I don’t know. I made it through the day and now…scheduled relaxation.
I have something to eat in a second.
I’m just faintly…faint. I am a bit, after one glass of wine, detached. I don’t know who should be here with me, though I think someone should. That feels firm while I float around it.
I’m getting a bit nervous I’m falling too far off the grid. But I am thankful and grateful for a chance to let the tautness in my muscles, in my jaw, go slack. I like the new skirt I’m wearing and my black tights and my little necklace with amber. I like that I was able to drive out and about today and get a few things done willy-nilly, spontaneously. Made me feel mildly human. The NeuroSleeep was actually very helpful last night in helping me drift off and stay asleep.
I am gathering steam in figuring out some stuff right now. Since probably May, there’s been the usual crush and thrust of events that has been, well, punishing. And the new year’s energy for self-revolution dissipated after I went to Disneyworld.
I keep getting back to the idea that as much as I fail, consistently, deeply, almost aggressively at this dieting, life-organizing thing…there just is no other way to get to what I want. Because what I want is on the other side of change. I just. I both understand that and also understand how it seems like just getting by seems to be all I’m capable of. I mean, I should have a boyfriend. I should feel cool with driving wherever I want. I should be getting things published. But my sense of wanting that seems to ebb whenever it comes close to doing the essential, daily, exposure-pushing tasks that will get me there. And everything in my life allows me to just wade about in the shallows.
I just wonder if it’ll ever happen. If either circumstance or willpower will shake me free? I wonder if I will ever get the formula…no, I know exactly what the formula is, I just wonder, really, if I’ll ever choose to see my way clear and stop standing in front of open doors.
Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving. It’s a season of self-assessment after many months of just putting the blinders on. It also puts the focus on food. The empty feeling. The need for constant distraction.
I just really want to shock everyone with what I’m capable of. My grandfather’s not doing well. I really want to find a way to a different place. This is all just talk, things said while sugared up and gagging for attention.
I just wonder. This could be the last time I do this. I could never have to be wondering ever again. I could not have to suffer through another Christmas unsettled, exhausted by the constant internal churning of discontent. I could be with someone. I could be with someone? Someone? I don’t know. It shouldn’t be so laughable. It shouldn’t be this bizarre, Beckett play level joke.