Heaving (7/365)

I am eating a plate of red pepper and cucumber with some Italian dressing drizzled on top.   It is 9pm and I also have a cup of water.  With ice because we are now fancy people, I suppose.

I have no answers as to how, truly, I will make this time different than others.  I do know that it is late at night and there are chocolate croissants in this house and as much as I want them, I don’t want them more and so they remain on the counter.   And I am, still the girl who hates vegetables with a rabid, instinctive passion where I find them selectively invisible when I open the refrigerator door no matter the fact that I bought them just hours earlier.  Bought them because I think I should.

Now I am trying to eat them because I think I should.  So I can buy more at the store and not feel like shit for letting them decay to ooze in the front of my eyes.  To have consumed some nutrients, some balance, some cheap gesture to this idea that I don’t just need to lose weight, I need to gain health.  And that’s as good as I can do.  I don’t think it will ever fly in the confines of my mind to just adore a sprig of asparagus.   But I have to do things I don’t want to do to get past the circle jerk, the circle of farming implements I keep stepping on and cracking myself in the face with.  Adulting.

It’s strange, because I was so irritable today and I think it’s only because I decided in my excitement to do a bit of a pre-weight loss check of the scale.  I saw it hadn’t really moved.  I was given pause, but there’s enough in my mind to keep me busy and I didn’t think I really processed it.  But it bothered me, I guess.  All the live-long day, a rage face.  The old cycle, the muscle memory that I can’t seem to shift out of.  I needed to eat, but even then, as you slouch toward Bethlehem, the whole reason feels obscured.

It’s not obscure.  It’s not two weeks ago that me myself and I had been on an epic binge.  Plates of cookies meant for whole squadrons went down my gullet, popcorn balls oozing with Karo syrup, waffles upon waffles soaked with maple syrup.  Anything sugary and sticky,…Starbucks beyond counting.  Pizza, and oh, word, the Chipotle.  It was extensive and out of control.  If they had been booze bottles, I’d have been dropped in some kind of detox facility.  Like a hungry fire no amount of wood could sate.

It was both typical and extra-intense.  It needed to be dealt with.

Now, I have to shift vision.  I have to give myself some joy and not fall down on the job. One monthly celebration worthy of a party and a night out.  Not lots of penny-ante wastes.

I can do this.  Just get me through to morning.

 

 

Catching Up (4/365)

You are owed parentheses.
I am in a great state of regret.
I didn’t post yesterday.
It was not on account of a screw-up.  I didn’t fall into a burrito or capsize into some sugary sea.  I did just fine. Imperfectly, but fine.
I just forgot.  I was playing Mass Effect, struggling through that vault on Elaaden – which if you’ve played it, you know exactly what I’m talking about.  I also was watching Critical Role in this final week before it comes back and blows all our faces off and I just forgot.
It’s a reminder to me that habits take energy and thought to keep the repetitive action chain going.  At least, they do at first. The momentum on day four does not yet exist even if I don’t feel so wildly ravenous and despairing of not being constantly on the verge of eating something bad for me. Not eating to hurt somebody.  Frankly, I can hardly get anything of this lunch down as I take a moment away from frenetic emailing to try and sustain myself.  I have to do more, so much more, after yesterday’s completely ironic laissez-faire conversation with a coworker where I called my level of work blissful.
Many, many changes at a job that over nine months has nearly given me whiplash with changes.  Natural in this sort of business, but at the same time, the reactions of those around me encourage me to worry even more.  Wirrah, wirrah, sis boom rah.
It is apparent that my brain is half fuzz. Though, not as an answer to the question of perfect attendance here, just as a notation on how much of my thinking needs constant corralling.  I think about one of these changes at work – a departure for someone I work closely with and my mind instantly glances over at the chocolate bar that is on my desk.  A chocolate bar I bought before I started on January 1st and I have had in my purse and something needs to happen with it – and I think, oh, I could give it to this friend, I should do something nice for her, oh, I should take her out for lunch…but there isn’t time. But you know, some sort of celebratory lunch for me…?  It’s all serotonin and dopamine and giddy giddy giddy don’t stress.
I am not sure if those impulses, however much I can curb them, will ever go away.  That is a bit depressing to think about.   Day four is going to probably look a lot like day 304 in terms of me trying to drag myself towards the light.
I am actually doing well with the diet.  I am actually doing okay in that even though I eat spinach like I’m getting a spoonful of Popeye with every bite, and I feel positively tortured by vegetables…I am eating them, and I am surviving. I am hitting the bare minimum marks I need to hit to feel engaged and okay.  I don’t want to end any streak I know I’ve started.

