Green grass is not that far away. I hope we pay attention to the turn towards spring when it comes. You only get so many Johnny Jump-Ups in your life. So much verbena and stargazer lillies and clematis vines. You only get so many January 12ths, as a matter of fact. And I can’t piss and moan too much because I can wear tights and wander the streets and it’s still the dead of Winter.
I am distracted, as I have to write something romantical for the novel, or something at all for writing group which I am finally returning to. That feels a little eerie, having left it to manage on its own and now turning up again. Mostly the displeasurable thoughts linger around driving, which is stupid, but they linger so we acknowledge them and go the fuck on anyway. I need to write or read, and so I find myself here, fumbling towards ecstasy. Or just adequacy.
Watching more David Bowie interviews, including one about the Internet where he seemed particularly prescient and engaging. It’s just sad. A lonely sadness that has to be held and batted about, encouraged, before it can fly away.
On much more physical terms, there’s something oddly pleasing about having the period-tracking app Clue notify you that “You appear to be late” (I am paraphrasing. I don’t think they accuse you, the period-haver, of any particular failing) as it has decided it thinks I need to bleed (like a modern day witch-doctor appraises you for a good leeching) and a few hours later, be able to spit in its metaphorical eye. Yes, I press into the screen, my endometrial fluid is punctual as fuck, so don’t go around second-guessing it.
The State of the Union. In another heavy lump on the pile of things that will no longer be, I thought it was really a nice speech. We still have the year left, but it’s sad and exhilarating to realize that we were given eight years of a President of such intelligence and good intent. Who knows what the future will bring – aside from
Exercise. It’s going well, in that it is going. It’s strange to be able to do the same ten situps and feel like it is simpler to do them. Less fight, both in the doing and in the willingness to do them. It has the ease of muscle memorization, a motion down by rote. Not so well-known and practiced that it isn’t a challenge, I just find my body able to assume the position, ahem, without fussing and mewling and rationalizing skipping a day. I have taken away the question of whether or not I will do it and that seems to make all the difference. I don’t think this means I have lost weight, or even if I will, but I am alert now to why it could never possibly work before. That pizza I love, that fills my stomach so well, that I could eat day in and out – 800 calories. Meant for two people. After 12 days of trying to pay attention, it’s harder to eat as much, and it’s easier to stop myself.
I have this whole other thing to say, but I am tired and done and those both mean I should stop.