Impetus

So my septuagenarian breakfast date turned out to be a waste of time.

After spending five minutes talking about me and my job and how awesome I was, it turns out he just wanted to share with me the wonders of his pyramid scheme.  I mean, it’s a national thing, you’ve probably got some idea what I’m talking about, but I barely take care of myself in my free time…can anyone really imagine me cold calling and shilling products to hit my quota so that I can get my free car and go to the conference?  If you can imagine that, well, fuck off.  If you can’t, well, neither could I.   I can’t believe I fucking got up at 6:30am for this.

At least I just had the coffee and didn’t let him buy me breakfast so I didn’t feel that I had to put out, so to speak.   It was more amusing than anything else.  He is a nice guy, albeit with a name that makes me laugh/involuntarily retch because I’m the only one that hears it for the epic porn name it actually is and the horrors that necessarily ensue with that thought.  He is slicker than a pig in shit, though, and you can kind of imagine how without sensible people in the world how he could make this enough of a business to buy his groceries from its proceeds much less however much he purports to make.

I feel that this is something that could only happen to me.  But alas, tis truth.

Also, truth, I am a kind of hapless chump times deux when I turned up at the market and got wrangled into working it.  So I sat in the shaded sun listlessly and sort of thought nothing about no one and nothing except how maybe I should cover up a little better.

Psychic and internal numbness continues to be a sucky experience.

Things I know:

I don’t have something to work for.  I have to invent something.  Someone.  Some reason to drive me the way the concert drove me to make myself pay attention and get right with myself.

I have to get groceries.

I have to let myself rest.  Real, honest, stupid stillness.  Story time.

I have to clean up.

I have to get water.

I have to have a schedule and a schedule that includes writing and games and rest.

I have to forgive the waywardness.

I have to refuse numbness as a natural course.  Lop it off at its knees.

So, I can’t just tell you that I need to do these things even though, for you, that’s all that can be done.    For me, I will be cheered by the thunder and get out my charwoman gear.  Working on myself gives me a joy, I know that much.   I have a long way to go, but doing it, even if we never move from this nebulous spot, heals wounds I have forgotten I have.

There will be another concert.  I will be ready.

Miss Impatiens: Day 20

So, part of this journal is this earnest desire to deal with shit as it crops up – inasmuch as one can deal with their own personal emotional baggage in 500-ish words.  So what’s happening now is that I am doing really well with the self-control aspect of this.  I’m not eating much carbs at all because I’m being pretty careful about what I’m eating overall.   I’m drinking more fluids, and working on more water.  I’m not doing 100% genius eating – with iron will – and the First Lady’s plate (albeit lopsided for my purposes)…I didn’t eat at all at the market today just because every impulse I had seemed just not quite right.   Like this amazing brick oven pizza they cook onsite and everyone was eating it and I didn’t feel crazed or anything.  I didn’t feel like a junkie needing a fix.  But I guess it was in that area.  I guess it was vaguely like an addict trying to figure out how they can negotiate in their own heads to justify having a little bit of what they’re addicted to and I had just enough backbone to say, well, if you’re not where you want to be and you said you had these goals and you’re frustrated as hell with your non-sensical scale – let’s not.  Just let’s not.

And it’s weird.  My friend was there, who I guess I only have emotional inklings towards when he’s around (classy, very class), and he was, true to form, very gregarious and kind and pleasant.  And I felt like there was something of a revelation that it was okay for everyone (EVERYONE) to know that I’m not eating carbs right now.  That I’m doing this for myself right now and as nice as it is to get free bread and pastries, or to run head first into a chocolate-dipped banana (ahem), it’s not forward motion.  For a long time, that wouldn’t be possible.  I’d downplay it and make it obvious that it was private and secret and nobody’s business.  I’d make it awkward.  This wasn’t overly awkward, even though I feel frustrated about having to have to do it,  it just was.  Like friends talk.

So with all of that as preface, I am frustrated.  I know numbers are numbers and I feel tighter and better and less googly-eyed and helpless to food impulses.  But the scale is wonky or I am wonky and driving me batty.   I want to feel that this is progress.  That this really measured and focused attention to how I eat and getting water and moving myself is not just sloshing the same 6 pounds around.  I want it to work this time.

And it is working.  And I am okay.  And it will take time.  And exercise.  Hard work.  And I don’t want to hear it, but that doesn’t change that those facts are true.

