Not enough weekend

It's been busy. It's been fine. It's been full of good friends.

Met my new trainer this morning. Kit. Yep, Kit and Kate. She's perky.

Dug through the storage unit for an hour in 80 degree weather later.

I need more weekend.

But I have a 7am patient, so I reeeeeeeeeeeeally need to get to bed! More tomorrow. I'm working on a substantive post in my head.

Stormy weather

It's been raining all day here in District 8 (as Peng has renamed my town, formerly known as the Containment Area for Relocated Yankees. I have not yet seen the movie it references, but I hear it's awesome). Maggie is not so pleased with this. I tried to take her out tonight, she kept trying to run back in the house. She finally peed, and we both made a break for it.

Today was reasonably productive. I got up this morning, went and got my blood drawn (it's TSH time again), made it to the gym in time to get my ass kicked. Kelly and I almost got run over at the end of our session by the Boot Camp class, so I parked myself on a treadmill for the next half hour and watched them. I left, I stopped and got a vegetarian sandwich for lunch...

...and then, there was something of a lull.....

I finally woke up in the middle of a thunderstorm, which effectively cancelled Peng and my plans to go to the Lazy Daze festival (this big artisan craft fest we have in my town every year). So I prodded myself into getting into the shower and de-stink-ifying, and then headed over to Starbucks to get caught up on all my clinic notes. Which I now am. Hooray. And then Peng and I went to the wine tasting, where she promptly got stung by a wasp. We wined quickly and then went and got her some benadryl. And then we got her (and me) some Indian food. Which went much better than the beginning of the wine tasting had...

I really had such big plans for cleaning and unpacking this weekend, but, alas...I was going to try and reserve tomorrow afternoon for that, but I think I may just clean the kitchen and bathrooms and be done with it. Because, you know what? I have other things I want to do tomorrow. Like catching up on my TV shows and spinning. And my morning is going to be really full of more computer time at Starbucks (discharge summaries - hoo boy!), Target, groceries, some other errand I was supposed to run and have now forgotten, and then the gym...I need to take a couple hours to stop running, you know?

Oh, and did I mention...

...I'm on my way to Chicago.

Jenn pointed out to me today that, what with all the wedding chaos going on, I neglected to mention (or, for that matter, think much about) the fact that I'm on VACATION for the next 10 days. And currently on my way back to the Chi for a week of that.

So my day, today, has been this:

1. Oversleep.
2. Haul my sorry ass out of bed.
3. Throw some clothes on.
4.Take dog to kennel.
5. Miss dog.
6. Realize I have no idea what pants I actually put on (but they're fine).
7. Go to new gym and get ass kicked by new trainer (on a side note? I really like the new trainer).
8. Come home. Shower. Put different random clothes on.
9. Swear a lot as try to assemble what I need to take to Chicago. "Pack" by throwing what clothes I want to take into a laundry basket, and the rest of the stuff (plus a different shirt...don't know why I apparently decided to wear the same pants and didn't think I was going to shower tomorrow, but, whatever) into an overnight bag.
10. Mess around on Facebook.
11. Realize I wanted to leave a half hour ago.
12. Swear some more.
13. Clean out the car.
14. Go to the bank.
15. Pick up new glasses.
16. Wear new glasses (I never wear glasses).
17. Obsess about new glasses every time I'm near a mirror and multiple other times (maybe I should've gotten the other frames? I hate having no peripheral vision. Ooh, the polarized sunglasses are awfully nice. I think my nose is wrong. The fact that these correct for my astigmatism makes everything all bendy, relative to my contacts. Ugh, I'm going to have to sleep without my contacts if I'm going to wear my glasses for a few days. I hate waking up and not being able to see. Maybe I should just screw this whole "glasses" idea and get Lasik).
18. Drive.
19. Drive some more.
20. Drive even more than that.
21. Subsist primarily on cheese, fruit, and occasional Doritos.
22. Hit three separate Starbucks and play Black Eyed Peas' new CD very loudly for the majority of the trip.
23. Decide I've had enough driving somewhere in the middle of Kentucky when I approach an exit that has signs boasting "Starbucks," "Steak 'n' Shake," and "Fairfield Inn." Score.
24. Check in and schlep cooler and overnight bag (both heavy) to room.
25. Call parents. Remember that I'm already overbooked for the time that I'm home, and that's just family stuff.
26. Log on to wifi. Spend a ridiculous amount of time on Facebook.
27. Realize it's suddenly gotten dark in my room and I forgot to eat dinner. Swear at Facebook. More cheese and grapes.
28. Attempt to blog.
29. Get distracted by email and Facebook.
30. Give up and go to bed.

