I think, briefly, I capitulated to the great despair. I am not sure if I am still on my knees before it, but I think, perhaps, I will not be long down.
I gave myself an inch and that inch became a hundred miles. I feel tired and bad and like a devil just has been awoken from the tranquilizer dart I thought would see me through to safety.
I was thinking about Valentine’s Day and how nicely nebulous the dark space is where my heart is seated in my chest. I was thinking about my mother and how I don’t like how the chemo seems to be using her in the way you would imagine the cancer would if it had its way. Exhausting, wizening, enervating. She’s upbeat, she knows what’s up, but I have to overwrite the story in my head. I am not seeing her enough so every time feels a bit surprising. I’m not seeing her because I want to hold everything at status quo in my mind. I want everything to push forward for me without doing a dang thing, and I want everything to stay steady for her without doing a dang thing.
Meanwhile, at work, we learn about a little boy who has benefited from the things we make. A bajillion heart defects and issues and surgeries and problems and finally – we do a thing and he is free to be a little boy. I mean, I don’t do it, but I answer phones for people who make ads for people who do it. Or something inexactly, but legitimately related.
So I haven’t lost any weight, despite a non-zero effort. The kitchen’s a nightmare, I don’t want to cook in it. My car suddenly turned on a low tire pressure sign halfway through the drive this morning, causing an inadvertent panic. They’re asking me to do things I don’t know how to do. It’s fine, but I’m unsure. Tired. The activation energy over the past few days – I know what I need to do. I just do not do it.
So I ordered a pizza and have sickened myself on it and it’s here next to me and I’m contemplating which is the greater evil – to eat it and swallow the shame of having bought it and blown yet more money on one-off food fixes, or to toss it and blow that money and risk constantly daydreaming about wasted pizza and use that to justify another wave of carb-tasia.
It’s not good. It’s just not. I am thinking about how I didn’t even think or care about my goals. How I didn’t feel qualms about breaking the plan. How I know how this feels and I know how it feels to string yourself out on guilt aftershocks after the initial binge. I know and I know that I don’t know if anything is going to be different even though there’s a thousand and one reasons to make this time the time.
Why can’t we make this time the time?