Some Lady

incredible-strange-creatures-1568522Okay.  60 days in.  It was bound to happen.  Fred is on his way.  I feel the physical impulses and urges changing, just overriding my good sense and causing me all sorts of wayward thoughts.  Add on that a day where life at work felt particularly scattery and insecure beyond its usual scattered insecurity and my boss was particularly vulnerable and stressed with me and every empathic tendency I claim just wicked all of that up into my system so that I could offer succor and support and underline my loyalty.

All the while, I’m working on the copywriter angle, and contemplating bugging out when the window re-opens.  I absolutely care…I just need…money.   And to not have the burdens I have.

And so…food.  Today.  Shit.  I didn’t FUCK up.  I just fucked up. Lowercase.  I just said I didn’t care and ate with “abandon.”   Meaning I got a thing of crackers out and ate a bunch of crackers without counting them and then a few handfuls of chocolate chips.  Then I had pasta for dinner with one glass of wine.  Like a maniac.  But it felt for a few minutes like the old ways where shoving it in my mouth blurs any sort of mathematics attached to it.  The little noises, the little yelps that make me sad and nervous, I have to shut those up somehow when I do care.  I just sort of hit a wall.  I think I’ll be mad at myself in the morning when I get on the scale.

I am tracking, right now, as I type, my crappitude because of my stalwart desire to sweep it all away and not track it because it’s not Under.  But it’s still in the position where if I get my ass on that bike, it could be under.  I think I’ve guessed as accurately as I can right now. If I do this, it is going to have to go imperfectly because the bike surely doesn’t burn at the rate it tells me it burns, but I could do it even if it’s 9pm.  I could do something more than nothing.

…..

So, yeah, that happened.  I did get on the bike and I did pedal it until it says I burnt 200 calories.  I did that.  I did the sit-ups.

That feels oddly marvelous and because I was sweaty a bit from actually using these legs of mine, I got in the tub and the ending to the story appeared, magically, in my mind.  One of those Einstein playing the violin situations.

….

Oh, shit, while I’ve been sitting here trying to wrap my brain around reality and back again and figuring out the last fifty words on my post, it’s almost midnight.

Tomorrow is Saturday and that day is mine, free and clear.   I don’t have to give it to anyone else – except go check on the cats at my parents.

The way to get in the groove is to be in it.  Snap your fingers, simple as that.

Asphodel

dragonfly-wing-nature-close-insect-39508

My copy of S arrived but I have not opened it yet because I already have far too many things pulling at my brain and demanding my attention – a Dragon Age run to finally finish.  Just got my requisite heartbreak and have only one little Deep Roads excursion to deal with before the final end-game and then, the final DLC and then, I don’t know…life again.

In case you haven’t been alerted elseways, and as always, I do aim to be your first source for breaking news, the Broncos won the Super Bowl.  This is very good and exciting as a Broncos fan.  I didn’t have anything to do with it, though, and I acknowledge that.  I barely knew the scores from week to week.  It’s a good thing to walk around in for a few days.  A victorious energy is far better than a defeated one for my purposes these days.

What else?  I ate the chili.  I measured it out, one cup, put a little cheese on it, a little onion, a little guac, a few chips – tallied it all up.  Okay, looking good.  Decided to have another cup and did the same. Because the chili is that goddamned good.  And because it was two and I’d had coffee in preparation for this.  So it wasn’t the end of the world and I’m not over or anything.   Even if I was…not the end of the world.

Actually entered the recipe for my mug cake and realized that there’s like 140 calories in a tablespoon of canola oil.  I mean, honestly, and there was two in that recipe.  Plus sugar.  So my numbers weren’t right.  Instead of having a moan about that, I made it with splenda and a bit of margarine and it was just as good.  Slightly different texture, but that’s about it.  I hate to be one of those people who spend their time worrying about these sorts of things…no, I don’t hate it at all.

And ONLY HALF THE CALORIES!

I don’t hate it because it’s a clue.  It’s a reason.  It’s a choice I didn’t know I was making time after time, day after day, and it took me somewhere I didn’t know I was going.

Now I know.  I can still go there, but I don’t have to run.

Speaking of.  Okay.  Cool thy jets.  I also tried out MapMyWalk, and am starting to anticipate summer so that I can maybe get out there in the morning and just truck with some music on.  My capacity is a bit stronger, by maybe one or two percent, just enough to be noticeable on the inside and I wouldn’t mind on some lazy summer weekend when it’s cool, just seeing how far and how fast.  Today, we had dogs and there was unscraped snow everywhere to navigate and very thin pants.