Where's my day of rest?

It was a busy day. It's gonna be a busy day tomorrow. Oy.

The dogs woke me up at 6:30 (on a Saturday!! Need to get those girls a calendar) by dive-bombing me. So I finally agreed and got up, Mags and I went to Starbucks (Maxine got to stay home in Maggie's crate, which she just loved. It was adorable. She thought she was queen of the world), and then I came home and worked on a knitting project that's due next Saturday. I spent two hours at the gym. I picked up my bridesmaid's dress - which, blissfully, is the right length and doesn't need to be altered - and my shoes, and a new skin for my phone (the old one fell apart today). I went to work for three or four hours and moved most of my stuff to my new desk in our new office (the Pink Office is going prime time, folks. We're a little worried, given the nature of the conversations that go on in there on a daily basis). I also cleared out all my files and my big stack of papers and my drawer of, as Ruthie calls it, Nuclear Holocaust food (I had a lot of microwave-in-the-pouch rice stuff in there). The dogs are fed and walked...and I'm really, really tired.

I met my new trainer at 9. She's nice. She's a she. That's a little weird. Gomer she ain't, but, maybe the change is good. We're going to call her Kelly. She's blonde and thin (she has a very athletic build, though, she's not a twig) and younger than me, but easy to talk to and, as she says, "probably a little more gentle and sensitive that your last trainer." So far I like her, which is more than I could say for Gomer after our first session. He grew on me, though, obviously.

But one thing she definitely has on him was that she seemed to take me seriously today. We did our little assessment, which was way more involved than the one Gomer and I did (his was all weights and measures. She tested my balance, my heart rate recovery, my lifting endurance), and she was consistently just like, alright, here it is. And she seemed reasonably impressed (I maxed out on the 40lb chest press at 40 reps. Our new goal is 50 reps of 55 lbs in the next 8 months. I don't know why 8 months, but, okay). Now, she also has the benefit of getting me after six months of Gomer, which Gomer obviously did not. But he was sort of like, "Yeah, whatever" in the beginning, until I actually did what he told me to between sessions and didn't drop out and was like, "bring it on." She also did a really good job of being like, "Okay, you're a doctor, I don't need to explain things like BMI to you or why it's useless." She also was like, "great," when I said I didn't want weight to be a goal. Gomer, our first day, was like, "Let's try to get you to lose 10 lbs this month." I said, "Well, let's just do what we do and see where I end up." He didn't seem to know what to do with that answer. He got over it. Gomer really did do an awesome job of "getting over it," in a lot of different ways.

I had to pick a goal for our training work, either "lean," "healthy," or "strong." Now, as she pointed out, you head for one, the others will follow, but, they have different schemas depending on what you pick. I thought about it for a minute, and picked lean.

