Thank you, Ms. Spektor.
I’m doing the creepy-crawl back towards sanity. What else is there? We’re all sick of it. We’re all tired and running out patience. We all have bigger expectations than we will ever be able to achieve. We are all not super interested in going forward and staying still is obnoxious as fuck and backwards is debilitating and depressing and miserable. Crawling in a circle isn’t exactly a genius life plan, but it is at least now involving movement and that’s a good thing. That’s the thing we have.
So, look for some serious updates tomorrow. A scale update. An exercise update. A food rundown. Look for loving hard and working hard and an accounting of one’s peas and queues. It’s diving in too far when I don’t have the time to do it, but fuck it all, what else can I do to motivate myself?
Re-reading some posts, turning off the video games and doing something. There’s the grand plan rising up again. Don’t have to change the world, just the tone of the day.
What can I do in a case such as this where I’m promising to be a better person, but it’s already 9:18pm and I’ve just gotten through a stressful day by the skin of my teeth and I’m so ready to throttle everything and I don’t feel as powerful as these big sweeping reforms would require. I don’t want to show up with two different shoes on and waste another day on flaking out of being a better person.
“You’ve come too far to turn around now.”
You look and look for a catharsis until the absence of one starts to seem like proof that you don’t want one. And if you don’t want one, you are going to be exactly where you are and how you until the day you die. That is pretty remarkably scary. Scary enough to maybe get you moving and doing and taking care of business in every direction and scary enough to get you doing so much that you don’t have time anymore to break down and mewl about the state of the universe.
“I want to sweep the halls of this arrogance.”
So I’m cramped up on the couch and despite working hard at making us not explode at work, I’m not really minding myself the way I need to. I’m forgetting how nice it is to know where your things are, to have cleared spaces and sweet smells and lit candles and I know the magick can’t work unless we give it room to work. You can see, obviously, how much fear and loathing and protection I’m getting out of letting things get out of whack again. I’m getting some kind of psychic satisfaction out of flailing and falling towards rock bottom when rock bottom is a myth we tell ourselves to let ourselves begin to try again. There’s always worse and there is always better.
More than that, you are always choosing between them.