morning/night therapy #11: soc & blogging as bulimia


(this post applies to July 2, 2016; found unpublished July 3, 2016)

I admit it; even more than most of these therapy sessions, I have no idea what to say.

Let’s see: I’m thankful I got through the laundry. My washer is a tiny portable machine that rolls up to the sink, and after changing fittings, hooks up to the faucet. (Which is why when we house sit for the landlady, ssshhh – but I do some of my wash in her washer. I mean looks more like somebody’s around right?). It took 4 hours to wash and then dry in the tiny little compact dryer. (6 washes). I’d love to have a “solar dryer”; nothing to run the line between. But I wasn’t down by a polluted river pounding clothes on a rock.

My eye floaters are getting better again. It’s disconcerting when you see a shadow in the left periphery of your left eye like something running by, or dark dots I swat because they zip by like flies. Or the planets in orbit. Or the shadow that moves across the screen behind me (or when I look out a night window mirror). Had it checked out month ago – eye surgeon said can take 6 months to clear up – especially as mine where large, but not a sign of eye disease. Had been getting better, then bad again. Or course, how tired I am, light levels, time of day, sinuses, headaches, facial pain = changes in regular floaters/new companions. Thing is my left eye does all the work – my right eye is so much worse. I often close it, and just use the left. Especially on the computer as I can’t wear my glasses and see the screen – bifocals don’t work – need computer glasses.

See what I mean, pure bs, I mean soc. Self-like. Not sure what to say. Got some very nice compliments lately which I think I accepted graciously (?) or at least 1/2 believed. Still one of the hardest things – to accept what others see as positive in me.

“Do not be a negative Nellie.” Channeling my evil grandmother. Yes, grandmothers, not just fairy take stepmothers, can be evil. She had the gene, the twisted backwards DNA strand that twists the mind, soul, and spirit on the paternal side of the family. I forgave my uncle his transgressions (tho not forgotten) as he is paying a high price for his greed, his cruelty, his lies. And, I needed to get rid of the anger and bitterness. Not worth eating myself up as a result of his behaviour and actions. Some day, I suppose I should think about forgiving my grandmother. For what she did to the family as much as what she did to me personally. More than just dna. The gene I fight. Not always successfully or the right way, but at least I fight it.

462 words. Never thought about making a word goal to this exercise in self-therapy. Make it flash fiction: 50; 55; 100; 150; 200 words? But as I’ve written a few times today: I view blogging as bulimia: binge and purge. Binging on words, purging my mind and soul.

© taleweavering/phylor


13 thoughts on “morning/night therapy #11: soc & blogging as bulimia

  1. alittlebitjane March 9, 2017 / 7:00 pm

    I love the bulimia metaphor. I struggle with trying to focus on what I am going to say so much that I don’t say anything. I’m working on that– that’s why I’m here!


  2. Sheri July 4, 2016 / 8:34 am

    I didn’t know those washers still existed. We had one about 50 years ago. On the laundry theme – I hope you get your demons ironed out.


    • taleweavering July 4, 2016 / 9:18 am

      We’re on our second. Yeah — we have a dryer over washer arrangement, but the first washer died a noble death several years ago. Then I hauled the laundry around in a cart — talk about bag lady. Then laundromat on weekends, then replaced little washer again. Still popular I guess in small apartments and tiny houses.

      Liked by 1 person

    • taleweavering July 4, 2016 / 9:20 am

      PS: I don’t iron. Hubby irons his own stuff. I like the Colombo wrinkled rain coat look, and besides I iron wrinkles in. My sister-in-law irons underwear!

      Liked by 1 person

      • Sheri July 4, 2016 / 10:24 am

        My mom ironed sheets and underwear, before permanent press I stopped ironing when I escaped my ex. Part of the reason I have uninteresting clothes – mostly t-shirts and jeans.


        • taleweavering July 4, 2016 / 1:17 pm

          I wear rumply clothes. For a while, rumply was in, and I was once again fashionable.
          Depending on my abdomen, I wear jeans, cords, shirts. I try to pick stuff that doesn’t need ironing. Give it a shot. If Greg and Bob (lol) don’t mind, go wrinkly. I think if my clothes are wrinkly, it distracts from my facial wrinkles. Not?

          Liked by 1 person

          • Sheri July 4, 2016 / 2:42 pm

            I’m the only one in the house that cares about wrinkles, but interestingly I care less about my wrinkly face than wrinkly clothes ;)


            • taleweavering July 4, 2016 / 3:22 pm

              Exact opposite, lol. Think it’s because until recently, I always looked younger than my age.
              For the first time ever, someone suggested I was four years older. Face Slap. Not vein, but never took care like moisturizer, sunscreen, etc. Catch up time.
              If I learn to love my facial wrinkles, then you can learn to love wrinkled clothes. lol

              Liked by 1 person

  3. Shadeau July 3, 2016 / 8:33 am

    Interesting–I just put my laundry in before reading this, Phylor! I do only one load–as we have just one washer and dryer…across the parking lot in the cabana, coin-op. Thus since Daylight Savings Time began I’ve been staying up all night so I can get in and out of there at dawn-ish, before all the riff-raff are awake…

    I’m so sorry about your evil grandmother–and the bad uncle. Just keep getting things out, friend <3


    • taleweavering July 4, 2016 / 9:34 am

      I totally get staying up all night to get a good shot at the laundromat. Hubby would think we were late if we weren’t at the door waiting for it to open.


    • taleweavering July 4, 2016 / 9:35 am

      Way it goes, people from 2 dysfunctional families marry, 5 years later have a kid, and a new dysfunctional family is born.


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