This was kind of huge for me (no pun intended). Because I'm never going to be skinny. Ever. My calculated lean body mass alone (so, none of the fat, just muscle and bone and organs and whatnot) rests right at the lower cusp of "obese" on the BMI range (because BMI is USELESS. Ahem). And I don't intend to stop building lean body mass just yet. But my frame is too big, and my genes too curvy, for me to ever be skinny. So I spend so much time trying to accept that fact that it feels a little like I might be setting myself up for failure by making this choice. But, the goal, really, isn't "skinny." It's "change my body" - not, primarily, my cardiovascular health or my endurance or my muscle strength - which is more reasonable, and more healthy, but also just a huge-huge-hugely-huge step out of the "safe" zone for me. "Fat" is an easy thing to blame when things go wrong. "Fat" is a useful device for internalizing my anger and self-deprecation and all those other things that go along with a history like mine. "Fat" is also protective against having to relive that history. It gives me a wall to put up when I need one ("He'd never be interested. I'm too fat. Good reason not to take the risk"). I don't know what I'd look like any other way, what I'd feel like, what it would be like to be me. This is frustrating and annoying (and, in a lot of ways - mostly influenced by my underactive thyroid and my polycystic ovaries - not as within my control as I might like to think), but it's also....safe.

So it's really interesting, this (we're going to go with "interesting"). Most of that minute I was thinking about it, I was thinking, is this something I'm ready to do? To focus on? To say, I accept this, but I want something different? To let go of all that it means, symbolizes, and provides?

I think I am.

And, you know, my real goal is still to accept who I am, whatever size, whatever else it means, no matter what. To feel better in my body and in my skin, to live here and live fully. So it fits that I'm not really working towards a weight goal (although I have a safe body fat percentage as a target) and not really working in a rigid time frame. It just is what it is, it comes as it comes, it moves forward and backward as it needs to. And we'll see where it goes.

Look, y'all, no one said it was normal inside my head...

Coming soon to a blog near me...

So, I initially was going to post a link to a very funny site that I stumbled across tonight in my oh-geez-I-can't-move, post-Gomer, laying-like-a-big-lump-ness (work was long and crazy. Oh, so, so crazy. Gomer, whom I haven't seen in two weeks because he was off at the beach and then I was moving, apparently felt the need to make up for lost time. And the gym was like SEVEN THOUSAND DAMN DEGREES. I had so few electrolytes at the end of our workout that I could barely put three words together. I stopped and got Schlotsky's for dinner purely out of lust for the roughly swimming-pool-sized unsweet tea that comes with their - also tasty - vegetarian sandwich, and cranked the AC in the car. Then I came home, delighted in the fact that my dining room table is still clear enough for me to eat dinner there, showered, and commenced with the lump-like laying. It was needed. Of course, the caffeine from the unsweet tea kiddie pool was not, and now it's 10:30...but, I digress. Longly).

And then, I started thinking about the conversation I had with my shrink last night, which entailed things like, "So, I've decided to make Gomer stop weighing me during our assessments (one of which is due soon. I'm hoping he forgets). Because the number is kind of irrelevant at this point. I think the measurements and body fat analysis are more meaningful, but as my body composition changes, that actual number doesn't mean shit. Like, I calculated my lean body mass the other day, which turned out to be X. And then I back calculated what my goal weight would be if my lean body mass stayed exactly the same - which it's so not gonna, if I keep this up - and I were 25% body fat, which is reasonable, and it was Y." She says, "Okay. And?" I blinked at her and said, "Well...I dunno, people who weigh that much can't possibly be healthy, right? I mean, what doctor's going to be like, your BMI (speaking of totally meaningless measurements) is like seven billion, but good work, you're not unacceptably fat anymore?"

Yes, I know. I did go to medical school, remember? I didn't even wait for her to give me the "you know you're being irrational, right?" look to point out that I was being ridiculous.

So I'm thinking about this tonight, and was trying to remember the formulas for basal metabolic rate and caloric need and blah blah blah, thinking about getting more strictly back on the meal plan my wonderful dietitian from a few years ago devised (she's in Florida. And not answering email), and feeling like that might not actually cover my BMR, which, is sort of the anti-answer. So I Google, and follow some links, and then I end up with three new blogs I totally love and a rant about why being fat is the last acceptable bias and this crazy, evil, awful woman who's crusading against fat people. Because we're just that gross, or something, I don't know why she feels the need to do anything besides shut the fuck up (because, really? REALLY what she should do).

