Kritish Bitties: Day 38

I am positive.  I am continuing my war, losing a few stray battles that are more about perfectionism than long term damage.

I am taking a breath, friends.  No rush.  I want to record my boss smiling and complimenting and making a joke after I’ve been so clenched and worried the past few days.  That my effort is being noticed, that I am somewhat respected, that things in that sphere are not wholly off the rails.

I want to record the sublime peace of a morning ride into work in the snow when you’re not petrified

Tomorrow is Friday as has so oft been said.  A small park bench to sit and hold the world still for inspection.  I have to leave  some time for sleep, and to gather the water I left behind in the bathroom.  So I’ll pluck at some story and that will be that.

Snowblind: Day 37

I am feeling positive this morning.  Not entirely sure why given the fact that right behind me is a veritable whiteout situation.  I don’t have to immediately leave work, which is the only way that I think I’m not flipping out.  I will, I suppose, have to eventually leave work.  I’m deciding on the bus, but it’s a matter of whether or not I’m driving myself to the bus station or no.  I’ve got boots in the car, at least.  There is an element of peace working here where I know, on these days like this, crap flying from the heavens upon us, I don’t have to necessarily find the huge well of resources within to sort out how I’m going to sleep at my house tonight.  How, in this 1-3 inches, I will endure?

Maybe it’s the activation energy! Which I announced with an exclamation point as I got myself upright relatively quickly this morning for an early meeting.  Up I rose, careening into the heavy, extensive fog.  It didn’t feel impossible.  Days with an hour later start and I am on the constant edge of death.

For now, at my desk, with a charger possibly in my car, possibly not, typing away as I eat my salad.  I do not violently hate the fact that I have to eat this salad on Day 6 of episode 900000 and 1 of my weight loss “journey.”   It could definitely be a worse salad than it is.  It’s mostly fresh and the dressing only had 3 carbs, and sure, this is the sort of content that brings all the kids and their milkshakes and their music to my lawn.
Spent the evening working on some writing. Not happy with it, but it’ll do for what it needs to be.
Counting that towards my total.  Happy I saw Dimash on my CBS TV.  Feeling decent save for the snow.  Shoulda grabbed those boots yesterday!

Habitland: Day 36

Start early. Get the window rocking in its pane, just ever so slightly, so you can pop through it when you must.

I would like to write on what I would like to write on. Just mark it down under the long, long, interminable list of things that are out of my hands.

Lunch today was bacon-wrapped meatloaf and a salad which I definitely need to make some time next week for myself. That could make a good number of meals. Alexa, I would say, if my electronic overlord had access to me here, remember the meatloaf. I’d also have more control over the random wheat carbs that were in it because it’s institutional meatloaf and institutional mushroom gravy and everything needs a little sawdust to puff it up for another 100 mouths. It’s a good idea.
There’s something nice, settling, relaxing, protective about the realization that it doesn’t really matter in the end if I do low-carb, or low-cal, or keto, or some pickle soup diet. It is never about the exact restrictions or the exact ideology or scientific benefit. What matters is that I feel it working and I stoke that feeling and that belief and that discipline long enough to see a difference. Then, I’m standing with enough elevation to decide something. From down here, from the place of the same 5-20 lbs, nothing really changes or hooks. The habit is simply a habit. But you can’t get to the whole “lifestyle change” garbage/personal heaven without passing through habitland. You have to walk in the direction of your dream, regardless of how you’re thinking about it, so the muscle memory.
So I don’t want to frighten anyone, but my goal, I think is to change enough to frighten people. Not in terms of being unhealthy looking, not in terms of having so much control over this that I lose control and become mostly skin and bones.  A walking sack.  No, that’s not the vision at all.  The goal is to make people realize how much I can do when I settle in and dig down and put my mind to it.  To make the discipline that dances in and out of my life so permanent, so powerful, that I can’t be seen as I was before.  That I get all the power and praise that comes from effectuating that level of change.
That I get that moment where everyone understands an inside the same as an outside.
Fuck, it feels very trite, save for the fact that when you haven’t had a moment like this, ever…and you’ve lived through eons of cycles pretending you don’t mind, you don’t care, you can be ignored and forgotten and made to be secret and unnamed…maybe I need to accept what my trigger actually is. What actually motivates me rather than what is supposed to.  Good health, body security, ability to not get fluttery over hills.  Yes, to all of that.
But maybe part of good health is a good body image. And maybe a good body image can happen when you accept that you have a body – one you want to carry your skull around and show off your genius.  Maybe having someone tell you something good might interrupt the sonic shell of bad news.  Maybe it’s alright to feel like you could get a compliment and it wouldn’t be about anything more than that.
Maybe!