Super thick jackets and very thin pants and I realized that air was slicing through me in a painful and aggressive way.  It was a bad scene.  But I’d like to do it more.

Friends, my dear and darling and good and lovely friends, are just hanging out in a Twitter group chat and life feels alright.  I feel their cleverness so much.  Hearts and flowers and not even minding so much that we slip back into Arkham in the morning.

We Would Never Break the Chain

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

What no feels like today:  a long walk in the snow to a car you know you have to dig out in shoes that aren’t waterproofed.  But I’ve said it once or twice.

Which is why 1/4 or so of that pizza I bought at the grocery store is now in a plastic bag in the fridge.  I got there, but be-fucking-grudingly.  And really, it’s only because I wanted to also have some popcorn and ice cream (and not the cauliflower or the apple I also bought) and wanted to be able to quasi-justify it under the new tracking regime.

I am, frankly, astonished given my mood that I was able to say no.  As the lady said once, it doesn’t always have to be like it was.  It’s a mood that’s based on things around the edges and not the meat of the day. The marginally attractive, but entirely earnest looking project guy who was in on Monday and for whom I, in some part, dressed up was not in today.  Probably tomorrow, but there was so much angst and worry about needing to be sharp and ready for today when I couldn’t be…that I possibly spent too much of today being relieved.   I did get a few things done for tomorrow – what I was asked to do, but that took most of the day.  It was just one little innocuous problem and my dealing of it as we were almost ready to leave that has rattled around in my mind.

I feel convulsively pissed.  Like nobody’s anywhere in sight and I just feel like shouting Don’t Touch Me, Don’t Touch Me, Don’t Touch Me!  There’s a Stevie Nicks song I’m thinking of that is perfectly illustrative of my mood.

 

Maybe it’s just that time of month…I can’t…I can’t be fucking bothered with this sort of shit every single day.  There isn’t enough time to get it all in and work myself over for crap that I didn’t know beforehand or managerial decisions I made on my own.  It was imperfect, but I did it the best I knew how.  Ca suffit.

Onward and upward.

I have to exercise.  I have to write.  I have to keep eating, only not the pizza in the fridge.  Pizza, you and me have got to take a little break from one another.  I’ve cooled it with Chipotle.  So I know I don’t NEED you.   Even in the short time it’s taken to write this, I feel as though I have a bit more sense in my head about how much power you have over me, pizza. I have got to stop anthropomorphizing my food vices.  I have to read.  I have to buy S. I have to write this dude back.  I have to lay very still and endure the usual reckoning that my anxiety requires.

Nah.

I don’t have to do any of this.  I certainly don’t have to be miserable in the same world as coffee ice cream and meta romantic mystery novels and boys who know how make plays on words.

Papancha

pexels-photo (5)

I don’t know how I feel about this stock photo site.  Have I mentioned this before?  Everything is a little too evocative.  A little too composed and processed.  The old site would just have a slightly out of focus picture of a pencil and I’d think, YES, that’s my life.  My life is that pencil in this moment – it is the single most compelling, yet absurd, yet complete metaphor for who and what I am at this very moment and if it’s not, it’s a perfect tool for which to create dissonance and surreality.

A really nice shot of a beautiful rural scene sort of makes me paler in comparison.  Maybe it’s better this way.  If I don’t say anything of note or value or tickle your narrative bones in my posts, at least they’ll have some aesthetic value.  Even if it’s sort of regurgitated, culturally-approved aesthetics, processed through photoshop and cropped to within an inch of its life, it’ll have that.

It is Sunday night and the syndrome threatens.  Anxiety about the new work week, anxiety even about happy things like going out to eat on Tuesday (in a nano-second, I have considered: wearing that dress that draws attention to my legs, doing my hair and makeup which always turns out poorly when I actually try and not just half-ass it, do we have time to go to the movie and eat?,  what theatre would we go to, she won’t want to go to the movie, will I eat the right things?, that place has really delicious items with unknowable calorie counts, will I totally blow my diet?, when will I exercise, I will blow off exercising that day and I can’t and don’t want to do that).  It all feels like a treadmill floating above of pit of fire.