But, now it's 10:40, and I do have to go to work tomorrow, and I decided I'm going to table that blog post for Love Thursday. But to give you a hint at the coming attractions, watch this:



(I so love her)

(Also...shit. I guess this means I need to actually write something useful on Thursday...)

Ouch.

Everybody think encouraging thoughts for Chef. He and Peng headed out for a nice weekend in the mountains and ended up having his appendix yanked. I told him (well, I told Peng to tell him) I haven't missed mine for a minute. Still, yeowch. So, send good mojo his way.

Today was long, as Tuesdays always are. I had a much better show rate today (7/8). Two of my intake patients today were actually very enjoyable, even if one was 30 minutes late. One was a big ol' help-rejecting complainer (Fix me! Nothing you do will work!), although, I understand his frustration (I was still annoyed). My Tuesday afternoon is my psychotic disorders clinic, which is always interesting. I said goodbye to two of my patients today, as they will be following up with new residents (the current interns) the next time they come in, because next year we're only half time clinic (half time inpatient), so we have to pare down our clinics. Both are doing fine, will be delightful patients for whomever gets them, but one of them is one of my very favorite patients. He, unfortunately, may need more care than I can make available to him (I'm keeping 9 psychotic patients; they suggested we keep two or three) if circumstances advance as they might, so I'm passing him on, but, it was sort of sad. He was one of the patients that was in the NIMH trials back in the day when they decided to try psychoanalysis for psychosis. It doesn't work. But it gave him some really interesting perspectives on things, and he's a really smart guy, so he's always so interesting to talk to.

I've told a couple of my patients already that they probably won't be seeing me again. But, our psychotic clinics are smaller, and we tend to know the patients better, so this is the first time I've really been sort of sad about it. But it's the first of many of these goodbyes, since I'm only keeping 30 patients or so (ehhh...or so) next year, and then am giving those up the following year when I start fellowship.

Something about closing doors and opening windows, blah, blah, blah.

But I made it out almost in time, and headed to the gym, because I had my weekly ass-kicking scheduled. Gomer and I had rearranged this appointment, and we happened to be texting about this shortly after some annoying stuff had happened. We've been talking about pulling out the boxing equipment for a while, so I was like, "Can we hit things tonight?" And so we did. And it was good. He wiped the floor with me (actually, he made me stop after about 20 minutes when I couldn't especially breathe...), but I loved every damn minute of it. And I didn't even barf on him. And I did another 30 minutes on the treadmill afterwards.

I'm always the girl who fixes things, you know? Keeps her shit together and takes care of everyone else. I never get mad. I get incensed, but mostly about things that happen to people I care about, you know? And so even in this small, controlled, removed sort of way, being able to be a bit more forceful was really cathartic. And believe me, I've got plenty of untapped latent aggression yet to be liberated...

But then again, I'm a shrink. It's always either about sex or aggression with us, isn't it?

Funny stuff

So, today was my first official day of vacation. Which I celebrated by driving around for like four-ish hours looking for apartments. I dunno, I saw a few that might be viable, got a couple more websites to check out. Eh, we'll see.

I also got my ass kicked at the gym this morning (Gomer pulled out those damn step things. Wow, do I hate it when he does that) and watched last night's episode of House (I'm intrigued to see where they're going with this. And am going to stay off my doctoring high horse for the moment, on Claudia's orders). And then I had dinner with Peng and Chef, which was delightful. We went for Cajun food. It was yummy. And then Chef shared this with me:

Unnecessary Censorship: Sesame Street - watch more funny videos

Oh, sweet Mary Jane, that is just too damn funny...

Floaty

So I'm on Night Float again.

But.

You know what this is? Go on, guess.

It's my last week of Night Float ever. Let me repeat that: ever. Five more nights and then I will never pull another week of 12 hour third shifts again.

And even better than that? When I walk out of the hospital tomorrow morning, I'll be able to count the remaining nights I have to spend in the hospital without taking my shoes off (4 more NF + 6 calls = 10 nights in the big house).

