The Whirling Fan

Don’t waste my magical writing time with nonsense.  Go to work.

It was a terrible day.  I screwed everything up. I forgot everything.  All my training evaded me.  All my plans fell to shit.  I got yelled at (or the disappointed, I told you, don’t do it again conversation with sternness enough that I am still quite quivery about the whole ordeal) and I am, ultimately, alone.

I mean, I have someone, but I can’t figure out how if this is the sort of having you have with someone who just happens to be taking the same bus you are.  A conversation that intimates nothing.  I want to know, to ask some authority, is this working or not working – what is real and what is just linguistic jiu-jitsu?  And are we all that safe either way?

Instead, I do what I do when I don’t know what to do.  I go and see my mother.  We don’t really talk about the events of the day because as soon as I come in the door after letting her know I needed to come for dinner because it had been a hard day and I had nothing really low-carb to eat, she says You Need to Be More Prepared!  And I won’t argue with the sentiment, because it’s true even if I find myself quite unable to knuckle down and open a laptop after a 10 hour day and face even one email with a questionably aggressive tone.  And they all feel a little bit aggressive these days.  Oh, gosh, it is just the wrong thing to say to a person after a day like this.

My mother.  I will not complain about her, but report this happening with more of a wry attitude rather than one of the usual frustration.   So of course, after feeding me the chicken and green chile and some jello with a heap of whipped cream and giving me her last two shakes in the whole of the world, she begins the quiz.

How long has it been for the diet?  How much weight so far? My answers: a week, and four pounds, six if you go back a bit, are satisfactory.  She gives me the rundown of how to do low-carb for the ninety-thousandth time.   This is not so much wry, is it?  I watch the news with her as we contemplate political eventualities.  I say I have to go.

She has no interest in J.  I have to bring him up if there’s to be any discussion and the discussion is more me venting about the surreal and frustrating nature of the thing.  She is both suspicious and entirely nonplussed.  Who he is and what he wants with me are of no import.  She’ll wait for me to sigh and offer something up, otherwise, it is entirely illegitimate and hell, she may be right.

Still, I leave, and the last thing I hear as I cross the threshold is “You’re getting your waist back again!”

Sigh.  I don’t know.

no tear

The big note of the day: I have worked myself so to the bone, listening, worrying and straining to do my job.  Barely taking time to eat anything.  This, however, did not mean that today was the single best day to order a pizza.

Somehow, I avoided the trap.   And ended up eating other, imperfect, but bonafide low carb.

Yesterday was lovely, for multiple reasons, not the least of which was getting to see MST3K Live.  Twas marvelous.  Simply marvelous.  Loud, but fun and silly and weird and just enough out there to suit what it is and never let it feel too schlocky.

 

 

CLV

It’s day 3 of low-carb. If one believes scales, and I have yet to be convinced, four pounds are gone.  That doesn’t seem right, but sure.  Maybe?  Why not.

Roll on, Day 4.

It is hard.  In the darkness, to sit with these sparklers burning down in the back of my brain.  Adorable.  There’s that word again.  That off the cuff assertion after I say something or am earnest or am in some way undetectable to my, whatever’s going on in your mind, it boils hard enough for that to spill out of your lips.  I hear it and something just runs over the cilia in my mind, this waveform that moves from end to end, right through me and says…you, he means you. Even if I doubt that if he knew me properly he would say such a thing, he said it knowing something more than nothing.  It is a compelling force – the sense of someone else’s attraction.  It is very hard to ignore and set aside.

Not that I am advocating setting it aside – I just don’t know how long this lasts, or what this stage means.  It’s like, briefly, sort of, it was at the start.  This…I don’t want to hang up from you feeling at the end of a call.  A feeling you commented on tonight.  I don’t know how to do this with you being so fully vested in…youness.  A singular person.  Not a field of possibilities.  A choice I can make that will change my life because it involves someone else’s life.  It’s stronger than just another thought floating by in my head.

A woman at work who has become something of an office sort of friend asks about you.  About this saga of online relationships and I’ve given up trying to explain or justify because I will make some assertion as to the tangibility of what we are and the slow, even breathing will become just silence and the compliments just stray interjections that any person of female persuasion would collect from you were they to chat on the phone.

