On the horse. Even if you’re just hanging upside down with your ankle stuck in the stirrup, hitting every cactus on the trail right in the face. If you’ll forgive the awkward cowgirl analogy. Living in the American West, sometimes those just happen to you despite any intentions of a locationless lexicon. As if such a thing is even possible. Sometimes I just say y’all, y’all.
Not feeling well, but persevering regardless. I need to drink some more water and
Tonight, I think I might make myself a gigantic, unholy salad. Unholy in that my body seems to turn away from unadulterated vegetables like a vampire (in the pre-Twilight era when vampires were vampires and men were men) turns from the cross.
Okay, home and active and happy dappy dappy. I like myself about 10000x better when I take care of myself even if that means there’s a full agenda morning from night. The day ran through my fingers, but I ate what I intended to eat and didn’t fall in any direction into a repetition of yesterday. I was tough in the way you can be tough when you have no opportunity to give in. I might have done any number of troubling things if I’d had a spare moment to dream them up and another to act them out. Luckily, there was no time for thinking about heavy food. My stomach felt the return of that “loco” burrito yesterday, which, I must be reporting only for the sake of the word count and not to assault anyone’s senses. I think the unwarranted calories and emotional whiplash had to play out naturally on the body from this weekend and I felt pretty blegh this morning, but something in me wanted to scrape all of that away and in doing that, I got myself feeling pretty decent by the time I went to the store and came home.
I exercised right away, because that is the best policy for me and I know that this willpower of mine is sometimes held on with spirit gum and if I make trouble for myself, I’ll have…trouble for myself.
I didn’t have the giant salad, though I had salad with my thin breaded grilled cheese and organic chicken and tomatoes. I am feeling quite full, in a precious, pleasant state. I still get to eat more. Which is ridiculous and nice. I am not starving, by any means. What would be nice is if the scale would reflect the good feeling and not swaying of the suspension bridge I’m believing myself on. This hormontasia is subsiding. I don’t feel at the end of a spiritual rope, and the bridge I’m on is sturdier and sturdier. I look a little different, I feel a little different and that’s a Golden Gate Bridge between the past and the future I crave.
In other news, he’s sort of a client and I didn’t flirt, but it’s nice to have someone to be curious about again. Nice to have a live reason to keep a shim in the shell, just enough room for a keyhole.