A Refusal to Be Vexed: Day 9

No head starts today.  I think I am almost there.  I don’t know.  I’ve got options for clothing for 3 and a half days like I was going on a 30-day cruise.  I’ve got all sorts of random things I somehow think my friends may be interested in.  I’ve been running madly for four days and now, now, I think I just need to hit this wall.

My font just changed for some reason I can’t determine.  It’s interesting.  Now that I know people are reading this – maybe people I care about, maybe not, I should be more motivated to speak broadly and boldly.  To write with verve and linguistic punch.  To speak of the project of self with power and hope and to pull all of us, collectively, out of the muck and mire that is this life with the piquancy of my wit, the sincerity of my vision.

But I’m fucking tired, y’all.  I don’t know what to say about that in a novel way.  You know what it is.  Everybody’s got sore shoulders from holding up the universe.

Tomorrow, tomorrow everything just relaxes.   And gets silly.   I hope so, anyway.  I’m looking up brunch places and hoping one of them won’t be so obnoxiously busy that we have to wait.

So let’s do this, my friends, as you may or may not know, these posts have to be five hundred words long.  I make the rules, unfortunately, and that one was carved into stone tablets long ago.  Let’s do the old game.

I am grateful for…my mother enduring her chemo so beautifully and keeping up her spirits and all the odd things that come with this – my father so earnestly telling me about the will, my sister taking it upon herself to supply my mother with cute caps now that her hair’s falling out – for the nice people at the treatment center that she so enjoys or at least fakes enjoying.  I’m grateful for the luxury of not having this an anvil in my heart right now.  I don’t know when that weight will fall, but I’m grateful that now for the moment, we can enjoy her spirit.  Her heart.  Her being her in the purest form.  She’s a good person.

I’m grateful that there is therapy tomorrow and some of the loose detritus floating about my brain pan will be filtered from my system and I’ll be set back in order again.  I’m grateful I had enough werewithal to put a few things in order and get what I think I need to m

I love the Black Phoenix Alchemy lab oils I’ve discovered hiding away even as I tore my place apart to pack.  I’m excited to wear them tomorrow, to wear jewelry, to have a nice,full face of jewelry on tomorrow.  I love that I don’t have to impress anyone, but I can try to impress myself.

Wouldn’t it be nice if I could stay calm and happy tomorrow and enjoy without trying to leave my head too much?  Wouldn’t it be grand?

Campestral

Fascinating how the presence of a single word – a word altogether new to me, a word I can’t recall ever having seen written anywhere before just now – can thrill me and change my mood so entirely that I can’t even imagine naming this post what my first impulse was:  The Drop-Off.  Campestral is much prettier, suddenly I’m painting in mental greens and everything is English and brookside and summery and far away from an icy mountain at which I’m flailing about at its bottom.

Day 2 is always hard after a generally good Day 1.  This is why all these business coaches started writing about what happens after you have a great start or launch in your company.  How do you do more better at the same time maintaining and not slipping from where you were? (These are my references these days, sorry, it’s all Blue Ocean Strategy from this point on.)  All of which is compounded by the fact that this whole rig is piloted by me, a girl, a lady who generally forgets to come in out the rain.  I have so much hopes and energy and sometimes there’s just reach way exceeding grasp.  Doesn’t mean it’s not a good idea or a good plan.  I just need a breath to make sure that everything breakable stays on the cart I’m careening around.

I cooked food last night that was good.  I tracked it and was exorbitantly pleased with myself for my organizing and following the materials I’d put together to help me and check, check, check, day 1 in the can, suddenly, I’m going to be slender.  Not precisely?  But close enough.  Then I wake up this morning with a blistering headache and feeling like I’d been running through fields of molasses all night and I come to the kitchen to collect my perfectly portioned brussel sprouts and delicious butternut squash and parmesan ravioli and fuck me if they aren’t sitting there in their containers waiting to be put away like I promised I would last night.  DAMN, I was pissed.  Well, I was as irritated as I get these days about it.  Day 2! The glorious triumph, crushed.  Then, everything felt pear-shaped and slow and if anyone at work cared where I was or wasn’t, it might have
Still, we do some important things.  I called a new dentist and have an appointment in two weeks and I even went so far as to ask to be put on the waitlist.  Bit irritated that I’d have to feel this shittiness while I’m on vacation, but I needed to do something and as my therapist says, this is hard for you, so it’s great when you find the strength to try.  So, yeah, I’m a bit proud of that.
I also had a challenge today to work on an old story.  Still going to try and pull it out if I can.  Only so much in a day, but I’m feeling far more positive now that I’ve eaten and I’m locked down into not eating again until morning – nothing to prowl for.
I need the time back, to write and read and put away dishes, so off I go, but thank you, day 2, for linking me to the future where I’ve done this.  For pushing me out, safe and secure, into the impossible dream.

Life in the Fast Lane (Theabild)

coffee-laptop-notebook-workingThis song has been stuck in my head – just the first line of the chorus and the earwormiest notes.  The worst!  (It had gone away, but I came back and read this line and suddenly, it’s in my brain again!)

So today, I was thinking that now is the time to know – if I know about 10 minutes of physical activity + 10 situps + tracking, what do I know about the needs of this blog in the coming year?

If I relieved myself of this “burden,” what would be improved?  I would not experience those brief, but real mental wrinkles I have every single day when I wonder about how I need to stop everything and Summarize! I would not have to stop everything and gather my brain into one spot.  I would not need to pull myself out of games and reverie, where I have spent another day idling, pleasurably, but yet, idling.  I would not be able to say that this, this daily blogging thing, is a thing that I do and have committed myself to.  I’d have to say, if I was asked, that I stopped because I found those fifteen to sixty minutes tiresome and I prefered to think of myself as a successfully non-writing writer (which is still the very edge of the qualifications I can affix myself with.)  I would have to, I assume, find a more haphazard schedule with which to approach the page – any page – and relieve the writing bug, jones, need, addiction.  I would have to assume I would even if I know, five years ago – nearly six – this habit was started because I was failing to do just that.

I don’t want to give it up.  I don’t need to.  No one is making me.  I just find myself keenly aware after having written posts beyond counting about this keen awareness that I can spit words like nobody’s business.  Just words. Not well-curated, elegantly crafted, viciously pertinent language.  Without editing and a trajectory, this becomes just like anyone’s life – not that there’s anything wrong with good ol’ Anyone’s life, but it isn’t my dream.  It doesn’t feed me and make me a stronger, more able writer.  It is sugar.  You can live on it, but only just, you goddamned humming bird.

Do better, you say?  That should be the answer.  And in it lies a greater truth than perhaps we either of us realize.  I am willing to step forward and write puff and fluff and call it good day after day.  Because it takes nothing of me.  In all of these areas, success is about me not accepting bare minimums anymore.   More not less, forward and not away, not giving up because the way has greater resistance than we first envisioned.  I need the pumping up, I need the daily reminders, I need this, but better.  I need this, and more.

So next year.  500 words, but I need to incorporate the diet side.  A real check-in, every day as to what I’m doing with my goals.  And the other writing on top, beyond, more.

Sounds plannish.