Goal setting

I've decided to come up with two goals a day. One will be of the necessary type: Appointments, self-care, etc. The other is what I will call my Bucket List goal. They will be comprised of things such as cleaning or fun things to do.

I, in general, LOATHE setting goals of any kind. If there is one, singular lesson life has taught me, it is that it changes. A lot. Over and over and over. And for me, usually in traumatic ways that upheave any thoughts I had about how the next 5 or 10 years might go.

My life changes so fast and on such a tight spin that if I were to have goals, they'd have to shift lifetimes in moments.

I'm just not that fast. I can't adjust that quickly. It's like that old joke - Wanna make God laugh? Make plans. God's laughed at me enough. I don't make plans anymore.

Yesterday my regular goal was to shower. The Bucket List goal was to be relaxed and in fine enough physical condition to watch a couple of episodes of Babylon 5. I managed to complete both.

So today the regular goal is to finish painting my nails - a thing I've spent days trying to complete. The Bucket List goal is to wash the bedding, which Rupert has decided to territoriality mark (as in "peeing all over") the bed. We manage to get it soaked up and cleaned up, but it really needs to be washed.

It's incredibly difficult to set goals when you have no idea what your body or mind is going to do that day, let alone the day after. But goddamnit, I've got to try. I've been wandering about aimlessly for nearly a year now. Daily goals are something I feel brave enough to try.

Writing is a given. That's not even a suggestion. It's a habit, a compulsion, and one implanted so deep in my brain that I don't even think about it being a choice. (Even if I have to do it wearing sunglasses, of which I am doing, again.)

Everyone around me says I should set up more complicated goals, but I just haven't the brain power to write a 15 step goal that would take months to complete. There's not been a single month since August of last year where I haven't had at least a seven day hospitalization. That's NOT counting all the ER trips, which are also monthly, if not more.

Forgive me, world and beyond, but I'm just not caught up on catching up yet.

I read the funniest article on the thoughts that go through a chronically ill person's mind. I thought it would be funny to write out a few daily thoughts that I have, every day, good day or bad.

* Where are my granny panties? (Known for being super comfortable while also being the most unsexy thing a person can don on their derriere.) Goddamnit, why do I own anything BUT granny panties? I need to buy more granny panties!

* Is this the day something is going to go terribly wrong?

* Hurry up, 3-D printing. I need new joints and new kidneys STAT.

* Why me? No, shut the fuck up, Teressa. Why NOT me? There. That's the better thought.

* Can I reeeallly pull off this outfit with my size 11 leopard print boots? (Which are the only shoes that fit when I'm edema's bitch.)

* At least I know of three places I can go into in any manner of dishevelment and not get strange looks. Doctor offices. Psych offices. Walmart.

* Who am I going to annoy for money for gas, cigarettes, and shampoo from this week? (This is a constant, daily, reoccurring thought.) And as the months stretch on, it becomes a SEVERE source of fear and anxiety. I know my loved ones have only so much to give - and only so much I should ask from them. (If I were a good person, at least.)

I have enough sense to ask anyways, as things need to be bought and bills need to be paid. It has, though, shredded what pride I have in asking for help, in ways that I've never been ashamed of before.

And as of the last couple of weeks....

* You are not hopeless. Give yourself credit for the trauma your body has been through, and then it will be easier to give yourself credit for the trauma your mind has gone through. BE. PATIENT.

That last one doesn't always work, but the thought is there, even when I don't believe it.

That's a good thing. That's a very good thing.

This entry was originally posted at http://quirkytizzy.dreamwidth.org/1064886.html
It sometimes happens that a man's first girlfriend was a woman who was old enough to realize that comfort makes sex a hell of a lot better than fancy lingerie ever could.

And who demonstrated this at every opportunity.

To such a man, cotton undies are a very far cry indeed from "the most unsexy thing" a woman can wear.

Excuse me, I have to go get a cold cloth and lie down for a while now.
I always find that going commando is far more comfortable than granny panties—and sexier. Just sayin'.

Granny panties are much too uncomfortable to be sexy; it's probably because the narrow elastic waistband rides right over my navel. In that case, basketball shorts are a far better option, and about as sexy as granny panties.
Not to worry; as a 57-year-old fat cripple, about all I expect to do about this matter ever again is talk.