Lay Very Still

the-home-of-the-candle-3-1425901

I have been encouraged by the other writers in group to hurry and continue with the next chapter/sequence of this strange little bird of a story.  I have the first taste of an idea, but I’m a bit nervous about trying to pin it to the board just yet.

It’s hardly even breathed in the chloroform.   So I think I will give it a minute to stiffen up and just write about me instead.  Because I come to you in my usual state: light as a feather, stiff as a board.

Certain issues continue apace.  In one quick swell, the wave drew back and splashed me out to sea.   I have good faith estimates on when I will be allowed to take one step towards made good that I did not have to solicit.  I also have problems that have also arrived hand in hand with solutions and these solutions include calling earnest sounding experts of the masculine persuasion to fix one stage of this unending fuckery.  It was flirting, maybe, (in case you, dearest K might be reading this), in the briefest, most professional fashion.  Don’t even know if he’s married, don’t even know if he’s gay, could be that he is an octogenarian with the voice of a twenty-five year old (looked him up, he’s cute as a button but clearly about forty)…it doesn’t matter at all as he lives well away from me.

At group tonight, the guy who wrote the shit I was less than comfortable with brought something of the usual vein.  Which means a good, action-packed (sort of like a pale Tom Clancy novel that isn’t aware of itself like it should be) story with a beginning, middle, and end.  Stuff I could find lots to like in.   At any rate, he asked me as he always does about the projects I have on the boil and where things are and asks why I don’t take a week off to write on them.  It is easy when you are retired to just write until your fingers fall off, apparently, but  it isn’t a terrible idea given this backlog of vacation hours I have.  I’m actually kind of contemplating it.

But would I actually write?  I’m not sure I would right now.  So.  Maybe just another one of those bad ideas that would be good if I’d hold still and let them be good.

The driving was much better.  It is such a matter of exposure and practice.  Having a recent muscle memory of being behind the wheel and taking the turns helps tremendously.  It continues to always be possible.  It is so rarely completely impossible.  So rarely important to be perfect.

Eating…less so.  The not being able to go buy food has not, apparently, stopped me from going to buy food.  After eating a tiny lunch, and drinking coffee for breakfast,  I basically dug up all my loose change and bought myself a decaf macchiato at the Starbucks for group, and then another purse dive got me the pizza that swallowed the rest of the days calories and a sliver over that I may not exercise back tonight.   Heaven forfend…not so diety, but it was 10PM and I wanted it and it is not illegal.

I actually do feel shifty about that, but I am glad it is tracked.  The scale will punish me if I deserve punishment.  I will just have to figure out the next few days and then, perhaps, some breathing room.

What You Can’t Undo

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I have to write, but I also have to write this because it’s taking up an excessive amount of space in my brain.  Okay, darlings, no fucking around.

Things you DON’T need or even care to know, but things I will tell you nevertheless:

Last night, I rode the bike to the Green Butterfly song, felt earnestly great about pushing myself to 200 calories burnt, felt happy and progressful and good about it.  It might have been Sunday Syndrome or something else, but I am fairly certain the exercising so late in the eve meant that I couldn’t feel the slightest bit tired even when 2am rolled around.   I am sure that I must have slept, though I kept waking up so that I was awake again a little before my first alarm went off  – the one that was going to get me up and rolling again on the bike.  I laid there, instead, for the next hour feeling as though I had been tethered to my bed, to keep me from floating through the ceiling.  Work, as you can imagine, went super well as a result.

I just am really, really, really off my game.  You may ask if I have ever been on my game, but I can’t reach you with this wooden spoon so you’ll never be witness to my utterly amazing feats of dexterity when it comes to beating you senseless.

