I think I’m having a slight hypomanic patch, which leaves me in a conundrum. Do I try to do things, or do I hunker down and try to avoid being annoyed (difficult at best) so I don’t risk overdoing it? Neither option is exactly ideal, but I think… I think… I’ll try to do some things, if I can. I’ve got my crochet on my desk. I’ve got my Word doc with my poor neglected NaNoWriMo story in it. There’s also a basket of laundry that is calling me, and is probably the starting place. I will consider it a victory of a day if I manage the laundry, methinks.

I was talking to a good friend last night, and I was relaying to her my specific issues with exercise. This time of year, we all have lots of friends who mistake losing weight for getting healthy, and I was hitting a fed up point watching otherwise intelligent people spewing bullshit at each other to ‘support’ each other in disordered eating and exercise regimes they will never keep. Now, I’m wiggly and move quite a bit; this is probably tied to probable ADHD. It’s always been problematic because people assume that means I am energetic when I absolutely never am. I’m sort of like a laboratory frog being electrocuted; I keep dancing ’cause there’s random currents jagging through, but they’re not of actual use or durability. So we start with a baseline of no real energy or spoons, a loathing of all forms of traditional exercise, and severe obsessive-compulsive issues when it comes to trying to maintain anything resembling exercise. I’ll fixate on counting up calories burned and how long I’m doing it and will push very hard for that lovely endorphin high… and injure myself in pretty short order. Even if I do manage to keep a routine going for more than a few weeks, my hatred of the concept of exercise negates any endorphins that might be garnered, and makes me dislike something I might otherwise like doing. And because I will push myself to the point of injury no matter what I mean to do, that means recoup time, which means mega-crash. It’s just absolutely not worth it, ever. I do try to sneak in a few sit-ups and maybe a minute or two on the bike when I can, but that’s about all I can do without risking harm to myself. Joy!

But yeah, the long and the short of it is that all my chemicals are wonky, har har har. And it’s becoming increasingly obvious that my probable endometriosis is on the rise again, and that adds several wrenches to the works. Another of my friends commented to me that my physical ailments of yesterday sounded like Irritable Bowel Syndrome, to which I had to point out that endo is frequently misdiagnosed as such due to similar gastrointestinal issues. So while it was painful and obnoxious, it’s another arrow in my bow. Maybe, if I can get that looked at and treated (it requires laparoscopy to diagnose//treat), that will help me get better stability. The joys of both body and brain being spiteful, right?

Right, babble off, attempt at laundry victory on.

<3