Hello again blogosphere!I am warning you in advance that this is going to be a long and rambly post, best read with plenty of caffeine and some patience. You’ve been warned. Anyways, when I left off with the last post, Vega and I had executed a foolproof plan to fix our retarded sleeping habits with the assistance of a very long, caffeine fueled day. We got through it, sold a whole shitload of things off of Kijiji, and by five o’clock, we were both ready to hit the hay for some much needed comatose like sleep. Basically, my eyes were closed well before my wee head hit the pillow.
Basically, this.
Foolproof plan was foolproof…until my subconscious decided to rebel and I had the weirdest, worst nightmare I have had in bloody years. Woke up with a start, then looked at the clock–6:24pm. There may or may not have been about five minutes of cursing at the clock and at myself–I mean, C’MON PSYCHE. ONE HOUR AND TWENTY-FOUR MINUTES OF SLEEP? AFTER A FULL DAY AWAKE? Tossed and turned for another half hour, then gave up and shuffled out of the bedroom so that I could read XOJane articles and let Mr. Vega continue to rest.
I felt pretty much exactly like Patrick at 7:00pm last night.
About an hour and a half later, Mr. Vega woke up and came out for a smoke and a hug, and much to my chagrin, I was nowhere near as tired as I wanted to be. Post-couch snugglies, Vega wandered back to bed and I continued with my (super important) internet readings and (not-so) patiently awaited the Sandman while snuggling with Visa on the couch. Another hour later (and still no closer to sleeping), Vega re-emerged from the bedroom and we decided that it was time for coffee (for us), food (for the dog), and the continuation of our Restaurant:Impossible marathon viewing (thank Jeebus for YouTube). Three cups of coffee later, we’d decided that sleep was for the weak.
Word to yo’ mama.
So, we did the responsible thing and ordered a pizza. After devouring the pizza, we decided that it was as good a night as any to nerd out and watch a superhero movie (note: “Thor” was absolutely fucking fantastic. So. Much. Nerdgasm). Post-“Thor,” (aka 4:30 am) neither one of us was anywhere near sleepy, so we accepted our fate and watched a favorite of mine that Vega hadn’t seen yet (note: “Paul” is AWESOME) over a bag of SunChips and a glass (or five) of mead. I absolutely live for geek nights with my love – it’s such an amazing privilege to have the capacity to be able to talk to the man you love for hours on end about all things sci-fi and space and aliens and such without feeling like a total loser.
question of the night: if you were the lucky first person who was to greet an alien having landed on Earth, what would be the first question you’d ask them?
After “Paul,” we were up for another hour or so discussing “Dune” and other such wonderful things (by the way, another round of kudos to Herbert for continuing to be an important fixture of mine and Vega’s relationship – from our first date to the present, “Dune” has brought us together) while finally feeling the sleepy-fairies working their magic. Neve rmind the fact that it was 7:00 in the morning (who really cares when you don’t care for the general public? Not really missing anything), it was time to finally give in and enjoy a much needed and well-deserved sleep. Naught but fifteen minutes later, me and my pillow were getting some serious face-time.
SCREW DAYTIME – today was a holiday anyways, I have zero regrets about my obviously wise and well thought out scheduling of sleep.
I am happy to report that thirteen and a half hours later, I awoke from a comatose sleep feeling refreshed and with no weird as fuck nightmares to note. We’ll count that as a life win. Vega woke up before I had, and upon my return to the land of the living, there was a hot cup of coffee awaiting me. That, Mr. Vega, is also a victory. Points to you for being both handsome and perfect. We ascertained that the pet food store was closed, so Visa had some rice noms for dinner, and as I type this, my wonderful and handsome love is in the kitchen making some seriously amazing smelling brekky food for the two of us. I bagged a serious keeper – not quite sure how the hell I got so lucky, but I am sure as fuck not about to complain.
Coffee and brekky AND couch snuggles? Hell yes, I was a-smilin’.
