alycat411

[alycat411]

Zzz z zzz z zzz

The virgin John Mulaney telling transphobic jokes with Dave Chapelle vs the Chad James Acaster

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[alycat411]

“manifestation” producing results is rare. people are so obsessed with control that they are convincing themselves that they have control when it’s actually something we lack. there is a lot of randomness in life and we have to learn to make peace with and work with it - not ignore it. and sometimes the randomness will be good! many form their greatest connections with others (love, friendship, etc) at the worst points of their lives! for many people their greatest experiences were never planned for. the reality is you do not have to be super happy, extremely positive, constantly productive for good things to happen to you. your world could be falling apart one day and falling together the next. we don’t know what lies ahead. but we can find solace in this once we accept it.

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x

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is she.......you know........

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[alycat411]

I find it amusing to live in a time when you can see what your ex has been listening to on repeat. A simple Spotify account left logged into my tv and a silly feature where the app creates a playlist of his tops repeats in the last month. How personal.

“There she goes, my beautiful world.” first song.

Not going to read into that bait of a song title. That is coincidental. She tells herself. 

I’m sort of close to resigning to the fucked up nature of my heart. Like rather than continue to push against the universe and myself, maybe I just surrender to my auto-pilot tendencies which compel me to only take interest in men who harm me. 

I keep thinking about him and hope that our borderline-magical-telepathy will be tapped into. I sit here and think: I know he’s thinking of me too. But would he act on it? No. And neither will I. Not this time. 

What is frustrating about my dynamic with John is how I could feel like the intermittent, infrequent connected moments with him are exceedingly better than any moments with anyone else. And he gave me all I ever wanted to feel, which was to feel authentically seen, a dose of truth even if sometimes it killed me. 

It did kill me. I was having a bit of neurosis last night for the first time in a while and I thought to myself, “You haven’t had the need to write in your phone to self regulate in a long time, not since you and John broke up.” So I revisited my notes from the last several months or so. Woo, that was bad. At the same time I wrote that we had a fantastic day a mere week before we ended it for good. Part of me still loves him, “Once Around The Block,” by Badly Drawn Boy plays. 

“You quiver like a candle on fire I'm putting you out Maybe tonight we could be the last shout But I'm fascinated by your style Your beauty will last for a while You're feeling instead of being The more that I live on the outside There's nothing to give I'm infatuated by your moves I've got to search hard for your clues I want to repair your desire And call it a gift That I stole from just wanting to live How I see the vision through your eyes Your innocence no longer fuels surprise Trying to outrun your fear You're running to lose, heart on your sleeve And your sole in your shoes Take a left, A sharp left And another left, meet me on the corner And we'll start, again.“

The Universe has an odd sense of humor. Or I’m just a really shoddy projector who needs to be repaired. 

The other thing is, this could just be a playlist he puts on to fuck Ameris to. Likely. “I Sit on Acid” plays and it is the type of song I can only imagine fucking to. 

I’m starting to get real antsy at 29. The pressure to be settled down has infiltrated me more than desirable, or ever before. The planner in me knows I have to sort myself out now If I would want kids by 35. 

And I’m working on surrendering the idea of having children totally. I could probably afford to freeze my eggs in the beginning of the new year or by next summer. So there’s that. Furness also asked me if I’d ever consider having a child on my own. And I have considered this. It may be a thing.

Part of me doesn’t want to give up on the idea of a soulmate I’m also cognizant that there is part of me that still isn’t ready to settle down. 

Anywho, I’m working on my new baby. www.attuned-therapy.com

I’m not open for business just yet, but my ducks are getting in that row. 

This is definitely fucking music now.

I’m only sharing my baby here for the backlink. At some point it will be viable enough to post an “announcement” on social media. And I’ll have a lot to be proud of. 

Do I really need a dumb man to validate my worth when I have a private practice with tons of clients to show for? <- that’s just “a” part of me. That’s not me. 

The sex music just keeps playing and I cannot let myself turn it off; I want to hear it. This is masochism if I ever saw it.

Even therapists are fucked up. 

There is a lot to unpack here.

[alycat411]

https://ift.tt/2Oplarb

[alycat411]

Alex: its yeet or be yeeted...

Alex: and I've run out of people to yeet

Alex (writing the reynold phamplet): So looks like I'm yeeting myself.

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teacher: what’s Newton’s third law of motion?

me: every action has its equal opposite reaction

teacher: why’d you say it like that

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One of the many reasons I adore the sims bustin out for playstation 2

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My brain while listening to regular music: 😴

My brain while listening to The Sims 2 Soundtrack:

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- Secrets Post #627, December 28th, 2019

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Still an emotional post.

