Succor: Day 24

There will be walking!  That will probably help me not throw up.

God.  I really wish that I had this post somehow magically done.   That’s the woe of the writer.  Everything is always better once you’ve written it and the doing of it sometimes feels like performing some kind of personal, permanent extraction.  It feels like a physical dismantling and jostling of your internals.   It’s not comfortable.  If your hands also hurt, well, all the better.

Life is pain.   It’s other things, but it’s definitely pain.   And in the face of pain, you can find yourself taking the easy way out.  You can find yourself drowning while you stand still in avoidance of further pain.  You

My walking time is being slowly eroded by my wandering mind.

Today was a good day, a fine day.  I wore a cute dress and eventually put on my makeup.  I was considerate.  I ate my leftovers and then had more buffalo chicken than is probably necessary or helpful to the diet, but I didn’t give up and I didn’t give in.  I held in there, dear Slow Club, like the very last bowling pin.  I went to my old work place and was treated kindly yet again, but many people.  I sat quietly and observed and caused no trouble.  I daydreamed about the concert and paid bills and  didn’t eat the donated sandwiches and pizza.

What else can I tell you?  What other glittery stones of wisdom and diurnal provocation can I offer you?  Um, we have put in for me to have my own cabin boy.   Well, that’s not a very professional way to put it.  It’ll probably be a girl and she’ll probably be overweening as fuck as well as not being remotely capable at all.  Or it if is a boy, not only will he be underage, he’ll probably also be overweening as fuck as well as not being remotely capable at all.  No gender bias here.  It doesn’t matter who we get, they’ll be a kid who thinks they know something just like all do when we’re kids.  When really, we have no fucking clue about anything and the bravado is not so cute to adults as it might be to co-teenagers.  And after dealing with the nonogenarians who make you gag with their perfume and their random, unexpected and desperately necessary colonoscopies, I don’t give a fuck about that either.

He’ll probably also look like he fell head-first down the ugly tree and hit every branch.

We may not be sexist, but we sure do like ’em pretty.

Sigh, what else.  I need to walk just to turn off the grousing voices in my head.  Whatever I want or need to do, I can grow some parts and get it done.  I’m a motherfucking honey badger and I don’t give a shit.  There is no stopping me.

Today: 157.4 (very begrudging and fluid)
Yesterday: 157.something I should look up but I want to get done and not go clicking around pages)
Goal: 155 by June 15