I’m back to feeling in limbo again. Because it has become too easy, I don’t have little victories to celebrate anymore. There was no parade for me at two weeks sober and I was disappointed. I walked into counselling smiling and I didn’t cry during the session. Somehow this feels wrong.
Obviously the way I felt at the beginning of the year was not sustainable. And I’m learning new techniques that make things easier. But it is still hard to sit inside my feelings, to acknowledge them as ACT teaches, instead of trying to hide from them. So maybe it’s not too easy after all. I dunno, my thoughts are little tangles right now, as if I was fancy dished up spaghetti, artfully twisted into a pile. Maybe I’m already thinking about lunch although it’s only 10.30am.
The one thing I was cynical of when I chose my new counsellor was her interest in supplements, and yet here I am now, dissolving more b12 under my tongue. My results were 170 and apparently you’re supposed to have over 600 for optimal health. Is this borderline scientology? I don’t know, but she listens to me and that helps. Mostly she reminds me that I can’t control what others think of me (even if that doesn’t align with my values), all I can control are my own actions. And the magnesium has me sleeping solidly through the night except when Seb wakes me up but returning back to sleep was easy, though I’m still a bit upset by Kris in my dream sleeping with my flatmate. Not going to analyse that one.
2020 continues to be weird. There continue to be challenges like getting to know a lot of new people, and missing, missing, missing the old. Dorothy Parker knows what’s up (https://www.classicshorts.com/stories/teleycal.html?fbclid=IwAR1PQ7nJ3TVjVq4mLVUrD5vqPBGk7z5bBYpXd9epNVDMh5beaArOfxxi4yk). Not drinking leaves me with more time in the day and I’m trying to get more chores done, despite being really fucking tired because of the new things that I’m doing this week. I’m dropping off the fabrics for the last of season four this weekend, so I really oughta try and pick up some more Boom sales. If I can just get my head out of ass for a while, perhaps that’s what I’ll do.
I’m still waiting for my new couch and enormous new bed to be delivered and I’m getting increasingly frustrated by Big Save who keep telling me “it should be here soon”. I have to organise Sara to come and receive it since I’ll be out during the day, and I have to pay someone to cart away my old bed, yo, don’t leave me hanging. Give me some certainty. Don’t make me sit in my feelings about getting a new bed, about saying goodbye to the surface on which I was raped, on which I was with S, with T, with the last two, with the new one now, the bed where I slept every night with Florence snuggled up to my butt, how I ordered the new bed with hopes that I already ruined. Well gosh, I guess I am sitting in those feelings already. Fuck.
In the meantime though, I’m here to spread the gospel of The Unauthorised Beverly Hills 90210 Story telemovie on TVNZ on Demand. The actress playing Jennie Garth is particularly impressive. Also, because I wasn’t regularly updating Hubris last year, you might not have seen me extolling the virtues of BH90210, the series sort of reboot in which the original cast members play versions of themselves. If you’re in need of perfect trash, it is utterly, utterly perfect.
And I think we all need some trash sometimes, don’t we? It can’t all be fresh veges from the garden and sitting with your feelings and reflecting on the people you’ve hurt. I mean, a lot of it can be. But not all of it.