James Horner’s Titanic score was the first film score I ever listened to without the film playing. But the thing about Titanic’s score is that you certainly don’t need the film playing to enjoy it. Horner and Cameron both respectively created such masterful pieces of art that you can easily listen to the score alone, and immediately see images from the film in your mind, or watch the film on mute and hear the score anyway. 

The above piece is constructed of two songs. If you’re a diehard fan of the film or movie scores, you know that this particular piece has never been made commercially available…not even in the recent release. It’s essentially “Rose” and “Unable to Stay, Unwilling to Leave,” combined. But don’t be fooled, the “Rose” used was not the album version. It utilized the recently released, “Rose Alternate” as well as a never before released version of “Unable to Stay, Unwilling to Leave,” that takes away the bagpipes, and emphasizes the sweeping strings and synth instead. 

I would love to know how this piece was chosen for the ending. I would love to know if it was all Horner. If Cameron had input. Because it’s creation is nothing short of movie-thematic genius. 

This unique piece combines both emotional plot lines, by combining both thematic melodies, which were played during Rose’s highest script peaks. 

As this music begins, the audience receives a striking image of Rose that mirrors one much earlier in the film. Both shots equally represent Rose choosing to make it count by choosing a life of freedom and authenticity. The endowment of her promise to herself and to Jack is complete, visually, and musically.

The song and film take us to the wreck where we find the grand staircase as it was in 1912. A gleaming Jack welcomes a beaming Rose to an eternal embrace that is lauded in an impervious, and transcendent ship. This embrace parallels her choice earlier in the film to choose Jack, to be with Jack, even when it meant her own fate would be uncertain. Even in the face of death. 

So it is only fitting the film and score tie these visual and melodic moments together. 

Rose’s proclamation of her love for Jack solidified at the grand staircase symbolizes her commitment to continuously choose life and to continuously choose love. 

And if that doesn’t make you love this score more, I don’t know what will.

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[alycat411]

Covid has kicked my ass. I lay here at 3:05am on April 2nd waving my white flag. Today was probably the worst day since March 12th. Can I put into words why? I can try, but the experience is hard to capture. It’s the culmination of 3 weeks of self isolation; my spirit feels like it’s been snapped in half, and we have so much more to go.

I woke up to Pawel telling me he tested positive. I can’t count the number of times I’ve vacillated on attempting to get tested myself. It’s completely inane of me but I want some form of proof so I feel slightly less crazy. I went for a run. The fresh air was nice, but my lungs are recovering and I have to adjust to that. At the start of all this I was amused that I could see the grocery store parking lot from my window. I thought, “how convenient! I can time my trips.” It’s turned into a nightmare. I’ve managed to limit my Twitter/news exposure but I now have a compulsion of checking the parking lot. The line was terrible today. I had planned to do a big haul. I thought we were past the panic buying stage but I’m starting to lose my grip with reality and I felt genuinely worried today that there may be a shortage. I waited in a socially distanced line at Walgreens for an hour today so I could enter the store and pick up my thyroid medicine. There’s nothing like standing in a line to enter Walgreens and then see that you can’t stock up on anything to freak you out.

I’m realizing during this quarantine that New York City residents are definitely among the fucked, well depending on your social class too. Domestic living never looked so good. I shaped my life around accessibility to “doing things” and meeting new people. I curated my dream work schedule of a mere 20 hours a week. It has now become my hell with all other forms of structure removed. I can’t fill my time in a meaningful way and I don’t know what that is meant to say about me. Apparently I coped by going to the gym, getting a green juice, seeing my coworkers and clients, seeing New Yorkers on the train, having dates, going out to dinner, seeing shows and planning things. As I panick-sobbed on the phone to my mother tonight and she screamed at me get a grip about twenty times, I realized how crucial it is to be anchored to things during a pandemic. Prior to all of this I was already suffering from bouts of existential depression. I achieved my dream. Work was pretty ideal. My life was pretty ideal. It left me asking myself: now what? So I decided on a year of hedonism after years of restriction. I’d finally travel and allow myself to spend money. The irony now is that all of this has thrown me into budget mode more than before I became licensed. I’m so fortunate to still have clients but I don’t feel a sense of certainty. Each day this unfolds more people lose their jobs. How much do my clients need me? I ask myself everyday. And my mental health has never been in such conflict with being a therapist. I have never felt so out of resources, so depleted, so ill-equipped to be a space for anyone right now, and at the same time, I need to do therapy to maintain my sanity, so I don’t fall off the face of the earth.

