We asked the electric Company

 

 

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Where did the power come from?

My teeth are not, after being reviewed, x-rayed, and cleaned by knowledgeable and pleasant dental technicians, broken beyond repair.  My gums are not garish, slit cherry compote studded with shards of dissolving antacids for teeth.  They look good.  They are not shocking, they do not cause onlookers to shriek out in fright.  I don’t have wisdom teeth to pull.

I did not have any sort of panic about the fact that I have just enough money to do this as part and parcel of the larger financial issues (that I did not cause and I cannot rectify until I leave my position), that I had to rush out of work in the middle of the day to check this.  That I had to get x-rays which always pulls my trigger.  I did not spaz out even though the route to the dentist’s office was all detours and delays.  It was, as it always is, more doable than it seemed at the outset.  This does give me a sense of peace I was not expecting to have this evening.

Another surprise was that as I continue to at least let my fingers brush over the MyFitnessPal app, I felt the need to weigh myself this morning.  I was quite surprised to see that according to that fickle beast, I have not gained any weight since my last weigh-in.  In fact, I’ve lost another pound so I’m down 15 lbs since January.  The sister noted that it’s probably due to the second job where I am on my feet quite a bit.  Frankly, I don’t know how this is possible.  But here it is.  And I am not going to cast it aside even if I’m not sure how to improve it at the moment.  It’s a piece of good news and I will rub it till it gleams.

I have decided not to work on my application tonight for the new job.  I’m too emotional, too scattershot, too in my own head about a few things and I’m liable to dash it off without thinking and I’m at the point where this particular job sounds like it’s a good thing and I’d like to give it my best shot rather than pretend I don’t care.   It will be okay not to get it, but it would also be very good if I had something stable, full-time and satisfactory money-wise to be shifting into.  Because right now, my brain is shifting even if it has nowhere to go.

Today was a good day, however, I am also really frustrated about the whole lesson I’m being given while being in this singles community, that if you’re not dating anyone, and you don’t immediately leap at the chance to date the person who knocks on your message box, well, you’re manipulating the situation to wait for someone better to come along.

It’s one thing if I were to be hanging out with you, complimenting you, building anything more than chatter, and also trying to flirt wildly with everyone else.  But I’m just here in the group and now I feel like I can’t even comment to anyone else or it’s like I’m saying I’m picking that dude.  When I’m not picking anyone! There’s nobody at the moment I want to pick! Pick for what? Ugh!

I suppose it does come down to saying, sorry, Charlie, you’re not the one for me.  Can’t some other girl just do me a solid and fall in love with him like has always happened in the past?  Come on geeky ladieeeesz.

Bastet

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Very interesting. I feel like the font changed on this thing – or this particular posting screen, as it seems there are several.  I don’t know why I like it, but I do.  Maybe it makes me feel more professional or erudite than I, or my topics, generally require.

So, my cousin/business coach + a strong macchiato (one of those artisanal, hand-roasted, coffee beans were psychically encouraged and played Mozart sort of places – only, you know, with a result that feels really worth the extraordinarily cheap price) meant I feel better.  This is also the coffee shop where I’ve been on two dates which also ended two amusing and somewhat fulfilling flirtations, so I think of it now as sort of an emotional bug-zapper.  I go there and feel big things – for better or worse.

She said if it were possible to set aside the anxiety about the money – could you look at this time like a gift?  After some hemming and hawing, I think, I think I might be able to do that.  I can buckle down and get something written beyond these posts.  I can do some work and get something out of this even if I didn’t choose it.   So, I guess, my plan for the first week is to just to feel that one out by making myself come home and use the afternoons for writing and, potentially, for sussing out a new job if that comes to be something I need to deal with.  She also gave me some ideas in that regard, too.

At this moment, for open projects, I have the novel that my sister and I are working on, my short story that I am doing for writers’ group/pleasure, my big novel of love and pain that has to eventually be finished, and now this whole weird collection of excerpts from this whole daily blogging adventure woven into some other essays I’ve written and other ideas I have about fear, anxiety, and where I am at and aiming for.   That one is obviously personal and the major block is I need to change enough to justify continuing it.  If that makes any sense at all.  I just feel like maybe there’s something I have to say that might be of value.  It’s weird.  Every time I want to throw that one out, I find a reason to keep plucking at it.

