katallison: (Default)
While everyone else revels in HBP, I'm having a wholly unwarranted amount of fun this weekend browsing through the [livejournal.com profile] ts_ficathons stories. Unwarranted, because I was never even slightly a Sentinel fan; but there are excellent writers participating, many of whom have been away from TS for a while, and in reading their stories, I keep getting a feeling of -- well, a sort of uncomplicated happiness, a nostalgic reunion with beloved characters and situations, and I'm taking vicarious pleasure in their enjoyment (and in the excellence of many of the stories).

And even though this weekend is even more ridiculously hot than the week preceding, I've finally decided to just quit bitching and relax about it. I spent the bulk of the day at a very wonderful nearby library, which has (in addition to books and air conditioning) a coffeeshop right in the same building, with free WiFi and ample plug-ins, and I camped out there with my laptop and headphones and reading material and had a good time. Now I'm back home in my 88-degree house, wearing as little clothing as humanly possible, sipping a glass of cheap white wine with icecubes in it, flipping between the Cubs game and the hurricane special on Nat'l Geographic, and cultivating positive mental attitude. The Voice of Depression (and its thuggish buddy, the Hitman of Anxiety Disorder) are still skulking on the horizon, but I'm giving 'em the stink-eye and kicking 'em to the curb. TO THE CURB!
katallison: (Default)
I look at the Nat'l Weather Service website, and the forecast highs for the next few days run 90 ... 92 ... 90 ... 90 ... 92 ...

It might get down into the mid-80s by Monday, but that far out it's a crapshoot. Hell, it could stay like this into August.

At work, the upheavals of the past months have settled into a steady simmer of uncertainty about our future, collectively and individually; the refrain is we don't know, we don't know, we just don't know. Some clarity might emerge by December, perhaps, or maybe not.

The current state of existence is like being becalmed in the Sargasso; heavy, motionless, suffocating, paralyzed. The feeling is something must change, but no change is foreseeable. And in the meantime, the rock has to be pushed up the mountain every day. One must rise at 4:30 to begin the chores of airing out the house (opening doors and windows, stationing fans), before sealing everything up at 7:30, or the place will be unbearable come evening. One must head into work, and carry out the chores of administrivia, and morale-boosting of one's staff, and meetings and memoranda. And then head home to the house that is, despite one's early morning efforts, sweltering and airless.

Next door, somebody is dribbling a basketball over and over, in the thick darkness. No sense of a game being played, baskets being shot, points scored. Just the thud thud thud, over and over, audible even over the roar of the fans pushing the heavy sullen air around.

And so to bed.
katallison: (Default)
Lovely lovely evening, soft and fragrant. It's overcast--not the heavy overcast of impending rain, but a sort of high vaguely muted dappled-grey sky. The air is very still and mild, not warm, not chilly, and many birds are singing, and the trees are suffused with the tender fresh green of new leaves just unfurling. I adore grey days like this, vastly preferring them to brilliant sunshine/blue skies, and I reflect once again that I really should be living in the Pacific NW, and that my own personal hell would be, let's say, late afternoon in LA on a hot summer day, with the scorching blinding sun, and the stench of dust and traffic fumes, and being covered all over with sticky filthy sweat.

This week has been one of the worst of my recent memory, for job-related reasons that don't need explication at this juncture, and around midday on Thursday I lost my shit completely while talking with my best-buddy-at-work P., and had a minor meltdown in her office about all the stuff I haven't been dealing with adequately the past few weeks, and how behind I am on everything, and how asphyxiated with guilt I feel about about all of it. She heard me out, and then peaceably said something along the lines of "You know, you've really had a bad half-year, what with your boyfriend having the cancer surgery, and your father and stepmother dying, and now all this stuff at work." And somehow, hearing her say this -- I still feel bad about having gotten so behind on everything, and I still hate being That Person who Can't Cope And Has the Meltdown when life gets snarly, but I was able to take a step back and realize that actually there's a reason why my functioning has been a bit subpar lately, and after breathing deeply for a while I managed to regain some sort of equilibrium and focus. I'm still behind on everything and stressed, but am at least no longer in the asphyxiated with guilt space.

And eeeee! [livejournal.com profile] heres_luck tagged me with the music meme, and I shall attempt to comply (at some point, probably tomorrow), though great is my inadequacy and unworthiness. I should do it now, but I am going to watch Ed Wood and munch on pretzels and drink cheap champagne. Friday!!
katallison: (Default)
I think I've got the hook for my dS Sekrit Santa story figured out. This pleases me. I also have a thing sketched out for the new flashfiction, which is likewise pleasing. (The having-it-sketched-out part, that is; I make no promises about the pleasingness of the story.)

And yesterday was great fun; [livejournal.com profile] lapillus, [livejournal.com profile] jackiekjono and I got to have dinner with [livejournal.com profile] heres_luck, who was in town for a job interview. Those of you who've met her don't need telling this, but my god, h_l is one scary-smart, funny, delightful person, and I would be thrilled to death if it worked out for her to move here.

I am clinging to these Happy Thoughts and brandishing them around in my brain like they were Galadriel's fucking light-thingie, as a weapon against the pervasive bleakness that has set up camp in my psyche the past couple of weeks. This is probably in part election-related, but also feels biochemical or something. Damn. I spent some time today flipping through the list of mental health providers that my insurance covers; unfortunately, all the ones that I would consider going to (e.g., in which I have some degree of trust) are also clinics that have people on staff whom I know professionally, and that just feels ooogie to me.

It strikes me that it's been ten years now since I've been in therapy, which is the longest non-therapized interlude of my adult life, and I realize that the biggest question I have about possible re-entry into that cloistered confessional space of self-disclosure is -- to what extent do I come out about my involvement in fandom, fanfiction writing, slash? That's a large and important part of my inner life--it's where I have most of my friendships, and spend most of my free time--but I find I'm very reluctant to bring it up with anyone who's not already at least passingly conversant with this whole world. Which would, probably, include most therapists.

So my question of the day, for those of you on the friendslist who have simultaneously been involved in fandom and therapy -- how have you handled this? Full disclosure? The partial kind of "Oh, I write stuff" approach one might use with non-fan friends? Concealment? How has it affected the work you've done with your therapist?

(ETA: Feel free to log out and reply anonymously, if that feels more comfortable.)

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katallison

November 2009

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