Clients share with me new stories and data I hadn’t heard. My job has morphed into something insidious for my mental health. Where I used to have distance and had mastered not taking anything home, I can’t now; I am in my home. And my clients are transferring panic onto me. A client I’ve been seeing for 2.5 years is now furloughed at her job. She had the worst birthday she’s ever had as she battled with her partner on a decision to stay or leave the city. I express empathy. My heart breaks for her. And it’s too close to home for me. All of them are struggling more than normal, and I’m feeling it.

My partner John has been my only in person contact since the 16th. We’ve shared similar emotions but the problem with that is constantly draining one another. There are pockets when one of us is doing “well enough” to let the other process. But this has undoubtedly flared up our anxious/avoidant dynamic. I imagine the same for many couples. It’s a high stress time. I need more security and therefore closeness right now to be calmed. He needs more security and therefore more alone time to be calmed. And being polyamorous has been pretty breezy up until now. And now it’s my worst nightmare. Just like my job and freedom has become too. I never thought I’d wish to be anchored to things so badly.

I’ve reflected a lot on the meaning of life and best approaches to it since January. I’ve recognized since before the pandemic that I need something to struggle against, to push back against. Freedom is so lovely most of the time. But that small portion of time it’s really uncontaining, like you’re free falling alone in a galaxy that never ends. The pandemic has made all of life now that small portion of free falling. I’m not sure where to go from here. I’m pretty positive this is why most people have children by this age. How else can we continue to shuffle along without an anchor telling us to keep going?

Everyday is Groundhogs Day. I started off week 1 of quarantine with my usual optimism. My home workouts felt life changing. I was a supportive space to all. Like my MCMI pegs me, I flipped to my dark burnt out side. When I run out of fuel I am completely depressed and empty. Getting corona obviously stopped the home workouts. It also knocked the wind out of my “it will be okay sails.” Starting last Tuesday I began experiencing shortness of breath. My initial encounters with it were resolved with my calm demeanor assuring myself that I could definitely breathe. But by Friday it got harder. I couldn’t even talk without getting winded. I sat across from John and just began to cry as I felt my lungs struggle to expand so that I could get a good breath in. I’m so lucky that the shortness of breath has since stopped as of Sunday. I’m hearing about people’s cases taking a turn for the worse. I’m not taking my health for granted anymore. I could easily be one of the unlucky ones. I don’t think I’m healthy. I can breathe fine today, I just can’t stop crying.

I haven’t cried this frequently since Pawel and I broke up. It hits me instantly. I get a thought and boom I’m crying. A sign of how fragile I feel? Am I really that worn down? And is this all it took? It’s amusing for me to see how emotionally weak I am during something like this. I’m the individual metaphorically and literally in the fetal position wanting to wake up when this is over. I am not the therapist posting guides for her clients. I am not the colleague sending positive emails. I’m just a girl, sad and alone in her New York City apartment holding herself, hoping this will end soon.

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We’re somewhere in “week 2″ of Quarantine. Parentheses because the anxiety started for me sooner than that. My last day in office was March 12th. I’m sick and guessing it’s covid. Two colleagues tested positive in my office of 17. I won’t get tested though because I’m a mild case and we don’t have the resources. I’m really lucky it’s been passing through me quickly. 

There’s a lot to be anxious about right now. Somehow I feel I’ve passed my threshold and have surrendered. I don’t really feel anxious anymore. It’s similar to the way I often feel about politics, completely powerless. This is so large I can’t possibly work myself up anymore over the impact. I did for about a week and a half, and I can’t anymore, at least not right now. I’m focused on conserving my energy for myself, and for my clients. 

Speaking of them, they’ve now “entered” my home, and I theirs. At first telemental health gave me anxiety because I couldn’t control the construction next door, but now I’m enjoying wearing a dress shirt and pajama pants. It’s still hard to provide therapy during this time. Especially while getting over this. It’s hard when John wants to process it. It’s hard hearing differing opinions and knowing that everyone is ignited with fear right now and the rigidity and righteousness is higher than ever. 

The hippie in me still wants everyone to be more compassionate, more reasonable, more flexible. My weapon to getting others to see my side has always been by validating them. There’s a lot of extremist opinions right now, and it will only incite more of the same. Over-compensation on both ends.

I get it. We’re all afraid, and the world feels like it’s ending. We’re all going to die at some point. I guess suddenly everyone’s covert death anxiety has now become overt. This is life.