Intense Idealist/Spiritual Kinkster

Category: Journal

  • Pushing Past the Resistance

    Not feeling it today, but it’s my own damn fault, and I’m pushing past the resistance. Without going into detail, I’ll just say I played last night, which involved pot and poppers. I knew my actions would have consequences, and here I am. 

    I take quetiapine as a sleep aid. One of its side effects is quetiapine munchies. The part of the brain that regulates your feeling full gets discombobulated, and you feel like you’re hungry no matter how much you’ve eaten. 

    Add pot to the mix and, as my friend Paul dubbed it, I eat the kitchen. 

    I ate everything I could get in my mouth. I ate trail mix, White Cheddar Cheez-Its, and a bowl of watermelon I brought back to bed. I kept eating until I finally fell asleep. 

    I smoked the pot. I accept the consequences. 

    I just don’t like them. 

    After brushing my teeth and having breakfast, I putzed around the house for a bit. 

    One of my current life themes is pushing past the resistance. 

    My body felt lethargic and groggy, but I got out the door and on my walk. Once I got my playlist going and took my first step, I settled into my groove and got moving to the music. 

    I pushed past the resistance and excuses, got outside, and went full speed – because I wanted to, because I want to keep getting better, because I want to heal.

    Because I want to burn off this fat and not jiggle so much. 

    I hit a new milestone today – two miles! Not only that, but I kept my pace even going up and down all of the hills in my neighborhood. A month ago, that would have been inconceivable with my long covid fatigue. 

    It’s not that I was punishing myself. I was disciplining myself. I wasn’t going to allow myself to slack off just because I didn’t feel 100% after the consequences of last night’s actions. 

    I’m applying the same discipline to my writing today. I have set the intention of posting to my blog once daily. 

    And here I am.

  • The Can in the Parking Lot

    Yesterday, Larry and I stopped at Family Dollar. I noticed a Minute Maid lemonade can sitting upright in the parking lot just outside the front door. I figured I would do the staff a favor by picking it up.

    I could have just thrown it away, but I’m someone who can’t trash something that’s reusable or recyclable. So, I brought it into the store with me.

    On the way out, the cashier spoke up and asked, “Are you going to pay for that?” At first I thought he meant the reams of filler paper I had already purchased from him. Then I realized he meant the can I was holding.

    I knew it was going to sound ridiculous to say I’d picked up the can in the parking lot. I even had the thought when I picked it up, “People will think you’re weird.” Little did I know that voice was alluding to a pending accusation of shoplifting. 

    We went back and forth. I told him I was going to recycle it. He kept asking if I was going to pay for it.

    He couldn’t seem to accept that I’d brought an empty can into the store simply to recycle it.

    Finally, Larry snapped and said, “What part aren’t you understanding? He told you he picked up the can in the parking lot to recycle it.”

    At that point, another employee chimed in and told us to just go.

    I feel unresolved. My mind hasn’t been able to let it go.

    I kept replaying the conversation, thinking of all the evidence I could have offered if I’d been given the chance.

    I wasn’t able to state my case. They could have pulled up the security footage and seen that I didn’t drink it. They don’t even sell canned drinks. They could have looked and found there were no open boxes of Minute Maid lemonade on the shelves.

    Instead, I was sent away with the assumption that I stole it.

    Journaling about it, I came to realize that what bothered me most is that someone thinks negatively of me. I find myself caring too much about what some random cashier thinks about me picking up a can in the parking lot.

    As if to prove the point to myself, today I found an ALDI bag on my walk. It had a small hole in it, but it was otherwise in great shape. I brought it home, cleaned it up, and I’ll patch the hole with duct tape. That’s just what I do.

  • One Small Flower Victory

    One Small Flower Victory

    Long Covid has taken a lot from me with its brutal fatigue. 

    The most visible impact is evident in our yard. 

    I am an avid gardener, primarily flowers. When the fatigue settled in, I didn’t have the energy to get out and maintain the yard and the flower beds. Now they are overgrown with weeds and vines. 

    It’s really quite depressing, but I had to let go and be okay with it. That was the only way for me to find some peace in it. 

    But all was not a lost cause. Last summer I planted one small bed in front of the house along with some pots on the front porch. This year, I expanded the planted area. 

    Being in front of the house I get to enjoy it whenever we go out to the car. 

    It’s only a fraction of the beds throughout our yards, but it’s a small victory. Once planted and mulched, it doesn’t require a lot of maintenance, just occasional watering. 

    It was one small area of my passions that I could keep up with even when the fatigue was bad; an act of defiance against long covid’s grip on my health and wellbeing. 

  • Planting Daisies

    Many days, long COVID limits me to short trips between the bed, kitchen, and bathroom. So today felt extraordinary…especially considering how I felt when the day started.

    I actually had energy today! 

    I know it may not seem like much, but I finally planted some of the daisies I started from seed this indoors this winter. It was my first time growing anything this way. 

    I also mulched the tomatoes and cucumbers. It was nice to make a dent in the mound of woodchips that have been on the driveway forever.

    By the time I finished mulching, my energy was becoming questionable. I’ve learned to stop sooner rather than later and pace myself.

    It just feels good to be functional.