(The thought makes me a little giddy, frankly.)

Now, does this mean I'll never spend another night in a psych hospital? Undoubtedly not. Because while I don't ever plan to be admitted (although, who knows...), I do expect that I might want to moonlight. But, when they're paying you $50 an hour, somehow that makes it all more worthwhile. And, it's a voluntary admission (if you will). I mean, right now, at least I have the keys, but...

The weekend was good, though. Yesterday Sparrow had us all over for some outdoor fun. The weather here's been crazy - when I went into work on Friday morning, it was 50 degrees out. So then my 2:30 walks in, right, and she's all sweating, and I was like, are you okay? Are you sick or something? And she looks at me like I'm completely insane, and says, "It's over 90 out there!" Yesterday was also in the 90s (as was today), but by 5pm it had let up a little. We played badminton in Sparrow's backyard. It was sweaty, but very fun. And then we talked and laughed and told war stories (because, what else do we do when you get us all together?) and soaked in the cooling night air and lit candles as the darkness fell and it was lovely. All we needed were some fireflies, but it's still a little early in the season for those.

Otherwise the weekend was generally uneventful. I tried to get some sleep today, but it didn't work so well. Fortunately, I had a three shot latte on the way in, which is making me a little buzzy at the moment (sometime around 4am, I expect to crash. We'll see). And I put my darkening curtains back up today, and have my fancy little eye mask, so, what else can a girl ask for?

I'm also contemplating what to do about the gym this week. Typically, on night float, I avoid it for fear that the activity will keep me up, but I've been going after work lately, and am wondering if it might be more to my advantage to go wear myself out and burn off that post-shift activation. Plus, I've concluded lately that what actually is more awakening is the post-gym shower (still, I hate to go to sleep all gross like that...). So, we'll see. Gomer and I are planning to meet on Wednesday on a contingency basis - i.e., if I'm completely delirious, I can cancel. I expressed my concerns about the activity being activating to him and he just smirked, and promised me that by the time he was done with me I'd be more than ready for sleep. This concerns me a little...

Alright. I should have referrals on the fax machine. Time to go do some work...

Yeah...

My day started thusly: The Tarheels won last night. I? Will confess to not caring enough to stay up and watch the game (I dunno, college ball was a lot more fun when I knew the guys on the court). So my day started shortly after midnight when my neighborhood erupted. People screaming, horns honking, and this freakin' news helicopter hovering over my house. I was not pleased. Some of us get up really damn early, people! I woke up a couple more times overnight, but, sadly, NOT when I was SUPPOSED to be up this morning. So I overslept, couldn't drag my ass out of bed when I did wake up, didn't shower...got coffee, went to work, and caught the Early AM Shuttle. Which, of course I was the last one on, and on the way out, my pager got stuck on the seat belt. And the case broke. Sending various things in various directions, and holding things up for several minutes while I groped on the floor of the van in the dark to find my pager.

I had a good therapy patient, and then a really annoying, chock-full Intake clinic (HATE Intake clinic), and then supervision, and then I made a break for it (as my afternoon was blissfully empty. My Tuesday afternoon clinic seems to be all feast or famine these days...the next few weeks aren't looking so hot) and went to Starbucks to spend a few more hours documenting. Whee.

By the time I made it to the gym a little after 5, I really wanted to hit things. Thirty minutes on the treadmill, then the elliptical, then the treadmill again did not help my mood much. But my rescheduled-rescheduled (and actually, I rescheduled it again, from this afternoon to tonight) session with my trainer helped. We did this circuit training thing that was all like running around, back and forth, ADD-like. It hurt (my knee is still sore), but for some reason or another after about five minutes it really amused me. Which was useful when he accidentally smacked me in the face with a resistance band.

I went to the Lowes Foods on the way home, forgot more things, and bought hamburger I intended to cook for dinner...except I got distracted by something shiny and forgot to buy anything to go with that (like, you know, buns).