So.  I am aware I do this.  Today has been nice in that even though it’s been a quiet day, the Broncos are going to a Super Bowl – a fact I care about just enough to mention it here and very little more than that – but it will make people generally more pleasant to deal with this week. I have also read.  I have also read an interesting On Being article about thought proliferation which you see in action here all the time if you’re the one lucky person on this earth who doesn’t experience it themselves.   Essentially, the way one negative thought or an physical action or experience that leads to a single negative thought can suddenly sour your mindset for hours, or even days and beyond.  The Buddhist concept of papancha. How we torment ourselves for the thoughts we do have and our reactions to them.  I dunno, I’d recommend it.  I also read more of Big Magic, nearly finished with that one.  It’s not Bird by Bird, but then, what is?

I am really wanting and hoping to kick that wanting into deciding I will get up tomorrow and get on the bike before work.  It does make me feel good and I have earbuds so I could blast music and not upset anyone.  I did it today and felt outrageously good – the soreness is fine, present, but fine.

Enough thingnesses happened that I didn’t get too het up about the demands of the Universe that I dreamed up somewhere between yesterday and today of myself.  Wherein dudes write back or dudes are polite or dudes are in any way under my control.  They’re not.  But other thingnesses are like thighs

What do you think, sirs?

We Want Freedom For Ourselves, We Can Give It To Eachother

pexels-photo (4)

There is now plenty of time for reconnecting with life as it is.

It will take me a moment to do that, though.

How strange, how deeply and fundamentally frustrating, that the impulse I have right now is to take the ennui of the past three hours and extrapolate that to the rest of my life.  A life wherein, I am currently in a state of intense motivation and positive change and willingness.   On a day when I was lavished with moments of genuine attention.

Here’s the bottom line.  For me, for you, for everybody, birthdays can be rough.

This year, while I have caved somewhat to the emo, I refuse to give in to any nonsense weepiness or to take this forward with me into the 24th.    I think the emo, in part, is just a reaction to the fact that my body’s realizing I’m pushing it.  And parts of me are enjoying the push.  Going from a very sedentary lifestyle, one that consisted primarily of rolling from my bed to car seat to chair to chair to car seat to bed, some parts of me are not.  My legs are aching from this new regime – which isn’t much, just a few miles of walking a few days in a row or cycling…nothing that feels too intense in the doing of it, but it is the persistence of regular activity that which I think is making me feel the difference.   I also need to do a better job of stretching before and after.

Today, after last night’s walking, I did more.  Another two miles of kicking and waving your arms around and ostensibly burning the calories which would have otherwise just hung onto me. Imagine that.  And then, after the cake and all the food which I am currently doing my best to track, we walked the dog for a bit and because of the earlier walking, I felt like I could just turbo my way around.  I felt like I could go forever.  And now, I ache more than before all the way up and down these gams.

This would formerly be a sign that I need to quit.  Quit because it was painful (albeit so mildly painful that it’s almost indistinguishable from the basic twinges of daily life).  Quit because something about this is not status quo.  It’s change but not complete, perfect revolution.  It’s just the work of work.  The plodding of the plodding.  The muscle is trembling and I am not holding it tight, softening around it, saying we don’t have to do anymore.

Because we do.  Just not tonight.

And none of this is really what I need or want to say.  What I need and want to say to the universe with its constant eavesdropping…is thank you.  Thank you to my sister for making me an omelet for my breakfast and being so solicitous all day.  Thank you to my friends near and far for acknowledging me and wishing me well.  Thank you to the Faithful Light for suggesting that the best way to avoid trouble is to just say what I want to say and accept the chaotic nature of online repartee.  Thank you to my younger sister for helping me split the birthday into something else, with a dinner out on Tuesday, which kind of creates a bit of an Extravaganza!  Thank you to my mother for cooking things that felt special.  Thank you to my father for being such an incredible dork that I feel looked after and cared about.  Thank you to me for putting on a little makeup and finding those winter clothes I thought I lost.   Thank you for the dutch oven and thank you for beginning already with answering the wish I made when I blew out my birthday candle…

 

 

 

With a Taste for the Melodramatic

rose-thorns-1535378-1600x1200

2827

Dear Sugar didn’t really take me where I wanted to go this week.   Maybe.  Still spiky.  Still full of a headache.  Feeling really okay with being 7 calories over.  Not subtly adjusting things where maybe I over-estimated to make it “perfect.”  Today was just a seven calories over sort of day, but I feel full and not deranged.

….

A sort of written tapping.  I used to do this a lot with my first therapist and it helped me quite a bit.  I tend to stop doing things that work.

