Giving a Fuck

I talked myself into a bit of a tizzy this morning- you know how you sort of convince yourself that things just aren't going the way you want them to. Like this: "Ugh. I ate that graham cracker cereal last night. I feel fat. And also so many cashews. Why can't I stop drinking so much coffee? I think coffee makes me eat sweet stuff. I'm blaming everything on coffee from now on. And I have to stay up later so I don't wake up in the middle of the night wide ass awake. The coffee again. Fucking coffee."

And I won't replay the other conversation about the GIANT zit I have forming on my chin from all the sugar I ate this weekend. It is giant, but I'm resisting the urge to mash and squeeze it until nothing comes out and I've made a huge red spot on my face that scabs and peels for a week and a half.

But y'all, at least I give a fuck.

This is my new mantra. My way of making myself seem sane when I'm making myself my own special brand of crazy.

I care about my skin and my sleep. I pay attention to what I eat and what I drink. It matters if something isn't organic, or is pumped full of chemicals. I hydrate. And try to remember to floss and brush every night. At almost six months sober just being sober isn't an excuse for me anymore. It's not a free pass to eat eight cookies, it's inspiration to do better because I know that I can.

Being sober is so much more than just being not drunk. Perhaps we can change it to being human, or being a full human instead of a half assed one. Worrying about all this shit may seem pointless but for me it shows me that I care about myself. I'm concerned for my welfare and well being. How about that!

Belle always asks me a valid question: "What if you were good enough right now?" But what if I am? And what if enough is enough, and better is more me- or to feel like me I need to kind of try things on for size to get the life that feels comfy and fits. What if coffee seems right for a while, but then I can bend another way? And that way is better? What if wondering and trying is my way?

Speaking of trying, and new, and my way- I can't run. This is heartbreaking. Running is my one thing that is ALL MINE. And I can't do it. I keep setting my alarm so I can get up early and walk, but then it goes off and I feel like what's the fucking point? So I'm going to have to wonder and try myself into doing something different for a few months until my foot heals. Another thing to gnash and gnarl over. But I am getting better at noticing when I'm not doing things because I'm fearful in a small or big way. Or knowing that I'm being a big fat ego about it. (walking? Hrumph. That is not running. Walking does not make me a bad ass. Laying in bed ignoring the alarm definitely does not make me a bad ass either!)

So I am good enough right now. And I'll be good enough tomorrow, and the day after that too. And maybe one of these mornings I'll be good enough on a walk. And I won't eat too many cookies when I'm feeling nervous. And I'll keep on trying to do better, not because it's a way for me to beat myself up, but a way to show me how much I really care, that I really really give a fuck.

Trusting the Universe

Or the title could be: How I Stopped White Knuckling It and Started Letting Go. Having faith that whatever happens happens. Not in the "it is what is is" way (which I hate) but more in the "What will be will be" one. Que sera sera. In the I can't control it but I'm OK with it way. Not in the nothing I can do anyway so who cares way. But with some control included. See?

Sometimes I am grasping at everything: concentrating on how life isn't what I want it to be rather than making it what I want it to be. Be a better runner? Then run. Be in better shape? Then don't eat dessert twice every night sometimes twice a day a week. Be a better mom? Then pay a-fucking-ttention to what's going on and stop checking the computer. Clean house? Take an hour or two and just do it. Plant the garden? Plant it then!

I have a habit of wanting things, and then waiting for someone else to do them,. And then getting mad when they don't get done. Lord, help me.

Or the subtitle could be: Getting/Giving Up Control. I have another habit: Giving things up. Now that I've finally given up booze forevah I have other stuff to take care of. I never drank coffee before when I was hungover a few/several/every day a week. It made me nervous and sickish, and I already felt bad enough without the cursed thought patrol coursing at ninety miles an hours through my head. So I would just chug water and ibuprofen and wait for 5 o'clock somewhere.

Then sobriety arrived (hello there and welcome, and thank you sweet baby jesus) and I started drinking coffee. It was innocent at first: just a cup in the morning while I wrote my blog. Then another a little bit after I got to work. Then another before I left work. Then maybe another after I got home before I walked over to get my oldest at school. And then all these cups became necessity not luxury. And suddenly I was pissed off every evening, gritting my teeth through bath time and stories please please please is it time for fucking bed yet? And I was waking up at 2:30 in the morning mind racing unable to get back to sleep. (and when you get up at 4 or 4:30 what's the point?)

