One Suggests

One is curious if maybe there isn’t an amazing silver lining in all of this super-stress.  A burning fire, a clarifying fire, a willingness just to step way out of your own way and work.

I walked today.  I ate very little and then more, enough to fill me up.

If we could set all that aside and speak about Amelia, under the dirt, under the earth.  Under it all.

Still, no punishment for trying so hard and doing so much.

 

Comprehension of Nectar 2: Defrag

Somehow, in the midst of all of this unbelievable everything that’s going on in my life and in my head these days, I have decided to go low-carb.

And unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on which side of the coin we choose to look at, this is because of a boy.  A man.  A dude.  The dude.  J.  This does not mean this summer streak is going to necessarily last any longer than any other fracas I have waged against habitual self-smothering via massive lumps of unneeded and expensive food.  No, but it encourages a start and if I waited for a stress-free, or even stress-reduced moment these days to take care of my business, fuck, I’d be drowned in wrappers and filthy bedding well before I’d find my legs to extricate myself.

I want to invite him to Thanksgiving dinner.  Which is no small thing.  That isn’t just dinner.  That’s a trip.  That’s airfare when planes do not excite him. That’s…figuring out about where he would stay and how he’d get around and how oddly impossible these thoughts are to be sitting in my head…and all of this a day after feeling like we were becoming too distant because our texts were just a few a day and no calls.  A call and some texts and suddenly, I believe that we can shoulder the universe.  It’s silly.  It’s impertinent.

But still, if it isn’t him and it isn’t this…it would be something else if I make myself more comfortable physically.  I’m guided by this Orion’s Belt of ideas.  Do it for him.  Do it for me.  Do it for health.  Just walking the little bit of a way to the bus stop in the morning, I think about how much my body could use that time to be up and about and moving.

So today, I have eaten well under 20 carbs.  I am not starting with a start weight.  I’m not messing with my head by strapping on the Fitbit and insisting on 8 glasses of water and a new suite of good habits starting now right now.  It’s already enough just to buy the food, cook the food (as I did tonight, spinach and chicken and cheese and this belies how the combination added up really pleasingly, ah yes, there was avocado, too, of course) and just stay out of my own way.  Down a shake every morning and get just organized enough to not buy food I don’t need.

Like Monday, carless, ordering way more food from a less than stellar pizza place and stuffing my gob full of it, just because I needed the doing of it.  The larder felt bare and so I didn’t even bother to really check.  And I didn’t go walking when, clearly, I could have.  All of this tells me that until I start being aware of some differences, I am going to use any excuse in the book to stop doing the work.

So instead, we do the work and worry about its righteous book-following later.

The Book of the City of Ladies

We can at least get you loaded, we can at least get you started.  We know that much.  The grand and collected we.

I am so confused about what I experience with you, so I need some sort of break.  I don’t know if you’re pulling away.  I don’t know if you’re mad at me for the support and ties and the graces my life does have.  I don’t know if you see this as some great kindness that protects me from a theft of my fate – I would have seen it that way once, but I am the only one who can It is not a punishment.  It is the clearest path I can discern.  Not to avoid breaking my heart, but to live a better life now and not once you come to whatever decision you are going to come to.

I hate that my kind, good heart represents some kind of too much or not enough or something I’ve yet to have clarified. So this is a time for the chaff to separate from the wheat.  I refuse to chase someone who isn’t clear on what he wants from me and doesn’t want, right now, things I am finding really important like being undeniably important to someone.

This sense of peace that washes over me when I come to terms with the fact that I have no control over his heart, over his fears, over his pain and what he clings to or releases.   A painful peace, a thought that has to be born new every time.  It is only my journey I can possibly concern myself with.

I am thinking about the Decameron.  About pilgrims, each with their own tale, walking together.  About mistranslations and palimpsests and stories retold over and over again, each time with a focus on something slightly different so you don’t see the source at first.  For Boccaccio, though, the women still had things to say. I am thinking about the Group and words used like single.  He said he was single.  He is single.  We’ve never said that we feel he is not.  I have never said I feel I am not.  I am reading into shorter sentences and thumbs up and days without calls.  I am inventing a frame story for all of this and ascribing low-esteem where I do not know that it exists.  I am busy building big structures to blot out the sunrays of all of my fears.  I am thinking about how I do feel and what this means.

I think it means I’m ready to give a damn about me.  About the truths I know.  About the universe I have built and the bed I choose to lay in. This also means I can be grateful and read The Decameron and Tom a Lincoln and watch a movie and make some toast and contemplate what more I can do to improve my outcomes.  How asking for what I want never occurs to me.  How appreciative I feel to be even at this point of pain.  To think at all.