I just want to feel good right now.  In this time.  Without any glancing forward or backward, just now.  As I am.  In this body.  With this brain, these hands, this touch.I am going to take a breath and release some of these past few days’ negative emotions.   Some of it has a basis in reality, some of it is just self-punishment for imperfection.
I am going to stop dragging myself through the worst possible scenarios.  They almost never come to pass and even if they did, I can survive it.  I have survived things that have knotted me up for months.  I have been brave in so many ways so many times.
Nobody benefits from me hurting.  Nobody thinks more of me or more about me for taking on all the pain I can reach.  It doesn’t take it from anyone else, it doesn’t ease anyone else, it just hurts me.
I’m doing good things with my food and this means that I am not being run by it.  I’m learning and trying it out and I’m not afraid of getting to play around and fine tune and go over calories
I get to make art with my writing.  It doesn’t have to come to anything, to anyone’s attention, because it is real and of my heart and it’s going to happen anyway.  Regardless.  I think so many things are glorious and beautiful and worthy of elevation.   The way the sky looks in late January now that we’ve turned towards spring, seeing a new road and all the ticky-tacky houses all in a row, imagining what it is to live life as they must at that angle, what it would be to know that right turn on Meade St. would be the right turn towards home.
I have a small case of who knows what might happen.   Out of the shadows of insistence, someone flew a little flag that says you can’t count me out yet.  I might like you.  I don’t know you, but I might.
I like the stories I’m working on.  I like the characters I’m learning about.  I like getting chance to create everything they need.
I have a several larger mysteries I can soften into, that I don’t have to resolve, just explore.
I really love incidental music for self-help videos and public access tv shows.   I love birthday wishes from kind souls who couldn’t ever know what they mean to me.  I have chocolate oranges.
I have a future that I’m interested in seeing play out.  I have Tribe episodes to live tweet.

It is okay.

 

 

Day for Night (Via Orestiada)

in-the-mirror-1526843

Things the stock photo guy never imagined he’d be promoting when he took this photo: my bullshit life.  Ha-ha, tee-hee!

Odd, odd, odd day.

I woke up this morning feeling ripped out of the land of Nod by my shoulders and birthed back into reality with not so much as a how do you do.   The dream I left was extra-weird, with me insisting a kitten-centric railroad calendar (think Chessie the Railroad Kitten, only with real, modern day kitties! omg!) would we highly saleable, to no one’s agreement.  Apparently, I dream of kitties and fascists who debate religion and philosophy.  I clung to my alarm, minute by minute, until I absolutely had to get up.  I felt hungover, sour, exhausted and all of my plans to get up early and workout (by which I mean walk about a bit or get on my bike and pedal) felt cotton candy in a quick moving stream.  Just gone.

Then, as happens so much lately, as soon as we hit the road for work, there’s a call and shit to be handled and in this case, the shit was ton of boxes that had to be loaded into cars from last month’s event.  Things had to be done today or else sort of situation.  So, we hauled boxes into our cars for half an hour before I returned to my post as chief of holding the carpet down while attempting to file and do whatever the heck else it is I do with myself.

It was not, however, so bad.  It was not, as I presupposed, the end.  It was, as per usual, more of the same wacky same.   There was no reason or purpose in going to go eat my way out of the emotions I was feeling.  There was no cosmic imperative to cake myself to numbness. I could just eat a bit, write it down, and know there was more later.   I want to walk closer to the things I’m dreaming of, let the ripple of confusion run through me, tilt all the little filaments and cilia a new direction.  At the moment, it’s in that sweet spot, where we’re in a partnership, the eating and the thinking about eating and…the me.  Nobody’s getting too far ahead of anyone else.  Nobody’s demanding the stage.  We just are supporting what one another wants to do which is mainly to eat for pleasure, to eat thoughtfully,  and to be fed and live.

I hope we can carry on like this.  I really do.

Dinner was at Tokyo Joe’s.  Now I am so loaded with rice and vegetables that even though I have room for a little dessert, on ye olde food diary – I’m pretty sure I don’t want it.  We’ll see.  Isn’t it nice to just…see?

What else, my lads and lassies?  What is worth spinning from flax to cloth?

The rest of the night is devoted to building more story bones, caring about mules, reading about writing, putting myself on the bike regardless of the clock, and stretching the muscles where the stupid lives and grows like crystals.

Someday, I will learn to stop liking lists.  And on that day, I shall die.