In fact, following a delicious brekky (eggs and hashbrowns, cooked with lots of love), I was on the receiving end of an unexpected foot rub (not sure what I did to deserve that…once again, Vega scores top of his class and has made a very happy and spoiled woman out of me), and he’s going to do the dishes. Seriously. I love Vega heart and soul already, and just when I think he’s done everything and more possible to spoil the living hell out of me, he finds ways to spoil me even further. Lucky, lucky, lucky woman. The mind-blowingly amazing part of all of this is that we have years and years ahead of us to spend with each other–I need to figure out how the hell to ramp up my game, as I have been pampered entirely too much by my lovely love. Vega, you are amazing, and I am the luckiest woman in the universe.
And I love you with everything I’ve got ❤
As of right now, we are enjoying some old school Iron Chef (gotta love voiceovers), poochie fantastico is snoozing between us on the couch, and we have managed to find potential buyers for more Kijiji treasures. In fact, tomorrow should make us another $130.00 in furniture that’s slated to be picked up, and there’s the potential for another $150.00 if the replies I just replied to pan out as I’m hoping that they will. Sell dressers, get money (much nicer a modus operandi than disregarding females and acquiring currency–either way, I’m still an OG..and a goofball). This evening (morning in my case but whatthefuckever) is going to be spent relaxing and enjoying some time with my love (case in point: Food Network marathon and couch time – we enjoy the finer things in life, which are the simple things, natch) and blogging (obviously). Since we didn’t rise until 8:00pm, Vega will be able to attack his work day at a normal time, and I’ll be able to facilitate selling shit – should be a productive day (actual normal person time day), which will hopefully end at a normal person time, with two tired monkeys (me and Vega) by 8:00 tomorrow evening. Slowly but surely, we’ll conquer this sleep pattern thing. Until then, I think we’re both doing a pretty awesome job at making the best of things as they are. This is going to be a huge and wonderful positive for us both when we make it to Vic – Vega’s going to be in an office during normal office hours, and I’ll be finding a job that takes place during normal people hours. This interim is just that, a pause from the normal, and as long as we keep plugging away at the necessities that come along with the process of moving, some fucked up behaviors (i.e. becoming intermittently nocturnal) aren’t anything to be hung up on.
As far as everything else goes, I had been feeling guilty for like 3 minutes about not being my usual work out 6 days a week kind of self recently, and then, upon realizing that I am still stuffed up and fighting the seemingly endless cold from hell (seriously, I am still nowhere near 100%, my energy levels are still low, and I would basically give an appendage to be able to breathe without snuffling), that going for a run or trying to attack a cray cray HIIT circuit with how I’m feeling now would be straight up futile. I’d end up with a shitty pace, hack up a lung, and come home feeling discouraged and probably end up being meaner to myself than I ever really deserve. I also start my “job” with that theatre group on Wednesday, and that’s going to require me being able to talk and laugh and be energetic. Burning myself out before I even have a chance to get better would be stupid. SO – I have a game plan. I’m still going to get my plank-off challenge done, along with my wall-sit challenge, but I’m giving myself the right to a day off. Guilt free. That’s right – Mia Wallace, taking GUILT FREE time away from workouts. This is new for me. Even last week I’d been trying to eke in some (what ended up being half assed) workouts at home, and at the end of it? Still sick, still don’t fit into my size 0 jeans (disordered thinking at its best – as IF a week, let alone a month, let alone a lifetime of workouts and actually eating food again is going to allow me to magically become emaciated. Duh.), and last week I was straight up being a bitch to myself.
Take this, loop it in your brain on infinite, and you’ve got me last week. Sad state of affairs.
