This Train Is Bound for Glory: Day 31

Oh, wow.

I’m going to have to knuckle down for each individual letter.   I can hardly bear the heat of the computer.   I can hardly bear myself at all.

Suffice it to say that I am caught in between abject horror and self-disappointment and delight and glee and a good-natured desire to throw off my mental shackles and enjoy this four-day weekend unrepentantly.

I’m a clay-footed creature of the light.    That is the sum total of my defense.  No one wants to hear that I ate shittily as a result of being on the rag, not, at least at this point again.   It would be difficult to argue that the situation should surprise me as it has happened and will happen every month from the emergence of this grindhouse matinee we call the adult female anatomy to the whenever my great span of mortail coil

There is a child pretending to be a dog, I think, barking out the window as incessantly and voraciously as any dog ever barked and it’s a wonder to me that no one is doing anything about it.

Today: 157.4.

Missed the goal by 2.4 pounds.  Sorrows.   Oh, well.  I did a lot with the past 30 days.  I put my foot down and made change happen even while being overwhelmed and out of breath.

New goal begins 6/17.   Lose 5 pounds by July 1 – my Minnesotan cousin’s wedding.  Smaller, more precise.  We’ll do it with low-carb.   We’ll be fabulous and well and we’ll process through all of what we anticipate will be uncontrollable moodiness and emotional free-fall after the concert since I’m already investing way too much of my brain into trying to pre-enjoy and pre-digest the future.  I’m like some mother bird, some buzzard, chewing through the stringy, the rotting, the spiked, the sour so that when the time comes, I get it back soft with saliva, safe.  Everything the same: safe gray mash.

It’s going to be an adventure tomorrow.  I’m going to the hairstylist in the morning not only because I want to have a pound of golden curls all a’flutter around my head, but because something needs to be done before Medusa starts thinking I’m ripping off her look.  Then my mother and aunt want to go to lunch.  Then my dearest older sister is dropping me off wherever it is I need to be to hang out and wait in line until my little sister turns up so, I’ll need a book (remember that, when you finally start getting yourself in order tonight, self) and then, and then, and then, baby bird will eat it herself and know the taste with her own tongue.

Can’t lose when you’re trying this hard.  This train is bound for glory.   So have no fears.  Release all that.  Life is too short and you have this lucky charm that will see you safe.

Um, what else?

One more thing: I will feed on this.  I will not let it feed on me.

We’re making me a dress.  This time, for real.  The Reckoning.  It is white silk and looks like something Betty Crocker would wear while making you a cake and spinning wildly until all the blood runs out of her head.