::sigh::

But now I'm home, and showered, and dude, it's so time for bed (it's like 11:30. Fortunately, my Wednesdays start late). Oh, and hey, here's some good news - my cousin's husband's nephew, Sebastian, has his very own Comedy Central special this Saturday (details here). I think it's his second one, actually. Watch! Laugh! Enjoy!

Up and down

It's been a day...

So I went to see my trainer this morning. He kicked my ass. KICKED my ass. I was a little whiny, and kept losing my balance (and dropped a 5 lb medicine ball on my head, but that's another story entirely. I'm not always sure why he puts up with me...I mean, except for the fact that I'm paying him to do so). But we get to the last set of exercises, these inclined crunches alternating with a set of twisty things...and I'm doing the twisty things, and I was like...oh.....shit. I'm gonna throw up. Like, now. Gonna vomit.

So we stopped, two sets from the end. I could barely talk for trying to keep down what little breakfast I'd had. Gomer says, you need to eat something.

I would've laughed at him if I hadn't thought it would guarantee that I'd puke on his shoes.

He says, you need to eat something. Do you have anything? I shook my head, because, you know, see above, re: shoes.

So he goes into his desk and hands me a banana. I shake my head again. He says, really. Eat the banana. You'll feel better instantly. Eat the banana.

(Freud would have something to say about this.)

(Freud would have even more to say about the fact that it worked like a charm.)

Like a charm. I finally got a couple bites of banana down and was like...oh....that IS better.

I was telling this story to my friend, a family doc, whom I had lunch with, and she was like, duh, your blood sugar dropped. But it came on so suddenly. And I wasn't shaky or anything beforehand. And, and, and....

(No. Seriously. Duh.)

But, in better news, I had a lovely lunch with a good friend. It was delightful. She's in private practice now, and paints a wonderful picture of life in the real world. Plus, the food was good. And Maggie may have a new puppy play date.

In less better news, though, I sent my dad to the ER, because he's sick, although, he probably just has the flu (they sent him home after a really looooong wait). And Little Maxine is spending the night with us, which is nice. But she had a little seizure, which was a little scary. It's not the first one she's had, but it is the first time that's happened with us. Maggie was ALL OVER HER - so worried. Poor little bit. She's fine, though (and Maggie and I have recovered, too).

So, tomorrow, back to work. It's going to be a busy week, and then I'm on call on Saturday. Bleh.

We're all going to pile on the bed and have a rest....

Therapy, in various forms

Stolen directly from ihasahotdog.com. Just because I think it's funny. And because I have two very therapeutic dogs snuggled up with me right now...

He he.

So it was a full day today, even if I didn't get a whole lot done. Peng and I went wedding dress shopping, and found some really gorgeous stuff. We have an appointment at the local David's Bridal in the morning, but I expect we've already found her dress. It's exciting. She's going to look fabulous. This is going to be a fun affair. Squee!

Did I mention being excited about this?

Before we went, I had my first session with my assigned trainer this morning. So, Gomer...I'm not so sure about Gomer. A, he keeps throwing all sorts of numbers at me. Dude, I'm a bulimic, we don't do numbers in recovery because, well, we're too into numbers. I nearly smacked him when he suggested a goal weight for me in a month. It's just ten pounds, he says, just two and a half pounds a week. Literally, I growled something at him about wanting to think in terms of "healthy" and "fit" and "just end up wherever I end up." Because if I lose ten pounds this month? Cool. But if I don't, and we set his little goal, then I've failed. And I do. not. like. failing. So suppose in a month I've lost 12 pounds of fat and gained 4 or 6 pounds of muscle. Despite that I've actually accomplished my aims, I'll either go into overdrive trying to meet that goal if I anticipate in the week before that I'm not going to make it, or, I'll go into overdrive with the self-criticism if I wait until the 18th of February and discover that I'm not, in fact, ten pounds lighter. Either way, I'm likely to hurt myself trying. It's not normal. It's not rational. But it's what I do, and I know this about myself. Which is why I signed up for a trainer.