Today (at 6:44am, about an hour earlier than I usually weigh-in) 160.4
Yesterday: 158.6 – it’s either the scale or not enough water/salt.  Again.
Goal: 155 – June 15

Azure As I Can Be

I bought myself some electric blue orchids today at our final farmers market of the season.   Everyone was commenting on them and how amazing they were and I finally decided, what the heck, I haven’t had fresh flowers in my general vicinity in an age and I went and bought them.  Then I put them in a vase and cut them (in the opposite order) and they’re now decorating my office.  Fresh flowers in front of a line of dead ones.    They’re definitely colors that would appeal to an Aquarian.

So, yes, the final Farmers Market.  Still have things to take care of, but it seems that not so long ago I was daydreaming about it starting and daydreaming about it being this kind of physical escape for me.  It was, of a sort, for a bit.  And then mostly, as life became and becomes more and more aggressively hijacked by work and work issues, it just became a kind of quiet refuge where I could remember that I like these people and this place and I’m happy to be a servant of this purpose of sharing that feeling with others.

I’ll miss sitting with them all and feeling like if things were different, if we knew each other but weren’t bound by these roles, that we could be friends and speak plainly and enjoy one another’s company much better.  They the volunteers, I, the paid staff whom they think is overworked and terminally distracted (they have an uncanny sense of things, these good people do).   We don’t have to connect on a deep level, because there’s money involved and they’re “adults” and I have my head half in outer space so that I don’t have to risk connecting and dealing with the messiness of disagreeing with their conservative politics or their life choices or they seeing me for the self-serving lump I truly am. Yet, sometimes, they give me a hug and I think how lucky am I to have a swarm of people that support the person I let them see.  Without hesitation.  They back me up in whatever version I give them and being nice and kind with them isn’t a disingenuous mask, it’s just rusty.

So, I bought all my last day at the market items, including some salsa and peaches for another volunteer who asked for them and one lemon bar that the nice guy at the bread booth turned into two lemon bars and an unasked for cookie.

I am feeling awkward in my body.  The body is making its discontent known.  My body, to put the emphasis where it belongs, wants me to go on a diet.  Nobody else but my embodied flesh has asked for this to happen.  I think I owe it a little bit since its got me through another summer.  I am preparing for that.  I am driving on my own on our little neighborhood highway, short distances.  Learning it.  Extracting the fear from it.

Taken for what it is, this is a nice Saturday night.

Unintentional Tuna Surprise

The best thing to do is to just do what you need to do.  This is a lesson I’m trying to learn.  I had a big emotional catharsis yesterday and felt way over my emotional quota for one twenty-four hour period.  Today is much better.  I know that the trigger is the timing, but the sentiment, my reasons for being upset were and are real.   Just don’t have to wallow in it.  It doesn’t get me “professionally” driving any faster or make me feel justified or self-righteous, especially since after I wrote it I started to worry about if feelings would be hurt by it and then I started trying to figure out what exactly I wanted out of writing it.

Mainly, I just wanted to say it because I thought that not saying it was a block for me and so, there you go.  Go back a post if you need context.

So, now my emo is over, we can go back to planning for September 1 and getting back on track.  Today has been very good.  I haven’t had a full weekend off in forever.  Not since vacation, for sure, and that can’t really be considered off because you’re always a little performancy on vacation even if it’s just because you’re out of your element.  So this is the first weekend I haven’t gone to farmers’ market (for whatever reason, we colloquially drop the “the” around here), and have been able to be at home and in whatever weird element I claim as my own.

My element is playing Civilization 4 in preparation for Civilization 5 to come out in late September.  Then, playing Dragon Age in preparation for the final DLC to come out in early September.  And then taking a bath because it was ridiculously hot and I kept falling asleep on the couch.

So, what, may you ask did I do today in the name of self-transformation, weight loss, self-improvement and the razzmatazz that is my purported purpose?  I went for a drive with my older sister.  Drove past the close grocery store and further down to Panera and Sunflower Farmers Market (which is not a real farmers’ market, but despite that,  is still a very good store).   There I bought a few things, not things that I’d like to make an initial September 1st Grocery List, but dried apples and what I thought was chicken salad for lunch tomorrow but actually is tuna salad and I will soldier on and eat it anyway, for the Omega-3’s and the whatnots, that fish has despite being an inveterate non-fish eater and having paid money for it and the starving children in the world and yes, yes, yes.  Then, we went to Panera and got actual chicken salad sandwiches and a cherry smoothie and I drove home (nobody died, no close calls!) and ate a little of my sandwich at our pretty mod-looking table with the pretty and newly reupholstered paisley chairs (reupholstered by dear sister) and made jokes at the black cat who thinks she’s a ninja.