Improvident: Day 35

I’m in relatively neutral mood, save for the headache, bloody nose, and the winds of solitude roaring at the edge of infinity  As they are wont to do.

More reporting, not less, was meant to be the theme of this year.   Situate one’s self and knuckle down and review what is rather than what might be if only we were actually doing as intended.  The things we hold in our head as our guiding lights, our best intentions, our sense of our very best self.  That ain’t the map most of the day to day activity of life runs off of.  We’re a slow slog in the dark and we move towards lights to steady ourselves.  We’re all living on very sunless seas.  And it’s really only at those lights that we get any clue about the where and why and who of all it.  That we see the blood on our lapel, some injury incurred along the way.  That we glance back and see on the far-distant horizon, some blip that we can say, that’s where I was.  That we can glance forward and make out some tiny scar of illumination, take a deep breath and move forward.
It can be pretty debilitating to have to realize that’s about all the options you have.  Flail in darkness or take the long trail of beacons to no clear end beyond being further from where you are now.  But it’s true.
So I’m dieting.  I’m altering my diet until I go to ECCC. Because I would like to be there and not have the full sense of negative self-regard that always follows me on trips amongst geek-kind.
We’ll see how it goes.  It’s only day 4 of doing so.  I just am not doing the wrong thing for a hot minute and that’s nice enough on its own.  If I could figure out this sleep thing.  I don’t drink caffeine and I am USELESS during the day.  I drink it even in slight amounts and I yawn my way to 1:30 in the morning and have to scrape myself with a pallet knife to be mildly functional at 7.  I ought to be up at 6, honestly, to do life properly.  I have never been able to do life properly.
No Dimash on that random-ass talent show.  Maybe Wednesday.  I am all half-thoughts.  I am distracted by not writing the thing I want to write.  Another waiting game.
Best thing is go to bed now.

The Fight: Day 34

Wrote. Ate low-carb.  Did not succumb to the massive amount of sugar and starch everywhere at my parents’ house.  Thought things would go a certain way.  They didn’t.  Slipped on the ice, luckily, I didn’t fall on my arse.

Day 3 of a good try.  Didn’t fall on my arse slash ass.

Potatoes Are Not What We Eat…Currently: Day 33

Take yourself to task.  There were far too many items in the washing machine and it damn near exploded.

The cat is slurping as she washes herself over and over again on the floor.  I am not sure how to make this post today.

I’ve been trying to be creative and limit social media today.  This has been not an altogether successful mission, but lately, I’ve been feeling the sense of doing such a thing.  I’m feeling bombarded, both in good ways and bad, by ideas.  Things to worry about.  Things to do.  Things I could think about and build into other things I’m trying to be creative and achieve.  And it has become more than the small dustpan of my mind can handle.  So I have taken a certain percentage of the day to do what I do best, and that is, fuck all.

This, when it doesn’t coincide with someone’s plans, can be…a touchy thing.  We so rarely have touchy things.  But he says nothing and I say, tell me if you’re tired and want to sleep and aren’t going to go to bed unless we speak.  Don’t wait around for me.  I’m not…as I’ve heard it said…your girlfriend.  I am bending over backwards as it is to be generally available, to be generally present and picking up the phone.  A few hours without having to drop my train of thought to get on yours is all I’m asking.  One night to not have to live the reality of this half-fulfilled existence, to take my ball and go home.

Ah, sigh.

Instead, writing projects.  Instead, some MST3K.   Some Sunless Skies once I worked that little bug out. Some not giving into sugar and carbs so I can say Day 2 of the low-carb till ECCC plan is actually happening.  Going into a few fugue states – metaphorical ones, in actuality, more of a Pinterest freefall for writing inspiration that is a really bad idea on a number of levels.  More of that digital overwhelm when I just need to rely on my own brain to think up the details rather than relying on constant predigested inspiration.  That’s the worst, least effective kind.

Tomorrow:  we cook.  We see my mother and I square how she sounded on the phone with how she looks.  Nobody’s called me so, I’m assuming it’s okay for now.   Like she said, what else can you do?  Like Prof. Brian Cox said, the forward motion of time is a constant: everybody’s going to tomorrow, there’s no getting around it.

I’m yawning.

Let’s wrap this up and emerge from our psychic chrysalis tomorrow, fresh and awake and ready for life.   I’ve picked my spells.  I know what I’m needing to do.  There’s some intent in the haze.  Time to give myself the sleep necessary to make some of that happen.  Sleep sounds really, aggressively, objectively wonderful right now.   I think I am going to close this laptop up just after I press post and try and make shit happen in the land of Nod.