Changing tact – a few days to rest up, making sure I continue to eat (I fucking loathe my broken food relationship. Luckily, I have amazing support systems in the form of Vega and Visa (seriously, Visa’s love of kibbles makes me feel guilty about wanting to not enjoy eating), and I’ve not relapsed since Oromocto), and going into the next week with the promise to myself of stopping this being mean to myself and expecting it to work somehow paradigm. News flash, Mia: it didn’t work then, and it won’t work now. What WILL (and is) work is patience, with myself and with the process. And quite frankly, I deserve to enjoy the freedom that is being with someone who loves me exactly as I am. It’s a hard pill to swallow sometimes…but it’s got magical healing powers. Truth is that Vega absolutely adores me. All of me. Even the squidgy bits I’m trying to (in a healthy way, now) get rid of. And the other truth is, I’m really quite far from being fat. In fact, when I was a teenager, I’d have killed to look as I do now. Mirrors and scales and disordered eating kind of skewed the way I see myself (edit: MAJORLY skewed the way I see myself), so good part of the BHAG that I’m only now learning to give importance to has been learning not to trust myself in a lot of respects; and instead, to listen to the outside voices (in my case, Vega) that see me as I truly am. Of course, this isn’t to say that I’m perfect, because I’m not. I have plenty of toning and leaning out and gaining muscle to do–but that isn’t really anything I have to be stressing myself sick over. I’m going into this new week and the next few days of guilt free resting up anticipating there to be stumbling blocks, but I shall persevere. I deserve to be healthy and well-fed and well-rested and happy; and Vega deserves to be with someone who is capable of all of those things, without the bullshit baggage that EDNOS, Ana and Mia have left behind in my head. Recovery process. Baby steps. Endless verbose paragraphs on the matter (like this one).
Just gotta keep plodding away, and this remains the truth.
Whatever it takes (even if its another damn paragraph on the matter), I’m committed. Why the fuck is this part (the eating noms and enjoying noms and being healthy and enjoying being healthy) so much goddamned harder than its emaciated counterpart of my past (which was starving myself, exercising until I literally couldn’t move the next day, looking like a corpse and eventually getting checked in to the recovery ward)?! Logic dictates that this part should be both easier and more fun. Recovery nurses told me it would eventually become that way. I am trying so so so very hard to focus on the positives, but the sick and sad truth is that sometimes, I just want to revert to my old days when I could literally list a week of food on one hand (cup of rice, apple, coffee, banana, cocaine). When I really think about it though, those are the days I want to revisit the least. Literally the only thing I was in any way in control over at that point was my food intake, and by not eating, I was basically giving my power away, back to the people who wanted to exert power over me in the first place. How, you ask? Simple–Sunshine wanted a “hotter” girlfriend (as I lost weight, I gained looks from other men..), my mom and dad always wanted me to look “better” (aka thinner), Sunshine’s mom was always on my case about not having food in the fridge (so I solved that by not eating)…basically, the one thing I exerted control over eventually took control of me. I get judged about this all the goddamn time – I’ve heard it all, from “well you don’t look like you’ve had an eating disorder,” to, “eating disorders don’t exist,” to, “eating disorders aren’t a disease, you can choose to start eating again whenever you wish”. I don’t want to go backwards in my life, to hand my power off to idiots, to not take charge of the things I am in control of. I know I’m kind of going off on the topic tonight, but it’s been weighing heavy (pun not intended, but welcome) on my mind lately. Maybe I don’t “look like” I used to be emaciated (and trust me, I am grateful for that fact, despite the difficulties that come along with it). Maybe you’ve never had a tube shoved down your throat in the name of re-feeding you. Maybe you just don’t understand, and that’s fine..but if I’ve lived my life and can stop judging myself, who the fuck are you to judge my life?
Em’s got it right.
I promise I’m done ranting now, at least over the ED stuff. I’ve noticed that I really don’t write about it anywhere near as often as I think about it, and in terms of the BHAG, that is just wrong. I suppose that good part of the reason I’ve been holding back on things in the blog is a certain reader who up to this point has remained hidden. NO more – mother, you’ve been exposed. Truth be told, I cared a little bit about what it was I was writing in here for a little while after I found out that she was still actively seeking out information on my life (mainly via sourcing the URL for this here blog of mine), and in turn, she was getting in the way of my BHAG. She took away the sanctity and the safety that this blog provides to me in my life, and in keeping with the aforementioned reclaiming of my power in life, I’m done with the filters. Mom, I hope that it hurts you to read a whole fucking lot of what I write in here, because the harsh reality is that you’ve caused me to undergo a whole fucking shitload of unwarranted pain in my life. Deny, deny, deny will likely be your reaction (as it always has), but I’m denying myself the right to write no longer, about any and every thing that comes to my mind and weighs on my soul. Keep reading, or don’t – I could give half a flying fuck these days. I’ve cared for almost 23 years, and I can afford that in my life no longer.
