(no subject)
1. Fitbit has stopped working
2. I've stopped losing any weight
3. I've been in continual pain for about five or six days, both from cramps and from a non-stop fucking headache, and the only solution being presented to me is "I don't think you should carry on taking painkillers".
4. I hit 100,000 words on NaNo on the day the validation option opened (oh my god "validation option" is such a misnomer, if all I needed was for a machine to say 'yep you sure wrote some words' my life would be infinitely easier), which is a matter of great pride and applause for like three of the one thousand plus people who saw this information.
5. Deeply, deeply fucking angry about all of the above to varying degrees. Most sublimely pissed off about the Fitbit (which is refusing to hold charge and therefore to register what I am fucking doing) because I find it personally offensive that whenever two items of electronics are bought in this household it is literally always the one that I own which breaks.
Tomorrow I am going to Oxford with Jess to see the stage adaptation of Regeneration, which I have been looking forward to for some time and which I am now convinced is going to be an experiment in how fed up and angry I can become without actually exploding or killing someone, as I have a) no fucking money and a whole day in another city where I am basically going to be eating my own anger rather than food, b) the company of someone who has made it her mission in life to drive me up the wall, over the wall, and into the forest of fuck you I'm done that lies beyond, and c) at least an hour on a bus in both directions, one of which will then be followed by several more buses in the company of someone whose reaction to being even slightly confused is to continually ask me questions and refuse to listen to the answers.
I don't actually want to go, at this point. I think it would be better for me to finish writing this stupid shitting book and continue to physically shred myself with razors while waiting to see if the fucking job can be bothered to get back to me a second time (spoilers: probably not. I'm willing to bet the reason I got no response last time was because they didn't think I was good enough to shortlist).
Working my way through acceptance of the: you will never get a job, you will never transition, you will never lose weight list would be easier if my hopes hadn't been elevated in the first place by initial success and the well-meaning encouragement of partners and friends so in future, please, BE REALISTIC. Not supportive. Realistic.
2. I've stopped losing any weight
3. I've been in continual pain for about five or six days, both from cramps and from a non-stop fucking headache, and the only solution being presented to me is "I don't think you should carry on taking painkillers".
4. I hit 100,000 words on NaNo on the day the validation option opened (oh my god "validation option" is such a misnomer, if all I needed was for a machine to say 'yep you sure wrote some words' my life would be infinitely easier), which is a matter of great pride and applause for like three of the one thousand plus people who saw this information.
5. Deeply, deeply fucking angry about all of the above to varying degrees. Most sublimely pissed off about the Fitbit (which is refusing to hold charge and therefore to register what I am fucking doing) because I find it personally offensive that whenever two items of electronics are bought in this household it is literally always the one that I own which breaks.
Tomorrow I am going to Oxford with Jess to see the stage adaptation of Regeneration, which I have been looking forward to for some time and which I am now convinced is going to be an experiment in how fed up and angry I can become without actually exploding or killing someone, as I have a) no fucking money and a whole day in another city where I am basically going to be eating my own anger rather than food, b) the company of someone who has made it her mission in life to drive me up the wall, over the wall, and into the forest of fuck you I'm done that lies beyond, and c) at least an hour on a bus in both directions, one of which will then be followed by several more buses in the company of someone whose reaction to being even slightly confused is to continually ask me questions and refuse to listen to the answers.
I don't actually want to go, at this point. I think it would be better for me to finish writing this stupid shitting book and continue to physically shred myself with razors while waiting to see if the fucking job can be bothered to get back to me a second time (spoilers: probably not. I'm willing to bet the reason I got no response last time was because they didn't think I was good enough to shortlist).
Working my way through acceptance of the: you will never get a job, you will never transition, you will never lose weight list would be easier if my hopes hadn't been elevated in the first place by initial success and the well-meaning encouragement of partners and friends so in future, please, BE REALISTIC. Not supportive. Realistic.