Okay. 60 days in. It was bound to happen. Fred is on his way. I feel the physical impulses and urges changing, just overriding my good sense and causing me all sorts of wayward thoughts. Add on that a day where life at work felt particularly scattery and insecure beyond its usual scattered insecurity and my boss was particularly vulnerable and stressed with me and every empathic tendency I claim just wicked all of that up into my system so that I could offer succor and support and underline my loyalty.
All the while, I’m working on the copywriter angle, and contemplating bugging out when the window re-opens. I absolutely care…I just need…money. And to not have the burdens I have.
And so…food. Today. Shit. I didn’t FUCK up. I just fucked up. Lowercase. I just said I didn’t care and ate with “abandon.” Meaning I got a thing of crackers out and ate a bunch of crackers without counting them and then a few handfuls of chocolate chips. Then I had pasta for dinner with one glass of wine. Like a maniac. But it felt for a few minutes like the old ways where shoving it in my mouth blurs any sort of mathematics attached to it. The little noises, the little yelps that make me sad and nervous, I have to shut those up somehow when I do care. I just sort of hit a wall. I think I’ll be mad at myself in the morning when I get on the scale.
I am tracking, right now, as I type, my crappitude because of my stalwart desire to sweep it all away and not track it because it’s not Under. But it’s still in the position where if I get my ass on that bike, it could be under. I think I’ve guessed as accurately as I can right now. If I do this, it is going to have to go imperfectly because the bike surely doesn’t burn at the rate it tells me it burns, but I could do it even if it’s 9pm. I could do something more than nothing.
So, yeah, that happened. I did get on the bike and I did pedal it until it says I burnt 200 calories. I did that. I did the sit-ups.
That feels oddly marvelous and because I was sweaty a bit from actually using these legs of mine, I got in the tub and the ending to the story appeared, magically, in my mind. One of those Einstein playing the violin situations.
Oh, shit, while I’ve been sitting here trying to wrap my brain around reality and back again and figuring out the last fifty words on my post, it’s almost midnight.
Tomorrow is Saturday and that day is mine, free and clear. I don’t have to give it to anyone else – except go check on the cats at my parents.
The way to get in the groove is to be in it. Snap your fingers, simple as that.