He did write up a good workout for me. Well, no, that's not true. He wrote up a good workout. He didn't watch my form, failed to notice when I was failing midway through my second set of curl-thingies (he would've noticed that the weight was too heavy towards the end of my first set of curl-thingies, if he'd been WATCHING, because my control in my left arm was terrible), and sent me running up and down the stairs, which does NOT mix with my asthma, or my bad ankles, for that matter.

And, you know....I dunno. A training staff full of big black men and they give me the white guy. Which doesn't actually say anything about his abilities as a trainer, and it's a little stereotypical, but let's face it - it's a well known cultural phenomenon that black men have a better appreciation for big bootied white women. Gomer, on the other hand...I'd rather suspect he has a "No Fat Chicks" sticker on the back of his truck. You know, right under the gun rack. If he hadn't told me that he just bought a used BMW. Oh, no, wait, he didn't tell me that, he told the woman on the machine next to me. Because he didn't actually talk to me, or even look at me much (see above, re: not watching my form). And then he's like, "the more cardio you can do, the better." Nah, dude, don't friggin' tell me that, because seriously, I'll end up doing eight hours a week of cardio. And I WILL hurt myself. See above re: reasons for getting a personal trainer. Damn it.

I'm probably being too hard on him. I'll give him a couple more sessions before I request someone who can meet with me on Thursday nights. And interestingly, Steve seems to be keeping a pretty good eye on me. I stopped by to talk to him on the way out (about this incessant shaking that keeps happening by the end of my workouts), and he had all sorts of comments on the stuff I'd been doing independantly, which we hadn't discussed (but he's always there when I'm there). So I think he's kind of got my back. Which, he should, he's the guy in charge...

Training is hard, y'all. And painful. And not in the way you might be thinking. I've left pretty much every session at the gym thusfar and cried. There's a lot tied up in this for me - a lot of negative body stuff, traumatic memories...I've literally been at odds with my body for, what, the past 26 years? For the last 19 we've been outright at war, and for well over 20 I've been living more or less outside my body, for all intents and purposes. I'm just now, through a lot of hard work and therapy, figuring out what it means to live in this body. And I'll be perfectly honest (because that's what I try to do here) - I do not like it right now. My body feels contaminated, defiled, and disgusting, and that's why I've spent the past two decades in various states of dissociation. This is a lot to get over, and it's hard to do, and I'm doing the best that I can, here...and it still never feels like enough. There's so much badness to sift through. There's always something awful and torturous and unresolved batting about in my belfry. Is it any wonder I don't sleep? Larry, who's now my primary care doc, right, I told him I had complex PTSD, and he asked if I had flashbacks on a day to day basis. I said to him, this is a moment to moment issue (at one point I was literally having between 60 and 100 flashbacks a day, and thought that was normal). This is a nonstop battle, and getting healthier and doing the work is a jagged, rough, uphill climb. Combine that with my 70 hour a week job, plus my analytic classes, two hours of my own therapy every week, and now at least four hours a week at the gym (not including the times I plan to go in after work and hit things when I've had a bad day. I always keep my boxing gloves in my bag, but I haven't had the chutzpa to actually pull them out yet...but soon...). Not to mention time I need to read for work/class, the paltry social life I have, and time for things I find restorative, like blogging and keeping up with email and Facebook and whatnot. And then there's silly things like housekeeping (ha!) and grocery shopping and maintaining some facade of normalcy and functionality about my life...it's hard. It's a lot to do with a monkey like that on your back, especially once you're healthy enough to start fighting with the monkey and trying to get him off of you instead of just plodding along with him weighing you down.

But it has to get harder before it can get easier, right? And I actually have been enjoying my time at the gym this past week, even if it's been a little internally overstimulating at times (and even if I could barely walk Friday, s/p Wednesday's training session...). So for now I keep fighting, and I keep plodding. It'll all get better if I just keep moving...