So, sadly, coffee and I aren't meant to be either. It would have been much cooler if we were, but getting sober isn't just about giving up booze. It's also about learning what works now that I am coherent enough to identify what does and what doesn't. Learning myself. Getting comfortable. Being mostly happy, or at the least content-ish. Which means I'll be experimenting with things. Like giving up coffee.(yes, this obviously works- I feel mucho better-o today (day 4)) Or running more. Running longer distances slower, running short distances faster. Giving up things like cheesecake and cookies and having things like dark chocolate or a little maple syrup in my oatmeal. Because those things make me feel better in my head for a long time, while eight cookies makes me feel better until the last crumb goes down and then I regret them all immediately. Which might make me reach for a couple more cookies. So giving that stuff up gets me some control. And with that control comes peace. Peace in my mind.

Which is my new prayer. I am not spectacularly religious, but I do believe in prayer. And so my new prayer goes like this: "Please help me do the things that make me happy and give me peace." I'm relaxing my knuckles by gaining some control. Giving myself permission to do whatever I want makes me unhappy. Just because I stopped drinking it doesn't make it OK for me to keep passing my stopping points. That just starts the rounds of bad how-could-yous that I've given up. So being sober is all about not drinking, but also all about not behaving like an       -aholic. Whether that includes cookie-aholic or coffee-aholic or giving things up-aholic. Setting some damn limits around here. Like I'm five years old and don't know any better. Parenting myself. Teaching myself.

And trusting that the universe is listening. And that maybe, just maybe, I'm listening too.

Inner Instructions

Um, what? What is that? It's kind of what I feel like when I'm trying to direct myself and my life, kind of like I'm making a shuriken. Whatever the hell that is.

I was five months sober yesterday. I'm so good at the not drinking part of being sober, but I've been pounding sugar like crazy. (no, really. I ate two pieces of cheesecake the other day. Then a sliver of pie. Then I broke off the crust of the pie and ate it. Then I finished all the yogurt pretzels.) I'm eating alcoholically.  Terrific. And also coffee. Coffee. COFFEE!!!!

I wonder at the part of people that says, "enough". When they were giving out "enough" I must have been in the bathroom. I don't really have that part. It's my missing piece. La la la la la.....what's that you just said? "Eeeeeee-huh? Eeeeeeee-nuff? I don't understand."

Yesterday I went on one of the worst runs of my entire life. It sucked from step one. I plodded along and plodded along, hating it, mad at myself for being so slow and so not wanting to run when I really wanted to run. Then all of the sudden I said to myself, "ENOUGH!" And I stopped running. And I walked. And then a really fit girl ran past me so I ran a little more because I imagined that that was what I looked like running and so I should probably be running. And then I walked. Adjusted my shirt. Glared at my pouffy belly. Agh!

But then. I said, out loud, "Who cares about your stupid pouffy belly?" And I laughed at myself, and all the angry inner instructions I bark at myself all day. Pretty much a bunch of crap about how I'm not doing it right, and I don't measure up. More about how I look to other people. (Horror. I kid myself that I don't care about that, but I guess I do.) No wonder I was pounding wine like it was my job. No wonder I down cookies like they're wine. I'm trying to shut my inner instructions the fuck up.

I need to stop trying to make a shuriken. I could start listening to the real inner instructions- you know the ones that aren't my ego. The ones that say things like: "Coffee is really messing up your sleep. You need to stop drinking it" and "Don't buy a pound of yogurt pretzels just so you can eat them all" and "Hey there, when you run, eat right, and get enough sleep you feel awesome. Let's go back to that."

So I haven't had coffee since Saturday. The headaches have been awful, but it's my body readjusting so they are kind of (kind of) a nice reminder that I'm resetting. The sugary stuff I want is gone (I ate it all) and I'm not going to buy more. Why can't we just do the things that make us feel right? Why do we resist what makes us feel the best? What the hell is wrong with me?

Nothing. *waves*  Just over here being human, working on some new instructions.