Imperfect Perfect

Let’s start with the awesomeness of Saturday. Because there was a ridiculous amount of awesomeness. The highlights included forcing myself to jog for two miles even though my body was whimpering for me to walk. Sucks as I’m doing it, but I feel fantastic when my mind is able to tell my body to shut the fuck up and keep on jogging. Breakfast was a less than 24 hour old H&H bagel. Z was in the city for the day on Friday and he grabbed a dozen. Late morning I headed over to a local spa for a Japanese Clay and Cedar Wrap. The treatment deserves a moment of silence. Seriously, it was that incredible. In the afternoon I made an almond pound cake, which was fun. And then I found out it was the birthday of a friend who was coming over for dinner, so I did some chocolate mousse really quick. Because pound cake is an unacceptable birthday dessert, damn it. For dinner we had a crew of 17 (six of them four and under) over for the best smoked pork shoulder Z has ever pulled off. The secret? Brine overnight, a few hours in the smoker followed by several more in a dutch oven placed inside a regular oven set at 210F. So very smokey. So very tender. Z made his deadly margaritas which means I rocked a significant buzz for the whole evening. After everyone left Z and I marveled at how lucky we were to have found a group of people we genuinely love hanging out with (J-you were the only thing missing).

Syracuse is one of the best things to happen to us. Where else would we be able to afford a house in which we could entertain 17? We have found our people here and we’ve also found that our definition of success has more to do with being part of a group of interesting folks and raising our kids together, with Z working at a place where he is able to explore all his nutty ideas while getting to teach freshmen and seniors (he loves the bookend-get ’em on the way in and on the way out), rather than being in a financial position in which we don’t having to worry about how all the bills will get paid each month (First of all, don’t get a spa treatment, stupid).

Pretty much a perfect Saturday. So what’s the fucking problem?

Anxiety. Duh.

It’s gotten scary bad over the last week. I’m worn out by the constant pretending when I’m in public that everything is fine. On Thursday my bowels liquified in class and I broke out in a sweat, lightheaded and terrified I would shit myself. Earlier that day I’d visited the bathroom three times during my Wegmans trip. I was tempted to ditch the basket of groceries and just go home. Friday I was supposed to be C’s room mother at school. I bowed out at the last minute because the nausea and headache were so intense. It was a classic anxiety attack. Saturday morning I had to pop three imodium and half a benzo in order to face the spa treatment. Which is so fucking ridiculous I feel like a fool typing it.

And the jogging. Somehow I’ve convinced myself as long as I keep jogging I won’t fall completely apart. But it is getting harder and harder to convince myself to go. I am so physically exhausted from the sustained anxiety and the pretending to be normal. The two miles jog seems like a marathon. My time is slower. It hurts even more. I hate it. I need it. My mind has dictated it is the only proof that I might have a sliver of control over the anxiety.

The air has become solid again. It holds me down. I feel slow and stupid and stuck. It is like I am looking through binoculars the wrong way. Life is tiny and in the distance. I don’t know how to reach it. It’s hard to even want to, hard to care.

The anxiety is back and it’s bad and I’m scared.

Despite the anxiety, despite the fear Saturday managed to rock.

This is my life. I need to accept the anxiety isn’t going to take a permanent vacation. When she overwhelms me I need to figure out how to live with her. The anxiety is back, but I can still have awesome days. And that, my friends, is a pretty huge deal.

photo (19)

As you can see from this incredibly flattering shot I’m still jogging. 2.2 miles today. Nearly destroyed me. But my fear is that not jogging will actually destroy me by letting the anxiety bitch get a firmer grip.

C and G

It blows my mind that C isn’t a baby anymore. And it makes me so proud to watch him be gentle with his cousin.

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