Adjusting
I had spring break last week. I went on vacation. Now I’m back and I’m struggling to adjust back to normal routines. This is a price I pay for traveling – a price I’m willing to pay because I like traveling, but a high price.
An hour ago I was suicidal. Not for any particular reason, my brain just thought that would be a cool look to try on for the evening.
Things are a little better at the moment, but Sir is in a grumpy mood. I skipped breakfast and lunch today, then came home and ate a bag of chips. He doesn’t like that.
On my vacation I spent a day hiking through some salt marshes, which was awesome and I got a lot of photos of insects and birds. But I also got completely covered (upwards of 30) with ticks. It was fairly horrible.
After stripping, showering, pulling off all the ticks, checking myself completely with a mirror and a flashlight, showering again, and crying a lot… I locked myself upstairs and Skyped Sir. I was, of course, visibly upset, and signing and managed to convey only the word “bug” and not specifically, “tick” so it took several seconds of Sir trying to get me to calm down and focus enough to actually give him enough information to understand what was going on. I’m sure that was stressful for him. Then he had me strip for him on the cam and he checked me for ticks, too… ineffectively, but I felt slightly better regardless, and promised to see me the next day.
When I got home, he pulled me upstairs and stripped me and checked me completely and put me in the shower and washed me – things he usually does when he’s feeling helpless about something or needs extra closeness of that ownership aspect of our relationship.
So, then I went and screwed over my entire day with eating, and got brain twitchy tonight, and Sir is not in the mood.
I have work tomorrow. Although I went in a partial day today to ease back in, I’m still having anxiety about going back.
I need to write narrative style, not just diary entries, if I’m going to write I need to write in my style…Â but I don’t because writing a diary is safe and I can cheat my way to the finish line and say that I’m writing when really I’m just talking and telling myself that I’m not starving to death…
Starving…
I’m having a hard time adjusting.
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