That’s a bit too much, really, and so I have to pick and choose and I constantly think I’m choosing the wrong thing and feel as though I’m cruelly neglecting the others.  Really, what I need is to finish something.  So I am forging ahead with whatever I can do when I can do it.

Maybe it’s the shot of caffeine, but I feel pretty creative and energetic right now.  And I still have one more day off, holy smokes!

Weight this morning indicated that I lost 1.8 lbs last week.  Okay.  So about 8 pounds in 8 weeks.  Okay.  Sure.  Well.  I am good with that. I don’t know what the next month or two of privations will mean, but this is a result of tracking on My Fitness Pal, fitting in exercise, eating much less, messing up, messing up again.  Just working on it.  Prioritizing it.  So.  Yeah. Let’s not count any chickens or any eighths of chickens.

But yep.  Onwards and inwards.

 

 

Sugar Fog

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Well, yesterday was a cheat day and I know all the pitfalls of cheat days.  Or, in the form they’re taking this year, so far, cheat meals.  But, for better or worse, trudging across the street to Old Chicago and ordering up every bread-ish, carb-based thing, I think was actually an okay idea.  Because I discovered that I don’t really like their pizza.  Or their cookie thing.  I think I never have, but when you’re in the sugar fog, you don’t really care about things like taste.  You just know that you have to stuff yourself with food.  And that was the tack for the cheat meal – appetizer, entree, dessert, leave no opportunity for flagrant, unhealthy eating untapped.  Because if you do that, then, when the meal is over, you’ll keep thinking about it and justifying more and more. So I ate a lot of carbs for lunch yesterday.

I actually went just about a whole month between them.  I told myself it was a calendar thing.  One each month so if I had one on the 31st of one, techically I could have the next on the 1st of the other, but I haven’t wanted it.  I think the ol’ Crimson Tide came into play and I’d been marathoning the Great British Bake-Off and we had a shit-ton of snow and pizza sounded pretty perfect.

But everything tasted…marginal.  Like, oh, yeah, this pizza has always had a pretty tasteless crust.  And wow, this garlic bread is oily and that hot cookie thing is so heavy and dry and even the chocolate chips tasted…it was goo, ooze, a sweet, almost burnt tasting glop.  It was all really disappointing.  I had leftovers, but they stayed on the table.  I did think, later, as I was writing yesterday’s lengthy email, that I wouldn’t mind it if I had those leftovers, but it was immediately followed by the feeling that I was glad I didn’t.  Glad that I stuck to the rules of the cheat meal and that these after-effects are things that carbs do to me, things I don’t experience while on my low-carb situation.  Exhausted, stomach like a fist, unable to focus.

I’m still going to have my monthly cheat meal because I think it helps deflate a desire that builds in me, like it or no, where I have to test the premise.  I have to be sure I want to be on this side of things.  But I re-opened my My Fitness Pal account and linked it to my fitbit and am going to get tracking my food and drink so that I can get focused on progress again.  If my half-sister does decide to have her wedding in England, I want to go, and I want to be the best version of myself not at another event frustrated and wishing I’d just worked on this in these lengthy hours I have to do exactly that.

Yeah, sent the letter off.  I have no idea what I’m doing, but it doesn’t matter.

Tsundoku

How do you get further along than usual? Do more than usual.

Been on the bike.  Had the shake.  Am wearing the fitbit.  Walked 3 miles with a muted Leslie Sansone.

….

Okay, yes, I return to the page like a moth to a poorly written flame.  I did well for myself today.  I did not collapse.  I did not fail.   I did not sag into the soil and say, I’ll do the work tomorrow.  Nope.  I gathered up my petticoats and actually walked and rode the bike and did the situps and ate the food and I don’t know if this shirt fits better as a result of all of this effort of late or if it’s just stretched out or if I am fully into a positive body dysmorphia that tells me I am just hours away from the silken, flat, taut belly that will change my life.

I am joking.  Mostly.  I don’t entirely know what percentage is joke and which is serious.  I am smarter than that, but this is how these things work, these are how snowballs get built.  This Katamari wants to see how big it can get.  Not obsessively, not dangerously or anything to do with bones pointing out of skin.  Just this range I know my body is in, this unhealthy range, to leave it behind.   To be able to run about in Red Rocks without this constant suspicion I am going to pass out on the stones.