I don’t believe that either, but what can I do that doesn’t feel like a demand that would destroy all of this with words.

I want to say, if there’s a thing I could be doing…a way I could be being…something that would make all of this come together for the both of us…just tell me what it is.  I would do it.  I would go there.  I would make it happen.

But the problem is neither of us know.   There’s movies and stories and magazine articles that make suggestions – but we’re none of us precisely cut from a mold.

Watching Princess Shaw on POV.  Feeling so impressed by her and her drive.  Her willingness to just struggle forward. Curious and hopeful to see how it winds up.  A life touched by someone else after so many years of carrying on and wanting just to be seen.  There’s a lot to get out of it. Persistence.  Persisting.

Pink in Eureka

Certain forms of hysteria have taken hold.  Perhaps because I made the step to get the blog running in some sort of functional form, I have begun to think I am smart about certain things.  This is not the case.

This is day two of going low-carb.  Low-carb = traditional Atkins, 20 carbs or so for the first two weeks, then, we evaluate how shit is going.  I feel better in a lot of ways already.  The scale, as ever, is fucking with me, but it says I lost 3 pounds (yes, we can hear the yelling of WATER WEIGHT from here) overnight.  I don’t know…I do know that it mattered to me to just start this.  To just do it so here I am.  Having had more vegetables today than I’ve had in eons.  More water.    And less food overall.

I still feel weird and tired (again, the shouting of transitioning and detoxing groggery can be heard for miles) and I have done bare minimums in terms of exercise.  But I did do it.  I did do it with nary a complaint.  I will do it again tomorrow.

I keep thinking about what I want.  That is one thing that my new job has really helped with.  The courses I’ve taken have impressed upon me that I need a plan and I need to work the plan. Goal setting and moving in slow, steady steps towards the future.  That you can actually say I want this big, overblown, challenging result and if you mete it out into little, manageable daily contributions, it would happen.   That’s the issue and that’s why I’ve spent so much time avoiding finishing any of these little, manageable steps.  So that I don’t end up somewhere I don’t want to be.

I’ve done this instead of deciding where I want to be and working really hard to make that happen.

I don’t know if I’ll write this way all the time, but I like that this all has just started and it isn’t January 1 and it isn’t a Monday (not yet).  It’s not a perfect takeoff (I don’t imagine I could even recognize it if it was), but it’s like how with every paycheck, I’m adding to savings, already it feels significant.  If I continue on, the possibility continues on.  If I keep clapping, Tink still glows.

So.  What I want is to be with him.  Not…necessarily in terms of trying to have a partnership on a level that demands that one of us move to where the other one lives, though that doesn’t faze me as it once did, but I want a weekend. I want a day of shared space.  Of mutual presence.  Of figuring out if the shit in my head is anything more than shit in my head.   Not putting carts before horses.  But this, all of this, tells me, I gotta keep on this diet on track if this is really what I want.  And I keep testing it and realizing that it is.

 

 

 

 

 

The Lust Ratio

I have had a good start thus far.  I have nearly drunk a glass of water.  I have had my shake.  I have charged my Fitbit even if it doesn’t seem to be noticing every step I take.  I have been able to have a moment of consideration about things I have otherwise felt too harried to contemplate.  These include this blog.

Obviously, for those rare few of you who have visited this page before, you will be noticing a difference.  I made, not an abrupt decision, but an abrupt pulling of the trigger on something I’ve been considering for a while and upgraded this blog.  The upgrade on WordPress doesn’t really move me into some new echelon of blogging elite, it just takes care of a few things I found irritating.  The ads, for starters, which definitely screams quality and kind of upset the layout, more space so if I wanted to add another three or four years worth of pictures I could. (I don’t – but I would like to have some pictures sometime, so you’ll see those.)  It also comes with a domain name and because someone out there owns lustrata.com, I’ve had to improvise to make use of this spectacular offer.

So now, if you wanted to get to my website…you could go to thelustratio.com.  Which is, I feel the need to clarify, not The Lust Ratio.   That sounds like some sort of shitty dating principles, self-help, possibly terrible and upsetting nonsense book that would get famous for a hot minute and then become a joke for the next fifty years. No. It’s the lustratio, the Roman purification ritual upon which this blog was founded.

