Today I got to share my tea. They were out in the breakroom, so one of the ladies on another team got to share my stash. Because we tea-drinkers must unite!
There's been a hole in my heart for the past six months. This feels so much better. Not of the same egg, but of the same flock always.
Came home to find that Her Nibs had tagged my room. That was not so pleasant. I think it was on the rugs under my computer chair; I dragged them out because Myrrh said she will get them in the wash (probably sooner than I would have). Her Nibs is to be containerized until she is no longer hot. Not sure when her appointment is going to be.
I went collapsey-boom around 5; I haven't been getting enough sleep. I was out cold until 7-ish, when my phone started humming urgently to itself. I'm not at my most coherent when I wake out of a sound sleep, so hcolleen got to hear me waking up and freaking out when nothing (including my brain) was working. I did get her Myrrh's number, at length.
Last night I awoke in the middle of the night to a situation that I feel compelled to describe as "squish squish", even though there is already a canonical male version of that description (and if you know what that is and don't feel the need to have that mental image tampered with in ways you may find gross, you might want to stop reading here). Turns out my uterus had decided to expel a VERY LARGE CHUNK of uterine lining nearly intact. SQUISH SQUISH.
The concept that I present like adult ADD of some sort, and the concept that ADD may well be on the autistic spectrum, completely blows my mind. It doesn't change anything about me or who I am, but it gives me some hindsight about some of the social difficulties I had growing up. It might not have all been social isolation. It might have partly been just being wired differently from the vast majority of my classmates. I always have known that I thought differently, and it's sometimes been a rude shock that even when I think I'm acting normal, people around me see me as acting inexplicable and crazy, or at least inexplicable and very different.
I'm fine with being wacky when I choose to be wacky, but I want to pass. In the past, friendly acquaintances have hurt me badly by cheerfully declaring that I'm completely crazy but they love me anyway. I don't particularly feel crazy anymore. I still think at odd tangents to most of the rest of the world, I still have a highly entertaining inner free-association train going that jumps and jitters and goes at a few hundred miles per hour (just there, the "jumps" cued "The Beat That My Heart Skipped", and the thought of the specific speed 90mph but sometimes it's a whole lot faster than that, and an estimated range and some pondering on relative measures of "fast", and bullet trains, and trains of thought leaping the tracks, and how sometimes for hcolleen's entertainment I specify how I got to that specific topic based on the input I got, and a few other exploding trains of thought, and there goes the carriage with Susan Death's parents in it from *that* input), but I'm not broken. And for me, "crazy" is "broken", not "atypical". I know "I don't feel crazy" usually means you're flat-out nuts, but most of the stuff I do can be traced back to reality somewhere, and I'm not broken, and I'm actually functional. I figure, at that point I should be able to do anything inside my head I want to, so long as what comes out is relating to c'thia.
The depression/panic attack/agoraphobia combo is mostly under control, thanks to better coping techniques, St. John's Wort taken religiously, and better general circumstances (in this case, no more needing to contend with Leftover Leftovers Guy).