Oh, Cash in the Attic, the puns are getting to be painful.

I am alright.  I am a knot.  I am a frustrated knot, but I am better than I was this morning.  I was vaguely dead.  Or at least recognizably sick.  I had a sore throat and some terrible glob of blood from some trickle from my nose which apparently cracked and bled like some sort of nasal stigmata, appearing in the night and drying up without so much as a how do you do.   That, more or less sorted, I kind of gave up on my plan to wake up a half an hour early this morning.  The thought was that if I had a good start in the morning, I’d do better all day.  Be less frantic and manic and unpleasant, but when I woke up at 7:10, so miserable, my brain sort of surrendered the choice and my aching neck left me crawling out of bed just after 7:30, winding up makeupless, breakfastless, senseless and out the door just before 8:00pm.  All I can say is better try again tomorrow and tonight if I finish up with you lot and make another stab at getting myself destressed and relaxed before 11:00pm.

So, the day, gray and miserable and as it began, was rather schizoid and ran the gamut from the most giddy and full and consuming blaze of sunlight to in a matter of moments, back to that dreary grayness with rain, and then finally, just a fall evening.  Cold, but lovely.  Fine.  Dry roads.

What you must be desperately not all that curious, but I will share with you anyways, is how the day went exercise and foodwise.  Well.  Well.  I did alright.  I’m going to track once I’m done here.  I ate more than I intended since there wasn’t breakfast (ugh, that fucks things up, doesn’t it?) but I ate better things, avoided fast food, and no pop.  Had an excellent dinner.   Saw my mother and father which always lightens my spirits, calms the panic in the universe.

I want to do so much is part of the problem.  I want to learn so much and try so much, but I end up at home, eight pm and the house is still a mess, and I have to finish writing this boy back and I’m still so exhausted from the day and I need to somehow exercise and take a bath and I have to get more actual proofreading done and there is a part of me that just wants to eat.  To eat and eat and eat.  Not even that hungry, but there’s this gap.  There’s this feeling in my throat like some of my terrible thoughts have room to breath or breed and I want to stop that by pouring fat and sugar on top of them.

Self-care, self-care, self-care.  Mortgaging my sanity for any of these other options is ridiculous.  It’s a writer’s sensibility.  It’s an addict’s plan.  I can’t manage all of this tonight.  So, finish here, have my pudding, do an hour’s worth of work.  Write my letter. 10 minutes on the bike.  Bath.  Relax with MST3K.  Bed.  That’s it.  That’s enough.

That’s enough.

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