The day wasn’t bad, it just was me being lame against the usual backdrop.  Actually, when I think about it, it was a lovely day.  If only I had gotten my act together.

Such as my birthday work lunch.  I had half-forgotten and when I was asked what I wanted – I had no new diet gameplan.  I stared at my boss blank-facedly, knowing she had a hundred things to do, so she suggested Chipotle and I thought….eh, uh, um, ah, well, sure!  Oddly enough, after a month away from the stuff, I think I could almost take it or leave it.  I knew it would be a calorie bomb regardless, so I just ordered the best options and swore I would make sure to track it.  I should have picked a salad.  I should have not gotten guac.  It was too much, but even so, I would have just squeezed in under the calorie total if I wasn’t also presented with a cake.  1/12th of the tiny half-sheet cake was 300 calories.  I blanched.  Aware, but still, frustrating that social mores really dictated what I ended up eating.

I need to take hold of the power of no.

This is silly. An artist co-worker gave me some collage art of his, which I adore, with turtles and Basquiat references.  I felt briefly there, engaged and in the moment, rather than tied to my tether again.

Ah, life and time and snow, I got the X-Files on, I got my book on my kindle, I got random cookie recipes to make when we go on vacation (not before, mind you), I have to find 10 minutes of physical activity and the bike is closest to hand, so that will probably have to do. Gentler, though.

Subsume: Day Two Hundred Fifty-Three

885285_91738208Gnar.

Comedy.

Ever still, there is the worst feeling which ebbs and flows at my temples and will go away when it goes away, not one moment sooner.  Do you ever wish…never mind, strike that from the record, nobody ever wishes.  Never ever.

In other news, I have bought a ticket to go tour the Vatican.  Which, I suppose means they’ll have to let me in unless one of those puffed and reckless Vatican guards sees fit to pike me off the property.  I hope to not give any cause, but I would like to see those fellows in action.  They seem like such human anachronisms, sort of like how we go to the Renaissance Faire, only they do it every day because it’s their job and they have to be threatening (insofar as anyone’s going to be making trouble at the Vatican of all places) and I…

I’m mainly afraid that I’m going to have to fight a terrible urge to yell FUCK! everywhere I go to avoid getting thumped by a man who is dressed like he is one tower of the Kremlin.  (And now, having looked up to verify what the uniform looks like, I realize they’re the Swiss Guard which I think I knew at one point and they’re not so very Wizard of Oz-ish or candy cane-esque as my imagination held, but they’re still a bit silly as far as military forces seem to go, garb-wise.  Not that I’m saying anything worthy of piking.  Don’t hurt me.)

I also have a plan for Florence, day 1 – to get there, checked in at the Hotel, get a shuttle to the City Center, then take this pair of tours which I think will keep me in contact with English-speaking folk, which isn’t necessary, really, but I think since I’ll be on my own, more or less, has a sort of comforting element I can’t deny.

Ugh, ugh, time is running out.   I have spent the night after our post-work event legitimately finishing my resume.  Tomorrow night I should be able to put together the cover letter and email it off to her as requested before next Monday’s interview.  I wanted to let my boss know before she went on vacation, but now, I don’t think I have time to meet with the potential new new boss at her office anytime before she leaves and I can’t jump the gun.  It would be awful.  Even though right now, going to events with people who I have come to know and in some cases really cherish and not saying…I know this is a broken record if you’ve been following me for the past week or more, but it’s been emotionally turbulent.  Writing the resume did sort of help re-affirm that I would probably hire me.   And that I can do this job that I’ve been offered.   I gotta focus on that and not the unassailable awful that questions me.

I didn’t play Sims 4 tonight …though maybe I will for an hour just to run some sandpaper over these sharp edges.

Automatic Happiness: Day 7

I am sick with story revelations and have to wake my sister up because she is going to make a dress for me, I think and then I hope to have a nice big dinner.

Lots of writing to do after I get home and then I am considering the hows and whys and wherefores of watching Game of Thrones.  Timing is difficult.

