In Recovery Of Various Sorts

 I just went for a walk with Lucy. We are having wholly unseasonable spring-ish weather and while everyone else has been rhapsodizing about it I've been sort of obstinately sullen, partly because I don't feel like having to go sleeveless to be comfortable already but mostly because of an unattractively self-righteous sense of WAKE UP PEOPLE THIS IS NOT A GOOD THING. I've been dimly aware that this is dumb for a number of reasons, but principally because my being a churlish malcontent doesn't CHANGE the weather one iota. And today I woke up and the window was cracked and the light and the air were delicious so I decided to get over myself. 

Wore a t-shirt. Was still too hot by the end.

A few weeks ago a blog friend said she was not going to discuss a difficult family situation because that didn't fit in with what she wants her blog to be, which is a cheerful place to talk about books and pets etc. I thought oh shit, does that mean I shouldn't be putting heavy stuff on my blog? Not that I usually discuss big world events, because other people do that with more insight and intellect than I can, and I recognize that a lot of it would be ineffective hand-wringing. But I do talk about depression semi-frequently. Should I stop? 

Then I thought, I'm doing it again. She's talking about HER blog, she didn't say anything about MY blog. 

I've accepted in the past few years that I am not nearly as neurotypical as I always thought I was. Mostly this has been a welcome realization because it explains a lot. I've become really good at masking, which works in most situations, but the core issues are still there, and every now and then the mask slips. I've always had a really hard time just admiring someone close to me without this frequently translating to thinking I have to be exactly like them, down to really ridiculous details. The first year or two I knew Collette (HI COLLETTE), every time she was making me tea and she asked how I took it I'd say "same as you", thinking that I would be happy enough drinking it clear, or with a little milk and/or some sugar. Finally she looked at me and said "just tell me WHAT YOU WANT IN IT". Once I was talking to my neighbour back in the days when we were friendly but not really good friends yet, and she said she was 36 and I said "me too" I WAS NOT THIRTY-SIX I WAS THIRTY-FOUR.

Anyway. I was thinking about this on my walk and sort of laughing and cringing at the same time. I still do it, but I'm more aware of it. That'll have to do for now.

Yesterday I woke up tired, went to work, dragged myself around at work and then went to physio. Went to pick up Lucy, went home, made dinner, did a couple other things, realized I felt like absolute hell and went to get ready for bed. Matt got home and I said I was afraid I was getting the flu, or possibly experiencing a sudden-onset full-body cancer. He asked what my day was like and I told him. He suggested that maybe I was just having a reaction to physio.

I said "hm, yeah. He pounded on my back and neck and needled my neck and both arms." Matt was like "well, yeah..." and I said "oh, and used the shockwave gun". Matt: "Jesus Christ, so you were punched and stabbed AND shot and you're wondering why your body is mounting a bit of an immune response?"

I'm not putting in a picture which feels unnatural but my fucking pictures keep fucking disappearing from my fucking posts and it's fucking pissing me off. 

I am now in our group chat trading funny German compound words and I can't even remember how this discussion started but I love my friends (omg, it was because I got home and Michael was talking about being in his backyard in a t-shirt worrying about sunburn and global warming and asked if there was a word that meant feeling both happiness and dread and I said probably something German, we have COME FULL CIRCLE, and also wow, my memory is really bad).