This past week or four has gone by quickly. I've been as busy as a chronic migraineur can be, and have been productive, in my own quiet way.
Cooking has been a prominent activity, as often as I can tolerate the heat required for most projects. I've been making my own yogurt, sauerkraut and veggie broth long enough for them to feel like comfortable habits, and I like being that person who can make these things. I want to learn to make more things.
Which brings me to the sewing. I'm still pretty slow-going in the skill department, sloppy seams (from a bizarrely stubborn refusal to press them before crooked-sewing them down) and ill-conceived necklines abound (I'm in denial about my bust size, apparently) in my projects pile. Every failure is an opportunity to grow, however, so I don't feel too bad about my goofs. And the good news is: I've had successes! Oh, the joy that is the wearing of self-sewn clothing. I LOVE it.
And school is fast approaching. My brain is kind of mean and keeps trying to bully me with taunts of failure. I'm honeybadgering that noise as best I can, but I can't help the flutter of anxiety in my chest every time a facebook friend mentions that they, or their cousin/friend/sister, has started classes. So, I haven't really told anyone. Sort of. Well, you guys know, and my boyfriend, mom and brother know, so my step-dad probably does too, and my closest friend knows and I'm sure he's mentioned it to his boyfriend, so it's not like it's a huge top-secret situation but I've got about 30 other relatives and whoever else I'm friends with on fb who are still in the dark, so it still feels rather undercover. I think I'm scared to tell people because I'm afraid of the shame of failure. I keep saying it out loud, knowing it's self-defeating and ridiculous, hoping it'll lose its power. So far, no dice. Failure is not an opportunity to grow when it's school-related, I guess. Then, it's just terrifying. I swear, once I get the syllabus and can have an organization orgy and micro-manage myself with calendars and reminders and a maybe even more hyper-vigilance with my counselor, I'll feel better. Until then, I'll just have to ignore myself.
I've been getting out with the dog as often as possible. Short walks up and down the block, or longer ones to the shady cool of my parents' backyard, I'm trying to get as much exercise as I can, but I have to be up-and-at-em before the sun starts microwaving my asphalt jungle into an intolerable inferno, and I just can't move that fast every time I want to. I have a good chance on my good days, but too much rushing to beat the heat can trigger head pain and whatnot on its own. However, looking back in my handy-dandy notebook, I'm pleased to see that I've walked the dog 24 days out of the last 30 and 14 of those days were at least a quarter mile. Though the furthest I walked was only two miles, and some days walking the dog was all I did, this is still good, because summer is kicking my ass, in case I hadn't mentioned it. Go me.