between the rock and the cold, cold sea

So I have a brain again. Just in time, since tomorrow I have to get up much earlier than I'd prefer and toddle off to a conference in a different country.

Northern Ireland. Contiguous, but definitely different.

I crawled out of bed today to make a presentation. Which is now done. And now I have to not freak out about getting up in front of other people with a paper which still has not got any kind of brilliant conclusion, and speak.

(At least I can speak now. Monday, not so much.)

I have a week's worth of Greek language to catch up on, among other things. But right now, I think I am going home and taking a nap.

I truly despise colds. And this one, while not in any way life-threatening, sucked away every newton of energy. Dammit.

Not that I imagine the internets are terrible interested. Still, I'm still here.

On Friday morning, I went to a doctor. She was not Irish. She took me seriously. Now I have, for a month, the lowest possible dose of an SSRI known here as Lexapro, and everywhere else by another name entirely. Instead of spending the weekend in an anxious fret, I spent it feeling marvellously complacent.

I don't trust this feeling of complacency, exactly. But it's a hell of a lot better than the anxiety. One hell of a lot better.

Still not exactly on top of things, though, but I'm not going to work myself back into a guilty fret.

My plans for the next week includes spending a lot of time getting to know some curse tablets a whole lot better.

Bear dared me to do this.

One example of a climber foot, front.

Click on the link to see one example of a climber foot, back.

(Yeah, I'm a sucker for a dare. As long as it's harmless.)

Cataloguing the Arch Soc/Class Soc library: still not done. On the other hand, I brought biscuits, and there was conversation, and fun: the committee is stacked to the geek end of the student pool (case in point: we had Stargate jokes and Dune jokes and Princess Bride jokes, and only one person doesn't get the references).

Climbing: sent the blue 5 route, the orange 5 and the yellow 4 back-to-back; scrabbled my way up the red 6a feeling weak and failworthy, but improved the grey 6a. I like that dyno move: it's good fun, and I'm getting better at it. I am also figuring out how to do the last couple of moves of the black 6a with the undercling: I suspect the solution is to ignore the undercling, get my feet up higher, and go up with the left rather than the right hand. (The right hand grip is the first two fingers in a hole in the hold. It is not excellent, but far more stable than the undercling.)

Failed of the blue 6b, of course, without even getting as high as on Monday. But I kind of expected that. That Friday feeling, of course.

---

Everyone's afraid of something, right?

It occured to me today that my - not an obsession, precisely, but definitely a need - my need to be doing exercise, to be fit, strong, able to run at least a couple of miles... it's related to fear. (It also feels really good to be strong and fit - endorphins are made of win, as they ought to be - but bear with me, okay?) I've been living with the constant, albeit purely psychological, need to prove myself 'worthy' (do not, I implore you, ask what that means: I am beyond ever thinking I can define it) for years.

Physical stuff, unlike academic stuff or writing stuff or people stuff, gives me measurable, quantifiable improvement that relies in the final estimation on me, not on other people's judgement. It's like the biscuit I can give the nagging sense at the back of my mind: Shut up. See there? Better than last week. Look, we're doing okay here.

Which is why, I guess, if the choice is between spending my time climbing and running and falling over dead when I get home, or spending my time writing? (And that is where the choice is, these days, mostly. My time is sadly not infinite.) I'm going to do the physical stuff.

This is my Deep Realisation (tm) for the week.