O2 Cool

I haven’t done this before –  I don’t think –  writing out the day’s post on paper before taking it and typing it up.  I figured I could write while I listen to the Mass Effect dialogue and not lug that frying pan of a laptop out here to cook my internal organs while I play.

There is something wrong with Shepard’s nose this time around, but we’re too far ito the game to fix it.  Oh well, we all have some bad angles – even Commander Shepard.

For my part – my face is also whatever it is – at the moment, newly washed and my teeth are brushed, flossed, and mouth swished out.  I’ve got my pajamas – mostly just a Matthew Good Band t-shirt) and my clothes picked out for tomorrow.  I’ve needed to inject some sort of order into the proceedings today if only just here at the end of it.  I’ve had an excessive case of the Sundays – my one day off this week and probably, really, my only day off until the Saturday after next.  The mild heat strokes I’ve been having lately (avoiding water and sunscreen has added to the impact) have taken their toll and today I found myself scarily lethargic.  I managed to make myself lunch, have a horrible fast food dinner and feel like shit as I ate both of them like a ravenous maniac.  With speed and without pleasure.  So fast I have these painful, rib-racking hiccups now.  You’d think that if I was allowed to eat whatever I wanted whenever I wanted that I would feel something as I swallowed it?  Something other than this cascade of shame for not being on the diet and not working towards goals and not somehow able to be progressing.

Sigh.  It feels extra odd now that I’m a little bit back in control of my body and mind to have confessed all this on paper – but I think today, that’s where my head needs to be.  It needs to say that this is how it is right now instead of saying it’s fine and watching it spiral further and further into crazytown.

Mildred – Gollum of my diet/becoming an adult human journey – has done a subtle and terrifyingly good job of distracting and re-orienting my brain back to her cause.  She wants inertia to succeed.  And I keep saying, soon, soon, soon I’ll fight back.  Soon I’ll get up early and walk in the mornings.  Soon I’ll re-commit to eating on a plan.  Soon I’ll think really hard about the concert, or Italy, or the very idea of anyone finding me physically attractive and I’ll be motivated to do better.  At every juncture I think that – once the food fugue dissipates – and at every juncture I kick the can down the road because the need of the moment doesn’t allow for any sense of future.

It’s so untrue.  It’s so the lies that mania brings to your life clamping down.  It’s Mildred cackling in the corner and miming pouring herself another cup of tea.

She thinks she’s winning.

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