Before my medical crisis, I had a good routine. I got up whenever and did my Taiji regime (as I fondly called it). That took an hour to an hour and fifteen minutes. Then, I had my coffee as I slowly browsed the ‘net. Once I was done with that, it was time to write a blog post. After that (which took a couple of hours), I would do my work during the afternoon, and then write for a few hours at night. I had Taiji class three times a week and a private lesson every other week. That was my life, and I was comfortable with it.
Then, medical crisis and a disruption to my life at the end of 2021. And while I still do my Taiji/Bagua routine, everything else has gone sideways. I still write a post a day, but it varies wildly when I actually get it done.
I do start out with my Taiji/Bagua routine, which takes roughly two hours. That’s because I dawdle here and there, though. The routine itself is probably about an hour and a half. Lately, I’ve been scrolling in between (and while) doing, which makes it stretch out.
I want to get back to having a schedule so I don’t feel adrift. And because it’s too easy for me to shrug off the nighttime writing without it. It used to be that I did all that on my laptop. Now, I only do the fiction writing on my laptop and the rest on my desktop. Since I’m spending most of my time on my desktop, it’s too easy to just not go to my laptop until it’s time to sleep.
I need to do whatever it takes to get back to writing. I miss it. I have said that it’s a fair trade to give it up for being alive, but I don’t see why I can’t have both.
I do think that my brain is different since then. That’s not bad or good–it just is.
When I talked to K the night before last, we were discussing life in general and this stage of life in specific. She was saying that she was starting to think about what she really wanted to do next. She urged me to do the same, and while I got what she was saying, I had a hard time envisioning what I wanted.
I have not ever had a dream or a vision or a plan for my life. I never had a five-year plan or anything grandiose like that. Basically, I was just trying to make it from one day to the next, and I don’t really have a bigger picture plan.
She’s not wrong, though. It is about time for me to take a stepp back and soften my gaze so I can see the world (and my life) more broadly.
I would like to visit her and my other bestie in the upcoming year. They live within half an hour of each other (by chance. They both moved there at separate times for separate reasons), so it wouldn’t be too hard to swing by to see both of them.
While I’m saying what I would like to do, I would also like to lose weight. For health reasons, yes, but also for looks reasons. I would also like to cook more (at all) than I already do.
What strikes me is how it’s always the same goals. They may be in a different order, but they don’t change.
I will say that I think I should find a new therapist. It’s hard, but I did find one I vibed with–at least on ppaper. I didn’t do anything more than find them, though, so I would have to do that again. And see if they’re taking new clients. They’re nonbinary, queer, and Asian. I mean, that’s a trifecta of things I really want in a therapist. And they do online sessions (though they prefer in-person).
I want to expand my world next year. Not dramatically because I still need to be careful of my health, and I’m not the kind of person to do ten things a day. I hated going on trips with my family because they were very much go-go-go. I could manage to do two things a day and then I wanted to rest. My brother and my mother were the type to do ten things a day and then want to do one more on the way home. My father just went along with whatever and gave no input whatsoever.
In addition, the only thing I ever want to see when I go somewhere is the museum(s). No one else in my family cares about museums, and I have to beg to see them. When my parents and I were in NYC, I wanted to see the Met. My mom declared that I had an hour. An hour! For the Met! I managed to wrest another hour from her, but that was still not enough.
I want to find my people. I have never had that, but I still want to look. The problem is partly that I’m not good with people. Or rather, I’m good superficially with people, but not when it gets deeper than that. I don’t feel safe being open and real for a variety of reasons, but I’m really good at giving off trustworthy/come dump on me vibes so I have people thinking they’re close to me when I could not feel more apart from them.
There are very few people I feel close to. I don’t need more really close friends, but I would not mind a group of people I could just chill with–either online or off. Five to ten is my preferred number, but it seems hopeless sometimes. I know I’m too picky in part because of all my issues. And because of how much I hide from the world.
I know I’m a weirdo and a freak. I know that many people don’t understand me for many reasons. It’s a profoundly isolating feeling, but I’ve accepted it as fact for most of my life. I would like to find a group of people with whom I can let down my hair. I can but dream.