Drinking water.  Working on myself.  You have to build your own value by making and keeping promises to yourself.  It’s a big relief to know this is the direction I’m going versus all the alternatives.

Bitch

So…

Yeah.

I need to vent.  Vent deep.  I don’t want to be a sad, blobby mess.  I want to have the energy and get up and go to take over what I can sense is starting in me and change it.

Apparently, my mother is still not speaking to me.  It can only be what I guess she sees as a lack of gratitude.  I don’t know what to say to that.  I wanted to go over and see how things were, but when she blew me off again, I just left again.  After a long, weird day where every communication has gotten crossed and I have been just reeling from everyone’s emotions around, it was like a final straw.

Only, I know that my walking out is going to offend her even more.  My little sister mouthed what looked like “She’s still pissed.” and I felt this rush of…WHAT?  Our relationship gets to have this little stupid kink because I can’t be grown-up enough or calm enough to face her and fix it and BUT MAYBE JUST MAYBE  neither can she.  I am so sick of always having to be the grown-up while everyone else gets to skirt around things.

I kind of feel like this is insane.  More than anything, it makes me mad.   I spend so much time calculating the emotional ratios and making sure I’m giving and listening and not judging too harshly and taking back my anger and qualifying my words and being gentle and not stepping too far and not giving anyone any reason to feel friction, that when I realize that she has absolutely no care about what is going on in my head or that I had a hard day…that all she sees is that she’s had a hard day and that I’m being…rude, I guess and I need to be taught a lesson…I can’t deal with it right now.

I can’t explain it to her.  I literally cannot because I know that I won’t be heard.   Everyone in my life listens just enough for me to pause so they can leap in and explain how I don’t feel what I feel and how I should focus instead on what’s happening to them.

The usual kind connection I have with people is frayed and everyone’s looking at me screwy like they read the secret journal where I wrote down all the little things about them I found odd or annoying and now they see me for what I am.  My boss is mad at everyone (except me – for now, he clarifies), I pissed off a mother who wanted to make tutus, made a father of a burn victim wait in the dark (again), fucked with a street musician and obviously, started the new Hundred Year War with my mother.

So I go back to my house and feel like a panther pacing in its cage.  So I lock the door to my room and eat.  I have a thousand tools to not do this.  A thousand entries here to remind me, a thousand reasons to clear my head and relax and think straight, but somehow, every time you kick the tears and anger down the road, they just come back tenfold on you.  Nothing just makes it less terrible than just fats and carbs and silence.  I…don’t have time to meltdown and yet…here I am venting.  I am sorry if this is annoying or not what you would do or where you would be, eight months into this process, but this is what I have.

I saw my friend today before my mother iced me out, I was feeling shitty and thank fuck he was there. He made some terrible, if funny jokes.  We talked about the gubernatorial candidate who swanned through town today and was the butt of some of those jokes.   He said he’d come to the Farmers Market.  We’ll see about that.  He said he’ll sell my poetry if I get it printed and gave me a horrible goth poetry book to look at, hopefully also as a joke.  I said I forgot my wallet and I had to go back to work and get it before driving home. He said he’d come and get me if I needed bailing out.  I said, yeah.  I’ll add you to the list of people to call from jail.  Then, he said, he really would if I called.   I believe him.  But I’ll never call.  I’ll never call anyone no matter what the jail looks like.  He is so far away from rightness.  He’s not even trying to be right.  I’m trying to make him right and make him things he’s not and it’s like picking at scabs.

I feel deeply alone today.  Like chronically isolated.  Like I’m trying too hard and I’m missing it.  Like I deserve the angst.  Like I’m trying to come to a peace with it.  Eventually, I’ll tamp this down.  Somehow.

A Gaudy .325

The Rockies are winning – that always makes this easier.  I’m at the parents, ordering pizza which is a sweeter thing to do than it implies or at least that’s what I tell myself.  I keep finding, as usual, things that push out the whole grand low-carb restart date further and further.  Tomorrow we have relatives coming which is, har har, a relatively unusual occurrence.  These are cousins I haven’t seen since I don’t know when.  I literally have no memory of the last time I saw them, even though I’m told it wasn’t so long ago – a matter of a couple years.  These are another aunt’s grandkids, but we’re all expected to be here, and there will naturally be a big feast.

