Staying Fed


Enough with the Civilization V.  Enough with the Sims and the Dragon Age.  There’s other things on the docket.

I don’t think I lost any weight this week and there is a portion of this country of mine that has lost its mind over it.  However, I know, in that heart of hearts place where I keep all my best knowings the reasons.  I’ve tracked the reasons on MFP.  I just wanted reality to not win out when I stepped on the scale about a thousand times in a thousand different places this morning.

I need to buy a food scale and actually control the portions.  There was a lot of eating out and best guestimating and weak-ass exercising and body equilibrium out of whack due to hormones.  That’s, you know, what happened.  It isn’t some celestial, glowing hand descending from the heavens and thwacking me on the top of the head and saying “No.  You will go no further!”  It is Mildred, bloated, gummy, disconsolate.  She sees me striving and her only response is to slowly back away from the basement door, muttering and moaning, and calculating the heuristics of how best to coerce me back inside.

And it’s a beautiful day.  It’s 70 degrees and we’ve not reached the Ides of March.  I have no interest, real or imagined, in hanging out with Mildred today.  It is hard to picture, darling, hanging out with you again at all.  So start thinking! Start plotting it out, little Caesar Augustus of the Spineless, how do we turn this little frustrating moment of plateau into a cascade of self-loathing and self-doubt?  How do we say that there is no more potential or possibility or days for improvement?  How do we beggar her belief?


Later, still…

I am happiest of all, after an insane drop-off in mood, a Mildred pile-on, not going to take me alive, copper type angst situation, that I am starting to find an even keel again.  I hadn’t eaten, I ate my meal late but fast and whammo.  Listless staring, feeling exhausted, depressed, lonely, disconnected, quintessentially Mildred.

But…not forever.  I listened to the whole beautiful Tori Amos album Little Earthquakes, I got on the bike for a whole half an hour which felt like nothing with good music on.  Even, most remarkably, I cracked open the copy of S. I ordered perhaps a month ago.  I haven’t read it because if you know anything about S., you know it’s not just a book to read and I had got it in my head that it would creep me out or that I’d not be able to give myself the full absorption that I’d want to experience it.  That’d I’d be scattered and nervous and struggle, like I sometimes do when you load the idea of reading with the need to do it perfectly.

It doesn’t need me to be perfect, it just need me to read it.  And in doing that, I’ve briefly felt the most intense surge of love for the written word that I’ve felt in a long time.

Optimal vs. perfection.  One lets you read books that instantly transport you to another world, another lets you buy books and dread reading.

I will tell you how that goes.

Ah, my friends, it will be okay.  Today, for some reason, has been all over every map, but I’ll find a new tether soon enough and in the meantime, I’m not so afraid to fly.


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