Conceptually.  I haven’t slaughted a pig of late.  Nor a ram.  Nor a bull.  It is just the idea of getting yourself back in good graces.  Of suffering in order to make that happen.  Of ritual being the bridge between what was and what is desired to be.   That’s what we’ve drove around the dunes of in this blog for the past eightish years?  We.  I.  Just me.  Just me just struggling with myself.  My weight.  My relationships.  My organizational skills.  My ability to hack it at my job.  My life.  Not that we have to take it wholly as a good thing.  Sometimes an obsession with lustratio is tantamount to a refusal to live the time you have, a desire to just lay yourself on the reset button and flutter every few seconds back to square one.  Not so healthy.

We have to review ourselves in these five hundred words of daily reflection, not just the things that have happened.

I will update the about me so that if new people come here, they will understand what has been happening – and not happening – but it is nice to feel like everything isn’t so partitioned anymore.  There’s a lot of content.  Not much of it useful or readable or whatever, but ca existe!

Also, he was present and kind today.  That helps.

It just feels like a bit of a breath of life.  A moment of positivity.

Eve of Eve

Tonight, I watched a woman on a documentary say with incredible clarity that yes, she was intelligent, that she had been educated at Oxford and she had a family that loved her sincerely, but she needed to marry a Maasai warrior and go and live with him in Tanzania.  Her feelings seemed overwhelming and so significant that she had to honor them regardless of whether or not it made sense to anyone else but her or for any other reason than the primacy of her emotions.

This is remarkable.   What’s also remarkable, it seems, is that years later, she’s not still with him or living that life.  With equal clarity, that life is not the life she wants anymore.  I find it just as important to be able to change directions even after following your heart or attempting some profound goal.  To see the landscape as it is and not as might be.  That change is inevitable.  That it can be painful and pleasurable in the same moment to to let go of a dead dream.  When it’s truly gone, when it’s truly done, when you’re truly ready to stop pulling the wool down over your eyes, what feelings there are just to see.

I am needing to be a better steward of myself.  I am needing to recognize how necessary it is to mind the body.  Looking back to 2012, I did so well because I chose low-carb and I just pressed myself fully into its requirements. What it said to eat, I ate. What it said not to eat, I generally (no claims to perfection to be had here, of course) did not eat.  A little bit more concentration on having regular movement.  A little bit more concentration on drinking water.  A little bit more concentration and focus on the whole dang shebang and I got somewhere.  I shifted 20 pounds.   Then, I excused myself from trying and instead, thinking that’s what I needed or at least, that was what I wanted, I let the diet fall and die.  And be resurrected and killed over and over again because I wanted it all to feel like it did in 2012 – the clarity and strength of purpose –  without ever really forcing myself to bring every aspect along.   Do a little bit.  Make it easier.  Start small.  Just do the food or just the exercise or just drink water or just…think really hard about it.

When having accomplished that bit, that was so remarkable and mind-boggling.  I was thrilled and terrified.  Now, I feel much less terrified about what a little attention feels like. I am aware that if I want to recreate it….I have to put in the effort to raise the whole house at the same time.  We can’t just do one room at a time.

And if it ends up being the wrong house, well, then, we’ll move.  But at least we’ll have a real roof over our heads for a minute or two.

Excited for the morning.

 

Going Clean

I do not know if I have five hundred words in me tonight, but I am, earnestly, going to try.  I have a lot of things now that I’ve decided I need to do for myself.  For my life to take a bit of a shape I approve of.  And so I need to read and get sleep, but this is a commitment I also want to get back in the swing of.

Even as imperfect as it is to journal when you want to write fiction, I’ve come to find a fondness for the form just as it is.  For the metric non-unit of five hundred words at a throw.

Seems impossible and then suddenly, there you are.

So I have learned some things about productivity and about where and how I spend my time.  I do an excessive amount, in my view, of things that don’t matter.  And I’ve learned that the way to stop doing things that don’t matter is plan to do things that do matter first.  Build those things in first as necessities so there’s less space for internet dicking around-ery.  Which I think has more merit than it may initially appear, but it’s a lot of time spent on things that return less than I put into them.

At any rate.  I’m in the mood for some self-care and we’ll see how that goes.