I’m going to make the bruschetta if I can get to the store between now and then since I learned this morning that until I kick this thing, driving is a bad, bad idea.  Squinting and shielding my eyes as the littlest bit of light and dust or the movement of the ac against them made them burn and itch. So much so, in fact, that I was probably better off just pulling off the road and rubbing at them instead of risking life and limb to get to the farmers’ market.

I passed out last night over here after playing the xbox with the younger sister and that’s not a cool situation.  Dying in a hot bed without brushing your teeth or having any of your stuff at hand.  So I woke up very early and pulled myself the 10 minutes back home so that I could wash my face and brush my teeth and do all the basic getting human kind of stuff that most people do in the morning.  Then, I wound up figuring I should go to the market since I missed the last two and met my sister after a few hours of roasting, listlessly in the corner of the tent so as to not overtly infect anyone with my diseasery.  Luckily, the medicine does seem to be hitting it and hitting it hard.  I got a lemon bar because it was free and good and my favorite.  So, check, check, check.

Once my sister arrived, we pretty well booked it out of there and headed Boulder-ward so that she could have some Thai food that I promised her in the one amness of my arrival back from Philly when nobody should make any promises whatsoever.  I don’t mind Thai food, per se, but I’m not a big fan of galangal or coconut milk or lemongrass or cold rice noodles, most of which feature in a lot of Thai food.   But, eh, that happened.  I lived.  Then, there was Starbucks and more cleaning for the arrival of said cousins and relatives.

Now, we’re in wait for the pizza which I have to run and pick up a few blocks from here.  I’m glad I’m getting this done.  This is the first day (maybe I always say this, but I think it’s true today) the first day that I was really dreading this and eh, not so bad.

I am coming, day by day, back around to wanting to be skinny and flirty and trouble.  I’m thinking Tuesday is going to re-inspire the shit out of me.

One Not of Sight, But of Sound

I am not a wilting flower, but today I sure felt like one.  Whammo, slammo, blammo.   I came home from our farmers market, put on a little Girl in Gold Boots and promptly passed the fuck out on the couch.  Woke up and had such a crick in my neck you would not believe.  The heat is completely getting to me and I stumbled to throw some cold water on my face and then I passed out in bed for a few more hours.  I still feel way off and now vaguely hungry, though I do have food to combat that if I can manage to haul myself upward and get it.

It was a really good market and sort of kind of a good ish food day (well, if you spin it) mainly because I was so just not hungry.  I made myself, ahem, have a bit of crumb cake.  And then later, necessarily, a burrito because it was about 2:30 and my brain was swimming and I was, all of a sudden, HONGREH.

I think the market went very well, but it’s hard to know that until we do the counting on Monday.  People seemed very cheerful and happy, despite the absence of our friend, who apparently…despite having his jaw wired shut was able to talk a little bit to his friends and family.  One of the first things he said was thank you.   It means so much to know that he’s doing better, doing so much better, really, so soon after the accident.

Lots of vendors and some of my favorite people in the universe and for a few hours, I just kind of enjoyed zoning out.  I had to help three people with food stamp vouchers which apparently was impossible to do, from the outset, anyway, but turned out to be just a phone call and a form.  And fuck if I don’t know about phone calls and forms.

So, I got my AC going in my car and I go to chez parents and apparently the garage has been a mild success.   I brought them the large, strangely phallic loaf of bread I was given but was reminded that they’re doing low-carb and was hastened away with it.  I don’t even want it, but it was free…and phallic.  So I took it.  I think it may end up food for the birds.

Tonight, now that I’ve woken up enough to feel a bit more tethered to my conscious existence and not floating around somewhere in a dream land that is shockingly unfit for daytime tv, I am spending some online time with friends. Really, I can’t even put here what I dreamed!  Shocking! Hilarious!

We’re going to watch true blood and say catty, obscene things on the internet and I’m going to try not to slip into another dimension again.  Have no plans to worry or think about food.  Might even have some orange sherbet.   Tomorrow,  though, I have got to plan next month’s crazy vacation.  Will do.

WORK HARD//LOVE HARD//SAY NO//HAVE FAITH (the last one’s just for me, just for today))