Which is not to say I’m not distractedly hungry.   This is not to say I’m not counting the minutes until I wake up and can eat again.  This is not to say my muscles don’t ache down to the soles of my feet.   This is not to say that tomorrow isn’t going to suck and find me headlong in some kind of fast food smorgasbord.  It was just a lot easier to cope today and I did my level best to take advantage of it.

You watch the Olympics and that’s pretty inspiring.  I watched some of the NBC-tape delayed fencing and water polo and rowing today and it made me think that it was silly that I couldn’t rise up from the sofa cushions and hold myself aloft just long enough to perambulate a couple miles down the street with music in my ears.

And I come home and get to share music and talk about Mumford and Sons with my dear and genuine friends whom I believe so much in and hope so much for and who make me laugh so much.    I got to read Tarot for them and hopefully, not do such a terrible job with it.  And whom I can actually tell my true tales of woe and who bind me up and set be back aright and I feel as though I had no reason to fear, no reason to worry, and that I’m going to be at full strength in the morning.

This is no small thing.

Me and my Queen of Cups.  Get to work.

At Kitty Hawk: Day 25

I am not flying, but I have the idea of doing it.  I’ve got a sketch and some paper-thin skins and a great, gaping cliff.  Just need that warm wind and we’ll make like Icarus, baby.  Straight for the sun and the other side.

The windchimes have found a cool wind, chilled by the clouds that have been above our heads all day and only broke apart around dusk.  There’s that little waterless tide sound of air moving through the evergreen needles and drawn forward and back by the movement of cars.   A sound, perhaps not entirely of peace, but peaceful.  It subdues.  It feels like it should be Friday and tomorrow should involve luxuriating in bed and lazing about, daydreaming and sketching out bigger and bigger pictures.  It is not, though.  We are verging on Friday, but it is going to be a Friday of madness and pre-event preparation and not being very thoughtful.

But I have to think positive.  Today should have been the beginning of the cascade, the beginning of the end.  And it wasn’t.  It’s been nearly a month without substantive carbohydrate eating and I don’t feel frustrated or self-abused by the deprivation.  My energy is not woefully low, not beyond what I think could conceivably be caused by working 10-12 hour days, sleeping poorly, needing more water and more consistency with the vitamins.  I didn’t mean to write this post as a state of the union, but if that’s what it is, I am…not bad.  I definitely feel the drive to get to the 15th without attaching my face to some sourdough or dry humping a pizza box.   I can get at least that far.  I’m naturally concerned about life post-concert, though.  I will have lost 11 pounds at that point, providing all the provisos of not wigging out and binging between now and then, and that’s a pretty good place for me.  A pretty good place for me, though, too, to lose my fucking mind and regain.  One goal done, I know that I have to keep going…not in a deranged, I can never stop dieting sort of way, just…that I am actively moving in the direction of my dreams and instead of being overwhelmed by the fact that they are in some way  (not that my weight is really in any way a major component of my dreams for my future, surprisingly) coming true, I have to dig in and do more.

Make a goal too big, you give up before you get there.

Make it too small and you don’t think you’re accomplishing anything.  This has been a good goal, with lots of positive reinforcement and I will keep being here and sharing it with the shadows on the wall.

Also, nice things.  Got a glowing public approbation from a board member for my boss and myself.  Almost made me cry.  A lady also complimented my victory rolls which really could be a lot better, but I was super cute today despite wearing too short a skirt and being, ashamedly, imperfect.

What is wrong we will make right, or, if we can’t make it right, we’ll make it better.

Today: 156.4 (I hold no stock in this number, I ended up there after several attempts launching myself upon the terrible cruelties of the Taylor brand scale.)
Yesterday: 157.4
Started:166
Goal: 155 by June 15

The Same Rain That Draws You Near Me: Day 19

I am home.  This is very relieving.  Today was event day and I am glad to be able to report that while now I can see my way clear to tomorrow’s problems and potential ulcer triggers, we got through today without the co-workers at eachothers’ throats (at least not so far as I am aware) and I didn’t pass out and I am not in a blind rage as I sort of expected would be the case by the time I got myself transported back to my little dusty rose coverletted bed.  Coverletted is not a word, unfortunately, but that is only because no one has sat down somewhere coverletted and been moved to describe their location as such.  Now it has been done officially so you can go forth with coverletting confidence.

Points I wanted to make as the time dwindles away.

