say, we landed in Vegas already well lubricated.

back to xmas

2008-01-07T15:58:00.001-08:00

Well, I guess I have to backtrack a bit in order to catch up. A lot happened in the last two weeks, I have to say. But Merry Christmas (late late late) to you all! I hope it was happy and healthy.

My sister and I had been dreading Christmas. We were excited for her to come out to Colorado, and we were excited to go to Vegas; Christmas with my father we were dreading. We sold our souls and agreed to spend the holiday with him and the new family so he would fly my sister out for her winter break. He ended up making the ticket her birthday present and cheating the deal anyways, but we still had to go.

Both of us don't really care for the new wife and hate the stepchildren. Most of the mixed holidays and gathering have been very painful for us, so we simply stopped going. She conveniently lives in Minnesota anyways. So we went in expecting the worst and set a four hour time limit before we would just bail.

However, something strange happened. Aside from it not feeling like Christmas (despite the snow outside and the presents and the tree and watching White Christmas) and the rushed and unappealing way they handled the holiday, the new family practically vanished. The two present stepchildren only appeared for the rapid ripping open of presents and to scarf down the unimpressive meal. And the wife was cooking then cleaning the entire time. Somehow, by some twisted Christmas miracle, my sister and I ended up spending Christmas with just our father.

It wasn't bad. It was actually kind of nice, if not lame for a Christmas. We still left at our decided four hours.

Afterwards, we had the traditional post-family time drinking. The turn out was disappointing. As when I do anything at my house and invite people, no one showed. The boys proved once again not to really be my friends in any measure. But my actual friends did show up; well, those not snowed in in Denver. The alcohol and snacks flowed freely as we drunkenly played Rockband (the one and only video game I have ever loved since Duck Hunt).

My sister bailed out early and sober, which disappointed me and cast questionable foreshadows on Vegas, but we had fun nonetheless.

And the day after, though I had to work, I worked from home, hungover and typing on my couch while Guy #2 died on my floor from his hangover.

the vegas hangover

2008-01-06T15:01:00.000-08:00

I am retarded and exhausted. Such is the Vegas hangover.

Yes, we arrived home on Thursday, yet I still feel it. I think I will still feel it until I get back into my routine starting tomorrow. Besides, I haven't been sleeping or recovering too much anyways. Guy #2's last weekend and all.

It was a busy time between Christmas and Vegas and New Year's. I have much to write about, but my two weeks away from the computer were refreshing. I needed them and embraced them fully. But now I am back.

So know that I am here and alive and stories are coming very soon... I've missed you all!

hiatus

2007-12-21T16:07:00.000-08:00

I am taking a two week hiatus from the computer. It is necessary, lest I snap and freak out. But I promise to come back with tales of Vegas. I will miss you all...

manic morning

2007-12-19T19:37:00.001-08:00

I woke up manic today. Really manic. I don't know that I have ever woken up manic before. Usually, it just sort of springs on me in the course of my day--usually, in the afternoon or night.

But here I was today, popping out of bed manic. I might still be manic now. I can't really tell. Fast seems slow. Thoughts are scattered.

You would have thought I would have worked it off at the gym this morning. Nope. I finished my workout early, doing the same thing I do every other day. Apparently just faster.

Now, I sit in my cube listening to the same song over and over again and rushing through my work. I got it done too fast. But I can't slow down. It feels slow enough as it is.

It's harder to write when I'm manic. The sentences don't stay in my head long enough to get them out. I think them; then they are gone and replaced by something else. Disorienting speed. It makes me talk so fast. And I can never get enough. Of anything.

I hope this doesn't mean I'll be crashing in the next two weeks. What comes up must come down. Hard in my case. But I don't want it to be during these next two weeks when I actually have good shit going on.

I haven't been drinking a lot lately. I wonder what that will do to me. Aside from make me fat again.

I had my last personal training session last night. I'm sore. It's hard to walk, but I can't feel it right now. I only have 6 more pounds to go! I have a free follow up with my trainer at the end of January to see if I made it. How nice of him.

Fuck, is this cube getting smaller? I don't want to sit in here for another five hours. I want to be out doing. Something. Anything.