I Go Wild


New glasses, high eye pressure, fears and loathing and delight in writing.  This is the story of the day.

I have mildly high eye pressure.  It is another reason to get this diet underway. Nobody finds glaucoma all that sexy, I don’t think.  Maybe other people who have it.  Maybe it gets rid of other kids of pressure.  Hah, not hah, sorry, vision-impaired people.  I shouldn’t joke about taking my senses for granted.

I know I eat a lot of salt, even still, and I’m trying to keep an eye on this, but it’s curious how you start to pay attention to a few things like being glad I’m not drinking diet soda anymore (at least for this year, my cravings seem to start sparkling as soon as I try and say things like ever again with some sense of finality attached) and suddenly, there’s this tumble into realizing how critical the changers you’re making are.  Like life-alteringly important.  And that, that freaks me out.  As a girl who can get freaked out at a shift in light, this stuff throws me for a loop.  I hate bad news.  Everything in my mind is copacetic until it isn’t and then, when forced, we fix it.  Maintenance requires contstantly accepting less than nominal.  Constantly facing error and failure and the time-consuming process

But, once you start to do these things, you do see the stronger mettle that comes through on the other side.  I have spent so long worrying about the cost of trying to better myself.  The world’s opinion, the lost time in my imagined, perfect worlds, the possibility that maybe I can’t achieve the statuses I see others achieve.  I forget that just doing, just trying, has such a sweet feeling attached to it all on its own.  Just writing this awful story has given me some of that awareness.  This completely self-inserted, achingly simple, self-indulgent piece has a bit of my heart in it because I’m saying what I want to say.  I want, I’m learning, to say a lot of stupid things.  But behind those saccharine words, those vague attempts at analogies I couldn’t possibly understand upon reading them back, those plot contrivances that no one would be able to track, behind this whole massive glob of fangirlish desire made visible, there’s something worth a second glance.  There’s something there that can be sifted out and added to a stack of better material for a second go.  But you don’t find that material all at once, you have to work it out.  And instead of worrying about getting there, I’m enjoying being here, where things are marshy and malleable and imperfect and crap.  Shittiest of the shitty rough drafts.  Anything is possible here and I find that really lovely.

So, diet continuing, I am glad for it.  Feeling an nth of a percent less protruding and StayPuft.  It won’t be noticeable for a good long while so I’m trying not to think I’m slenderized in less than a week.

Who knows what will happen, we’re just doing one tiny little thing more than nothing.

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