Bye-bye, closet skeletons.
Man it feels fucking amazing to just talk sometimes. I do a lot of talking in this blog – not often that I’m quite THIS stream of consciousness. Granted, it’s tough to be truly stream of consciousness when you’re as all over the place as I tend to be, but hey. Learning curves abound! While I indulge my blogging bone here, Mr. Vega is currently cheffing up some sushi for the two of us to nomnomnom on (reason #3276 why I don’t miss my eating disorder: my fiancé cooks delicious noms which I fully enjoy eating), the house smells amazing, and I’ve got the Beatles playing in the background of it all. Totally self-indulgent use of my time. Totally spoiled by the world’s most wonderful man, who also happens to be mine. Totally tickled all shades of pink by the fact that Vega is tickled pink to see me once again blogging my heart out after my wee hiatus.
I was actually just thinking to myself that I don’t remember the last time that I felt this happy and this whole living my life (literally every aspect of it is better than I could ever ask for, including the stumbling blocks), and it also just dawned on me now that the reason I can’t remember is because this is the first time in my life I’ve ever felt this happy and whole. Kind of a sad revelation, really–but it’s giving leeway to the most unbelievable new lease on life for this here blogmistress. I realize that to you, dear readers, this is all variations on a theme (the theme being me realizing that my life from now on is not at all going to be what it was before the love story of Vega and Wallace began to take shape); however, it’s a whole new world for me and I make sense of things by rambling and reveling–and after years of convincing myself that I’d never land in a place as idyllic as this, I’m taking the liberty of stepping back and analyzing the situation.
…worth the wait. Trust me.
Part of the BHAG that you’ll recall from four and a half months ago is starting the seemingly gargantuan task of writing my book – the story of my life. That’s also in part where this rambly never ending post is coming from – it is in part me stepping back and trying to ascertain where in the fuck I’m going to jump in and start writing this book from. I wish I could tell you that this exercise has cleared things up for me; however, as I sit here and ponder the thought, I feel more lost than ever. It feels like everything up to meeting Vega is the tale of another person’s lifetime. Funny how your whole life can change so many times within a lifetime (if you let it). These days, I feel like happy dancing everywhere I go, all the damn time. It kind of frightens me, trying to imagine the depths of awesome awaiting Vega and I on the coast. I really and truly could not be more excited to be alive these days – and I have a whole fucking lifetime of it ahead with the love of my life. Seriously, how did I end up getting this lucky?!
If there’s a short brunette chick doing this in the streets, it’s probably me. There is a limit to how much I can suppress my urges to happy dance in public.
I suppose the whole point of my rambling this evening is twofold – first, I’m a creature of habit. When I’m overwhelmed in life, I deal with it by writing. Lots. Usually in my journal, never to be seen by the eyes of the general public (or in this case, typed out to be read by the blogosphere). Normally; however, this happens when my life is falling apart. I have a sneaking suspicion that from now on, that isn’t something I have to fear. Second point in the rambles? The more I write to myself (and the blogosphere) about the positive things in my existence, the more the negativity of my past seems to fade away. I am hoping that eventually, through writing it out and through living in this new paradigm, I can free myself from the nightmares and the uncertainties and the disordered thought patterns I’ve built up and lived with for so damned long. The future I’m building with Vega takes my breath away sometimes, in the best way. I’ve got to stop holding on to my past.
Complete tangent here – Brother W graduates in a week. I can’t believe that my little kid brother is about to make his foray into the big bad world. Expect a post regarding this in a few days time. Until then, I have to work on deciding what the fuck I’m going to wear to his commencement ceremony. Being a girl is so tough sometimes…
…like seriously, so many clothes and NOTHING to wear. Sigh.
But that’s a post in and of itself.
Anywhore, Vega’s got sushi ready, I’ve pretty much exhausted what I wanted to say, and I’m going to leave you with some gratuitous cute and call this a post.
nom nom nom
Wallace, out.
|Eloquence is Bliss| 