Bellyful of woo

I have not been... good to my body in the past few weeks. The increased work load took its toll. I know I need to re-evaluate my synthetic thyroid dosage, but I just keep finding new reasons why I can't afford the co-pay for testing. I ran out of the levothyroxine unexpectedly and could not get to the pharmacy for several days. I ran out of tea and could not get to a place that sold tea, so I bought soda to add the caffeine focus I needed. I had a gallbladder attack, which I have learned is what often happens when I forget to eat for a few days, then overcompensate (especially if you add soda into the mix, yeesh).

So my belly started itching, horribly. When I went to take a bath, I should not have been surprised to find it puffed up, convex, and covered with welts the color of dried blood. My first instinct was to scream at myself internally: obviously, no matter what the scale says, I had been gaining weight so fast I was getting stretch marks and say horrible things to myself about my size and shape. "No," I thought to myself, "I will NOT check to see if these are stretch marks." Instead, I said out loud to my body: "You are my beautiful, healthy body and I love you."

And darned if not thirty seconds later, my abdominal muscles were showing again, and the livid marks had faded visibly. (They are still there, but they are definitely not stretch marks per se, just the hickey-like blotches I get when I scratch too vigorously. Upon leaving the bath, I have them on the back of my neck and the top of my back, too--- NOT places I tend to gain weight.) It felt not a little miraculous.

I am glad to have learned to accept my body. I think acceptance is doing so much more for me than shame.

But am I overthinking it too much, or not enough?

The other thing about work: theyy have this new script tree. It's pretty great, and I've felt I have really seen some improvement in my conversion (sales) and customer satisfaction since we've implemented it. I've been bugging my manager to give me my numbers, but he keeps saying, "Look, what you need to work on is call length." Which, yeah. The new script takes longer, especially since I'm booking more rooms, and a "yes" takes longer than a "no," because you're actually setting the flaming thing up. It's also true that I do tend to err on the side of the cliché--- "going the extra mile," "it takes less time to do it right than to do it over," etc. I get congratulated on ferreting out information

Imagine my surprise when the one co-worker who still talks to me congratulated me on making 100% sales. (The company's "We have to talk" conversion is below 40%, my usual conversion is around 80%), and note on the office whiteboard congratulating me.

I.. am trying not to be paranoid, here. Is it working? I feel like it's not working.


We see so many magickal cop and detective series. I want to see the logs of the Department of Magical Health and Safety. "Sir, when was the last time you had your ritual virgin tested? I'll need logs. And of course, you fixed that little... problem with the point distance on your penta--- great Scott! Is that PINK SALT you're using in that circle?"

A magic trick

Step one: see someone mention something that runs counter to a societal default. Examples include, but are no means limited to, polyamory, vegetarianism, veganism, GF diet, no-carb diet, non-mainstream religion, actually FOLLOWING the tenets of a mainstream religion, homosexuality, asexuality/ aromanticism, exercise, meditation, marijuana, political activism, feminism, communism. (For the purposes of blogging, I am limiting myself to examples of things I have actually seen this trick practiced with.)

Step two: a volunteer from the audience will spontaneously mention how he/she/xir/per feels lectured by someone mentioning the very existence of a possibility of the non-default option.

Step three: wait about three years.

Step four: the volunteer from the audience will have magically changed into the very thing whose existence challenged them.

Works every time.

I worry that I am just faking my Imposter Syndrome

You know, the ghost of my ex, whom I am trying very hard indeed to exorcise from my head, tells me that I really don't like books or reading, because obviously, neither I nor any member of my family owns a bookstore, and I don't read "real" books--- I include fiction and self-help in my "diet", and I probably read more fanfic than is good for me (I count that more as "fanfic" than "reading" and--- oh, wow! Hey, look, Ghosty McGhosteface is telling me via semaphore that I can hardly call myself a "real" consumer of fanfic and whyyyyyyyyyyy isn't Dr. Holtzmann a real person I can call? Is her stubborn fictional existence just a defense against my desire to stroke her hair? Have I been reality-zoned? Again?).

So today, I renewed my library card by walking ~15 miles, prioritizing that over badly-needed medical care and picking up my W-2's. And you know what? Just because there are people who are "better" at liking books than I am doesn't negate my unhealthy and dysfunctional, possibly addictive relationship with the blasted heavy motherfuckers love of them. There are competitions in life, but making this one of them is just silly.