Last Monday the reason that I got out of bed was because I had a meeting with Pom and Nina, which was an actual good reason to get out of bed. I wanted to ask about getting the practice space for my plyos class, and also felt very grown up about being invited to their meeting about important training things. Then my inner Pollyanna Hospital Corners announced, We're not going to start the day with water and stretches. We're going to have green tea and do morning pages! Woo girl, run with scissors why don't you.
So I'm drinking my green tea and doing my morning pages, talking in bursts to the sweetie man:
p: on the one hand, my rib still hurts.
p: but on the other hand, i get another tiger balm patch.
p: do you think this is funny? "I am the Sherlock Holmes of vicodin."
m: i'm not sure what that means.
p: you know, sherlock holmes is addicted to cocaine.
p: not that I'm addicted to vicodin.
p: because it's all gone ::sob::
p: do you think i'm a genius though?
m: i don't know if you're a genius, but you're very smart.
m: what do you mean by genius.
p: i guess i mean more like mad genius.
p: like manic, do you think I'm manic.
p: i mean, not like a manic attacker.
p: no, i don't think you're manic—
p: NO! THE CORRECT ANSWER IS YES!
Also I should mention that at the past Thursday's scrimmage I switched back to my new old cushions and, thank god, it was like a light going back on. And also that Second Wind tryouts were the past Saturday, and I didn't make the charter. And yes, it's always crappy to not find your name on a list of names. But I basically feel like I've improved a lot since last season and then sort of fizzed for the past month for obvious reasons that I don't want to blame things on, but at the same time all that, you know, did happen this winter. I've been a little bit asleep. I do wish that my subconscious, or the universe, or maybe my subconscious is the universe, woah. Woah. Would not try to knock out my tooth as a wake up call.
Ska, again, made me this "takes a lickin, keeps on tickin" team award for the annual Fury party.
When I got to Tsubo, Nina was eating oatmeal and cherries. I got my plyos class and got to geek out about fitness, and at the end they asked if I wanted my Second Wind feedback. They said it was mainly felt that I'm just not ready yet and that it's generally thought that I will get there this season, and that's exactly what I think. What I wanted to say was like a graph with an upward curve that intersected with tryouts sooner and lower than I would have wanted. Only I got to the part about "for obvious reasons" and started bawling.
So then we had to go into the break room so that I could cry so hard that I couldn't breathe, and Pom who just made the All-Stars gave me the inspirational quote that she'd been carrying around before tryouts, and that made me cry harder, and Nina emailed Myra about being my therapist. I love that I'm so therapy resistant, but I'm like WHEE COUCH if therapy will make me a better blocker.
I cried all the way home. I cried all afternoon. I did manage to stop crying for advanced agility practice. Actually I felt a weird thing during advanced agility, I felt happy. That also made me cry.
The next day I cried in the shower. I cried at work.
I almost posted this as my facebook status, um, at work:
Depression is not a sign of weakness, it is a sign that you have been trying to be strong for too long. Put this as your status if you just realized that being weirdly not hungry or regularly awake from 4:30 to 6:30 AM maybe means you're not as okay as you think.
I decided against it, though. Because it's not that when I feel manic and happy, I'm faking how I feel. Manic and happy is how I feel, a lot, and also I feel sad sometimes. I'm not sad all the time. I just want to be able to say that I'm sad and be sad for the minute that I'm sad, and not be seen a Sad Person. Because I'm not, I'm basically a happy person who's just carrying this little bit of sadness. I don't usually let people see that little bit of sadness at all, though. Because I guess I don't trust them to see just a little bit of sadness and not a sad person. But the problem is if you shut up that little bit of sadness, every other feeling gets shut in and it's like the opposite of Pandora's Box. Or I guess that's what Pandora's Box is? For a minute I wasn't feeling anything, I'm feeling everything now. And crying at every fucking thing.
I cried on the train home. You know that it's Snowmaggedon, right? The trains are packed. Like I'm crying two inches from somebody else's face.
Every time I cry, I think it's the fog in my head melting into rain.
So emotions are high at the Spock house. The sweetie man is making up the bed like a little bowerbird. He knows what pon farr means.
ETA: No, he is not. That is a scurrilous fiction that I made up just to be funny.