One more day of freedom.  Very grateful, too, to have this page to write upon.

Oil on Linen

It is a curious realization that the more I need to write, of late, the less I find myself capable of doing it.  I just want to keep the emotions sewn up neatly and nicely inside myself so that I don’t become needlessly upset over one day’s dramatic turns.  It’s like the news.  It keeps turning up with new horrors so that if you suffer from one, you let a nail in under your skin, and suddenly, you can’t stop the bleeding, the thoughts of what might be.

Still, I realize what a future looks like when I don’t dig my heels in.  When I don’t strive for more.  Even if that more is about following my dream and committing to finding a new way forward, it will still call for a hell of a lot of bombast and chutzpah and girl showing up in her body and home and mind.  Things I’ve found troubling of late.

The places you need to go when you turn your nose up at them are the places that I am going to have drag myself, kicking and screaming through, like a child having a tantrum and you just need that one gallon of milk that has to be at the far edge of the store.
It is so easy to just give on up on a 7-year long habit.  Everything right now has taken on weird new orbits.  The job, the guy, the absent vehicle.  My status of mind is not so great, I realized today, when I let myself take a breath and a couple of lines of personal inventory.  How close I am to being tipped off the table, any ledge of any height, and smashed to bits on the cement.  It wouldn’t take anybody even meaning it, just brush by me without care and I am dust.

I would like to find a better way through this than clenching everything and waiting for the ride to be over from 8-5pm everyday. There’s got to be a passage through this life that doesn’t involve my bowels turning to water as I lay myself on the altar of my own imperfections.

Mainly, I feel like if J. has a streak of bad days and doesn’t speak to me, I start to wonder about this thing of us.  I start to worry about what’s going on on his side of the screen, the stuff of which I have no sway, no control.  Finally, finally today, we were on the same page again after I was so twitchy and hormonal about junk and then he had things and now I just want to be like…okay.  Okay.  I have it on good authority because you have told me that you like me.  It has been a lot of liking you.  It’s been a lot of liking me.  This is nice.  Pleasing and soothing when I have so many other doubts about other things. But some of the first stuff that’s gone away for reasons I don’t understand, I need it back.

Some of the first stuff…that’s the most important stuff there is.

the epistemological crisis

It is important to do the work when you feel the pressure build right behind your eyes.  It is important to remember the work exists.  It exists both as a task and as a gift on days like this.

The thing that it is when you know you’re being a jerk, a bitch, a something more specifically worse than all of that and you are dutifully extracting yourself from impacting anyone with your aura but you, yes, me, yes, I am still irritated as all hell.

The other.  And me.  There’s a story here, a feedback loop that I am stuck in.  Facts I know.  Pains I live and relive.

I don’t want to support this negligible person.  I don’t feel the need he has to take her and make a point with her.  He has such a need to spend time making points all the while…this thing between us is stuck in the box, existing as both living and dead.   I don’t know what he needs – a particular date to pass, a particular vertebrae in his spine to calm and relax, me to say some particular thing or look some particular way – and it is so hard to even have gotten to this point.

I say find me in the morning.

He says I always do.  Tell me how many times we haven’t talked.

I say there haven’t been many.

He says See.  I will find you.

I say Okay, go to sleep.

And this feels romantic and endearing and a connective tissue growing a bit further to cross this massive distance between us.  And then, he posts something about how poorly the attractive girl was treated and the underlines the point a couple times and the story shows up on my screen an hour later and I feel deflated.  What is this?  Why are we here in this place?  Why are you caring about so deeply about this?

Yes, we’re a thing.  No, he’s not talking to anyone else.  The group is infuriating at times.  But we aren’t doing some of the old things and I know that he cares deeply about everything.  I adore that about him, so I know that it’s my issues.  My expectations.  My old story about the beautiful girls having their way, destabilizing everything you think you’ve built, and just because that was one piece of the drama, and I should know better, doesn’t mean I was able to rise above it.  I was right back in high school feeling as though I needed to go do a screeching rendition of Jolene.

I just can’t end up the comfortable old shoe.

And then I worry and fret and strain myself over what is or is not, what should or should not be, and I get this long letter and this time spent on me and I…just don’t know what I need to know or say or do.

Tonight: calm about car send-ff
Look up other cars
What to wear tomorrow
What to eat
Pictures
Check emails

Bath