Or rather, heavy chest.
On today’s episode of Is Fru Coming Down With Something?, we have a congested chest that feels like I am trying to use my lugs to smuggle maple syrup.
Cold maple syrup. In February.
But ya know what? Fuck it. I can’t bring myself to care. Maybe I will get truly sick, but probably not. And I am so tired of these peekaboo symptoms.
Clearly, despite my undertreated diabetes, my immune system still works pretty good – maybe because of all the fruit I eat – and it kicks the ass of these bugs eventually.
Just takes it a bit longer.
I’ve also been feeling that signature malaise that accompanies being sick. I am feeling quite run down, apparently by a truck.
So I feel tired and sore and kind of depressed. And dragged down, like someone turned up the gravity around 10 percent.
I get the feeling a fair bit of sleep is in my near future.
Whatever. It’s not like I have anything productive to do.
I should probably work on that,.
Also had therapy today. Not a great session. It never is when I am sleepy.
Something about the therapeutic process requires my full wits.
Then again, what in my life doesn’t? I used my wits for everything.
I would probably be a happier person if I learned to turn minor tasks over to my instincts and reflexes instead of using the mighty muscle of my mind for every damned thing.
Assuming that’s possible.
I mean, this all started as my trying to overcome my extremely clumsiness through sheer force of will.
In elementary, I was extremely uncoordinated and clumsy. Could barely walk down a hallway without tripping over my own feet. Was always bumping into things. Running into walls. Things like that.
You would think that would be the sort of thing teachers and administrators would notice and say “My god, this child is clearly seriously impaired, we need to get him all the help he needs right away!”.
But that would have involved dealing with me so fuck it. Let him rot.
Serves him right for being such a little smartass.
Not that I’m bitter.
Anyhow, at one point, in grade 5 I think, I got quite frustrated with it all and taught myself to at least be marginally physically competent by concentrating really, really hard on what I was doing.
It’s like I had to produce super extra strong motor signals to overcome whatever it was in my brain that tended to randomize them,
And that’s been the system ever since. It uses up a lot of mental energy, and that’s not a big deal because I have an overabundance of that, but I can’t help but wonder what I could do if I got that brain power back.
Maybe I could even sustain a positive mood. Or sleep properly.
Then again, I already have way more brain than I know what to do with. Always have. More might just make things worse.
But I would be willing to give it a try.
More after the break.
On how to vent
OK, time to tiptoe through another minefield.
The problem with which I am wrestling, naked and covered in olive oil, is the problem of what to do with all my anger.
And my bitterness, and my sadness, and all the other “hot” emotions.
It absolutely needs to come out. That much latent emotion is beyond toxic. The whole reason my inner emotional sphere is hot like Chernobyl on its worst day is because of all the latent emotion I have stored in there and I am only going to get better if I can find a way to vent the pressure and cool off.
Right now, the only solution for that is to keep doing what I have been doing, which is to “vent internally”, in other words, to take it out on myself.
That’s worse than no solution at all, obviously.
But the alternative so far has been to take it out on others. And while that would no doubt work – after all, it seems to work for millions of others – I do not consider it morally acceptable to make my life better by making other people’s lives worse.
But what if I can split the difference? Release the emotion internally but in a way that does not hurt me? Get the release without the self-destruction?
How? I am thinking by stripping the self-aimed malice from the sentiments and expressing them as pure emotions – as “I feel” statements and the like,.
Sounds pretty lame, I know. Like a lot of wimpy psychobabble regurgitated by empty headed rainbow drones who would pop like a soap bubble if they came in contact with real actual negative emotions.
And that’s not just me being crabby. If a solution is to work for me, it has to be able to deal with my kind of inner reality and that’s a harsh fucking realm.
Harsh like the surface of Venus.
So on the surface, “I feel” seems far too weak and flimsy to work.
But the basic concept is sound. There is no reason why expressing my deep dark emotions has to come at the expense of harming myself.
It’s just the only way I know. The only one I’ve used.
But I can imagine taking myself out of the equation. The only problem with that is that it’s going to come out pretty frigging crazy.
Because “I feel angry” ain’t gonna cut it.
“I feel like ripping the world in half with my mind” is a tad closer.
If these emotions are going to be released, they will be released with the full energy and strength of my incredibly powers of expression.
We’re talking Death Star level power and precision.
And that could get pretty scary. Might change how a lot of people see me. Not just silly fluffy Fruvous any more.
Well, this amusement park was always built on a volcano.
Only now it will show.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.