Reclaiming My Space

Words can scarcely describe how grateful I am to be home again. Over the last week, I covered 1,500 miles and 4 big cities (if you count my Boston originating and end-point). Every leg of the trip was worthwhile, but add all those miles and unfamiliar residences together and a girl just gets tired, you know?(1)

So I’m glad it’s the weekend, and also that the unique Massachusetts tradition of Patriots’ Day means I can stay mostly in nesting mode for the next 3 days.

And I know exactly what I want to do with the time.

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On and On and On

Random point the first: I really think I’ve used this post title before, but I don’t have enough gas in the tank to go back and confirm. So apologies if this repetition causes any confusion down the line.

Random point the second: The course was challenging and rewarding in all the best ways, but I need more processing time before knowing what insights I want to share here.

So I’m onto a much lighter topic tonight: the most recent film I watched, on the train ride down to NYC from Boston.

And that exceptionally high brow piece of cinema? Mamma Mia: Here We Go Again.

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Packing My Bag

I know I said I was gonna write more about my trip tonight than I did about my suitcase.

But I gotta give the suitcase itself a little bit of love.

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I mean: how can you not love this suitcase? Look at those polka dots! Very distinctive and easy to find on the baggage carousel, but not so out there in design that I have anxiousness taking it on work trips.

Which is lucky, because this trip is part work and part personal.

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All the World’s a Stage

I’ve been seeing lots of friends posting about World Theatre Day today, which makes it a little extra fitting that I “played hooky” from work stuff this evening to watch some friends perform in Mamma Mia.(1) It’s a show I was almost in—-for one hot second—-so I very much wanted to make sure I came out to support everybody.

I’ll admit I was a little worried that I’d have some wistful sad feelings about it all. Sorry for what I’d missed out on, desiring to be up on stage again. After the bows and the drive home, I’m glad to say that wasn’t an issue for me.

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Help That Truly Helps

I’ve been talking around the fringes of my pre-diabetes diagnosis for a few posts, between the questionable nature of the diagnostic category, and my continued adventures re-engaging with yoga. But it’s feeling as if a more generalized circle-back on the topic wouldn’t be a bad thing tonight, especially since I am still 100% mid-tome in my reading of Wolf Hall.(1)

First things first: even though I am beyond cheesed at the suspect nature of the whole “prediabetes” terminology, given what I learned last week about the topic, I’m still choosing—at least for the moment—to continue using that term for my diagnosis. Because however problematic the U.S. medical system’s application of that term may be, it is the U.S. medical system in which I have to exist right now.(2) So I might as well keep using the diagnostic label all my medical professionals are going to be using on my chart.(3)

Now, I reserve the right to change my mind about this down the line. But it’s where I’ve landed for the nonce.

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The View from the Floor

I’m already trying to “level up” my renewed yoga practice: not only did I follow through on my intention to attend class last night, I also went straight from work to attend a 6 PM beginner’s class tonight.

Now, in a perfect world, I’d up my class frequency while still having some recovery time between sessions. But these are the two nights that beginner classes are scheduled on, so this is the structure I need to work within–at least until I build enough skill/stamina to take on additional class types.

So here we are. After two classes in a row, I expect to sleep well tonight. I also half-expect to be sore tomorrow. And, in the interest of continuing to reflect on and honor my journey getting back to the mat, I’m going to share some of the impressions and observations that have come to me during this week’s classes.

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Checking In On Veronica

For the longest time I had the most boring medical history—aside from all the broken brain/mental illness stuff, that is. But looking at more purely physiological stuff, I had decades of time where my doctor’s appointment and annual physicals were as boring as boring could be.

I even managed to escape a lot of the usual medical fatphobia that can emerge in this context because my blood work was always so damn healthy.

Oh, how the worm has turned! During the past year, I’ve been diagnosed with sleep apnea and (possibly) with pre-diabetes. I’m beginning to feel tendon aches in my elbows*, and, as discussed previously, I’m about to order my first set of bifocals.

And then there’s Veronica.

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