Another curious day where I do odd and curious things – at least in my mind – for a very short while and then return back to my rabbit warren.  I went to the wedding and basically got there just in time to scoot into my seat before the first bridesmaid mowed me down.  It was, as I keep noticing as I go to these things, not the most original affair, however, it was truly heartfelt. The officiant was a bit over the top for my taste, but it was suited to them, and there were humorous touches and sweet parts and I was glad to have seen it.  They are happy with one another and after many years of being romantically unhappy, it’s nice.  I didn’t stay long at the reception, mostly because I need to properly eat and haven’t yet and the cheese and veggie tray wasn’t cutting it and the prospect of hanging out with coworkers and making eyes at the handsome bartender whom I didn’t have a dollar to my name to go visit even for a diet soda just wasn’t strong enough to keep me there.  So yes, yet another cake avoided.  I had two water crackers because I was already terrified of my ketosis breath (another reason I sat pretty listlessly and spoke as little as I could) and I’m not concerned about two water crackers, I just know that these things CAN and DO snowball out of something as small as two water crackers) so I hit the road and went home.

So, let me see what I can get going here, make some use out of this sunny day and this body which was always meant for work instead of pondering body issues and Eve Ensler and loving one’s tree.  I have very cute hair at the moment, and if that’s where I need to put the love, I’ll put it there and stride forward.  What sounds good but fajitas?

I did have taco salad.  Not only that, but the best that I’ve made in a long time.  Better than earlier this week for sure.  Steak and guacamole and it was really excellent because I was starting to think that as good as I want to be, not eating isn’t really a viable long term solution.

Then we went to Joann’s and got some fabric for a dress and my earnest belief in this project was redoubled just from the doubt of others and me re-remembering why this was so critical in the first place and I feel quite good now.  I’m glad to finish this up and return to Lillie and Adrian as they navigate the very good and very stupid reasons they shouldn’t be together.

Started: 166.0
Today: 160.4
Goal: 155 by June 15

Barracuda

I really am loving this evening.  The house is quiet, except for screeching animals who have been fed, but not unlike their human mistresses, just like to screech.  My sister is gone, at work or at my parents, and I don’t think I’ve had a nice night to myself like this in an age.

All day long there’s people poking at me, calls to take, papers to take care of.  It’s a rush and I always feel off my game and not quite right.  Lately, having time for routines at night and now, time to relax my damn shoulders….it’s heavenly.

I read a Billy Collins sonnet, I’ve eaten my eggs and green beens and sausage and had my pink lemonade water and now feel quite full and fine and dandy.    It’s not a scheduled workout evening, but I might go gad about and do something in a bit. The cats have even quieted down for a minute.   There’s cool air and I can remember how much I love cool air and quiet.  I feel like I’m being fed in a myriad of ways, some of which I’ve been starving in and hardly acknowledged it.  For an introverted empath, a night in where I don’t have to be umbilically connected to the hearts and souls of a city, I don’t think I can physically stop crowing about it.

I feel kind of tough and into renewing my vows about this whole thing.  I’m having fantasies about going to my farmers market and instead of sitting at the info booth, spending a couple hours just walking in town on a Saturday.  Instead of eating the massive crepe spilling over with chocolate that leaves my head spazzing and my stomach sick, I’ll have some fruit and take my water and go down the bridges and the trails and enjoy the day.  Take a notebook, write, and maybe, if by then I’ve gotten closer or achieved my goal, I might have a sandwich or something.  Who knows.  The day will be mine no matter what my weight is.  But it will be lower because I’m gunning for 130.  I will see it this year.  I won’t relent or give up or lose faith in the goal because it’s so unknown and scary.  I will change, change into a vessel for a changed mind.

I think my sister might be home.  I heard her car horn beep.  I am dismayed, but whatcha gonna do?  She lives here, too.  No flailing like a deranged fool in the living room.  I’m sure the downstairs neighbors are appreciative.

Or not…I’m so paranoid.  If I can, maybe I’ll try and not weigh myself tomorrow morning.  I’m getting good at limiting the protein bars so maybe I can manage to limit something that just makes me feel like a crazy person first thing after I wake up and I have to triage all day.  Especially when one’s red tide (MENSTRUATION for those who aren’t squeamish) is still out to sea for a few more days and I have no idea what the scale is thinking.

I don’t want to end there.  I want to end by burn, burn, burning into the wind…oooh!  Barracuda!