Brain Vomit: MRIs, Overdoing it and Failing at Moderation.

I had an MRI done on my foot last week. What a strange experience that was. Those machines are enormous. Why does all medical equipment and hospital furniture have to look so similar? The equipment, the chairs, the wall color—even the blankets are the same. Is it because they’re all designed by the same people and then shipped out to every medical establishment? Is there a single monopoly on the design of everything medical? Wouldn’t it be nice to get some creativity in there somehow? I know designing hospital equipment and hospital furniture doesn’t seem very appealing to a designer, but IT COULD BE. Because right now, it’s so damn depressing and much of the time you’re going in and you’re already not there for fun, so why add to that with incredibly drab medical equipment?

But I digress. I’m good at tangents.

The building where I had my imaging done is devoted specifically to imaging machines. There are two floors and rooms line those floors with many of these drab looking, but colossal machines. I was just having my foot done, but the machine that did the work was the size of a NYC apartment. (Ok, maybe I’m exaggerating a bit here. They are large, but if you put someone in an apartment that size, they’d freak out within minutes. Granted, I’m sure people have done it—after all, those Tiny House shows are wildly popular. Hey! Wouldn’t it be weird if someone turned an MRI machine into one of those tiny houses? There’s a design challenge I could get behind. I’d watch that.)

So, yeah. MRIs. Weird. And of course the information came back as I’d expected: I have a stress fracture on the third metatarsal, which is the middle toe, so it’s kind of like my foot is telling me to fuck off every single day.

I can’t run. I haven’t run for 26 days.

Running clears my head of all the leftover bits that I can’t do away with by sleeping or contemplating. When I run, I empty the trash, so to speak. I clear my head of all the clutter.

I can’t run the D.C. Half on March 11th, so we’re canceling our annual trip to Washington and that thoroughly bums me out. Even if we did still take advantage of the hotel room, I can’t really walk around to see the monuments and museums with the kids, so, I guess we’ll have to wait until next year.

The Star Wars half is on April 21 and I’m crossing every unbroken toe I have left (7 of them) in hopes of being healed by then.

I was doing so well for a while. I was running every day. I was eating healthy enough (minus the ice cream every night), I wasn’t drinking, and I was getting a ton of sleep. I felt good. So good, I overdid the good and then the good turned bad really fast and I got injured. I hit a wall. I couldn’t walk and when I tried to walk, I walked differently to accommodate and so my lower back started to hurt as well. I am not sure why I have trouble approaching things with some moderation. I moderate nothing. When I approach something, it’s all or nothing. Why can’t I run sometimes and cross train on other days? Or take the day off? Why can’t I have ONE bowl of ice cream instead of two? Why am I not satisfied with ONE bowl of Raisin Bran and instead I have three? Why do I have to finish the entire bag of BBQ potato chips? Why do I have to finish the whole bottle of wine? Why do I need to fill all the flower vases every week? Why do I need to overfeed the birds outback? Why do I need ALL the cats? Why does my brain not stop at enough?

I know all my faults. I wear them every day.

Anyway, I finally called a psychiatrist and I hope to discuss all these things with someone who knows stuff about things. Medication has helped me a great deal, but I need some talk therapy. I need to get to the root of it all.

I’m not sure why I’m sharing this. It seems that lately whenever I share something personal, it backfires somehow. A family member may use it against me. Someone may look at me differently. But here I am, likely making yet another mistake with my writing out too much personal information, blogging like it’s 2003 all over again.

Did I mention that I have trouble with moderation? ;]

I’m so far from perfect. I have all these insecurities and every day is a challenge for me to some degree. I am a work in progress. And I have a tendency to overshare my progress—like I’m keeping a public timesheet of all my insecurities, failures and emotions.

Something makes me think people aren’t supposed to do that.

But, again. Moderation isn’t my strong suit. But I’m trying.

I’m trying to fail forward.