Sixteen things

I've had a delightfully unproductive day. Mostly I slept of snuggled under the blankets staying warm. I did get a couple of things done - started my personal statement for fellowship (haven't written anything I actually like yet, but, whatever), had dinner with Peng and did a little bridesmaid-y planning, washed a dish or three. And I set up an appointment with Gomer, my real trainer for tomorrow (the trainer that did the intake and I talked yesterday and I told him, I think I want my weekly time to be Thursday night. So he assigned me to Gomer, and Gomer called today and was like, oh, I work early mornings...) before Peng and I go looking for wedding dresses. So tomorrow should be kind of busy.

Anyhow.

I got tagged by Allison on Facebook for the 16 Things meme. So in keeping with today's theme of marginal productivity, I'm double dipping and using that for my blog post today, too...feel free to co-opt it for your own blogging pleasure if you'd like.

1. I really like North Carolina, but I struggle a lot with missing the people in Chicago.
2. I think Facebook is the best thing since email. I've really loved being able to reconnect with people with whom I'd fallen out of touch, and connect with people I see every day in a whole different manner. And I think that's awesome.
3. I have a weakness for crappy Lifetime movies.
4. I started blogging right before I moved to North Carolina in an effort to stay in touch with friends and family back home and let them know what was going on. I ended up making new friends from all over and learning a lot them and about myself. I don't have the largest readership of my little circle of bloggers, but I now have regular readers as far away as Alaska and Europe (hi!).
5. Re #4, it perpetually amazes me that anybody cares what the hell I have to say, or reads the drivel I write.
6. I think my dog is the best, cutest pup ever, and feel really blessed that she found me.
7. I really loved delivering babies, and sometimes wish I'd known enough to be a midwife instead of going to medical school.
8. Having said that, I totally love being a psychiatrist.
9. Having said that, I occasionally wish my patients would just shut up. (I get over that, though. And it usually has nothing to do with them. Although, once in a while...)
10. I think Greek Picnic Chicken could be the most perfect food, ever.
11. I'm terrified of schizophrenia. Not schizophrenics, but rather, the fact that it's never too late to be robbed of reality (women have a second peak in incidence after menopause). Likewise, dementia scares the heck out of me.
12. I get annoyed with how much I swear.
13. Once upon a time, I thought I'd be married with several kids by now. I'm actually glad that isn't true yet, but I'm starting to hope it will be sooner rather than later. I think that's a sign I'm making progress.
14. Things I've learned that I am not: a cat person, nor a New Englander. But that's fair, since I am many things. And, let's be honest - I still frequently like cats, and would probably do just fine if I moved back to New England.
15. I often think in song lyrics.
16. I frequently feel like the world's worst therapist, usually in session, and when I just don't know the right thing to say. I think that's part of what makes me a good therapist.

Brr.

Naturally, I get the dog clipped, and we head into a cold snap...

So Mags and I pulled out her coat today.

She hasn't objected, and is, in fact, still wearing it in the house (I figure that makes sense - in case she needs to run out in the middle of the night to bark at a squirrel or something). I really should find her a sweater. And if it gets any colder, I'm going to toss her back in that silly reindeer costume - it's incredibly silly looking, but very warm!

Last night was long. Today was also long, but by my own hypomania choice and really pretty productive. I think I made a bad judgment call though, today - I had my introductory personal training session yesterday, right? So this very tall, hot, good-smelling, big, buff, bald, black man tries to kick my ass a little and promises it won't hurt in the morning. He lied, of course, but then again, I also slept in my office last night, and spent most of the time I spent in bed getting up and down and up and down, but my quads were pretty sore today. So I figure, cool, I'm awake enough, I'll go do a little cardio after therapy, I'll get my sore muscles working. Because I know I'm probably not going to go tomorrow, and, well,that's what's supposed to make them less sore, right?

Yeah. If I can walk in the morning, it's going to be only by the grace of God.

Here's hoping tomorrow doesn't suck. I'm finally going to bed (hush, Peng).