Yes, really.

Am I really 40 years old and getting my internet service cut off because I have been that behind on my payments and playing chicken with AT&T's willingness to roll me to the next month? Yes, yes I am. Did I just pay them my entire past due amount of $138.35, because I happened to have $202.88 in my checking account, and because I am so desperate for and addicted to internet connectivity that I've probably sacrificed my ability to pay some other essential bill that's direly overdue, leaving only $64.53 in my account to eat on til my next paycheck? Yes, indeed. I guess this is hitting financial bottom. I need to work more. Unfortunately, bookkeeping pays a lot more per hour than psychotherapy internships, so it looks like I need more bean counting gigs. The elusive quest for meaning in employment continues to fade away over the horizon. In other news, I still like my life, so I feel pretty grateful for that. Thank you, friends and family, lovers and playmates, for all the sweetness.

Still Life with Ambivalence

I've had a drink (or two) daily since resigning, again, not to drink on weekdays. A little harm reduction strategy that's vexing me, it seems. As I write this, I'm anticipating the Bulleit rye on the rocks I ordered from the bar. I'm attempting to be gentle, neutral to myself about this, rather than using it as an excuse to lash myself. One or two drinks in an evening is not a grievous offense to my own physical health, after all.

It is definitely something I want to get ahold of, though. It's frustrating, and anxiogenic, to set an intention for myself and feel the compulsion to break it. To feel, and then to gratify, the compulsion. It's the same exact feeling when I stay on Facebook past the time I intend to log off, or put off a task I intend to do. There is a very natural, it seems, feeling of anxiety, shame, and dread in not following my intention, in violating my sense of what's best and most healthful for myself. The gratification of the urge is momentarily pleasurable, sometimes even glorious, but it's eventually replaced by an even greater sense of anxiety and shame, and, then, by whatever consequences follow, like deprivation of sleep, or acidy stomach in the case of alcohol or coffee.

I'm sure this has all been written about before, but it's good to articulate the patterns to myself. I'm successfully feeling neutral and curious while writing this, which is really good.