I am proud of myself today.  Not only because I avoided emotional upheaval but because I stared temptation in the face and gave it the finger.   While I didn’t realize it at the time, today was/is (for a few more minutes) National Doughtnut Day.  My boss announced this when he brought in the usual dozen of Event Day doughnuts and I thought that he made it up until my friends let me know that they got free doughnuts at Krispy Kreme and I put two and two together.  But the doughnuts had no pull.  I wasn’t hungry and I didn’t care that other people were eating them.  I’m still a girl on a mission – at least for a few more weeks as the plans are currently outlaid – and deciding off the cuff to eat a doughnut my body decidedly does not want would suck.  It would really suck and I could almost taste the guilt when I thought about gloopy chocolate and headache-inducing sugar granules.  Very different experience than two weeks ago when it felt like such a who-the-fuck-knows if you can do this diet or not deal.

So, avoided that.  Ate the top off some pizza along with my usual lunch food, but didn’t touch the crust.  Then, we had our event and there was no appropriate food.  No time to allow for me to go get appropriate food.  I was sort of, stupidly, deciding not to eat.  Like I just wouldn’t feel lightheaded and shitty this time for some unknown reason.  But then my sisters showed up and got me a lettuce wrap which was perfect and just as the doctor might have ordered if the doctor wrote prescriptions for italian sub/lettuce wraps from Jimmy Johns.

I don’t feel like I missed out on anything.  Instead, I feel like I finally didn’t use the stress as an excuse to give up.  Tomorrow will be an even greater test, but I can do it.  I can let the process take me forward instead of fighting it.  I thought about Chipotle tonight in an abstract, absurd way.  In the past, I’d be checking the clock to see if I could get there by 10.   Instead, I knew I was full and fine and there’d be more in the morning and the impulse was gone.

Today: 158.6

Yesterday: 158.6 (I think there is something fucked up with the state of the scale, but I really can’t afford a third one if the problem is actually my inability to weigh myself)
Goal: 155 by June 16

Trippingly: Day 16

All I can do is believe in the eventualities of time.

Just as an fyi, because I don’t know that I’ve been using the greater portion of these posts to delineate this, but I haven’t been fucking up.  I really haven’t been.  I haven’t been secretly having burritos at the mexican restaurant our staff haunts, I haven’t been sneaking bits of bread or crackers at the ribbon cuttings.  I haven’t been blowing off breakfast.  I haven’t been laying around.  I just haven’t been doing the wrong things, but unfortunately, I haven’t been doing enough of the right things with enough vigor and zest, I guess.

My zest is going to be at a premium for the next three months, but I am determined and have shown some small proof to myself today, not to be swept once more into the event undertoad.  It drags you down and suddenly, you can’t think straight and you can’t do your usual routine.  You have to SURVIVE.   You have to deal with these twelve hour days and the ineptitude of everyone around you and your own serious ineptitudes on top of your flagging spirit and food always sounds like the right answer in that situation.  And luckily, at the speed I’m going right now, food doesn’t sound like anything but one more act on the to-do list.

So, that’s the status report detail you probably were not looking for.   I just felt like I should give it given that as sure as I am that I will get to my goal by June 15 – at the moment, it kind of looks like I’m dicking around.  I want to assure the powers that be, and of course and as always myself, that I’m not just dicking around.  I’m caring!  I’m being faithful and true! So in the end, given time, I’ll be exactly where I need to be.

On another note, I wrote last night and it was actually fun.  It’s probably going to be one of the more critical moments in the book however the book actually shapes itself, and I feel like the beats aren’t perfect, aren’t sharp, but they’re emerging.  It’s a decently shitty rough draft and writing that section which I always considered too…controversial for me to be able to encapsulate or to even try writing because I’d write rings around it and not the it – itself – of an inappropriate desire for an inappropriate relationship rearing its head.  And I got close.  Didn’t get it exactly right and there’s not the subtlety or nuance that will shade it once it’s settled in its context, but, I’m in the same hemisphere now.  This is a good, encouraging thing.

Another ball to keep up in the air.

Um, I don’t know what else to say.  Going to walk about a bit and exercise somehow.  Get on the bike and stare into the center of oblivion or find a way to kill Warren on Walk It Out with my bare hands.

Smooth, easy ride, kids.  It’s a smooth, easy ride.

Today: 160 on the nose
Yesterday: 160.2
Goal: 155 by June 15