Potatoes Are Not What We Eat…Currently: Day 33

Take yourself to task.  There were far too many items in the washing machine and it damn near exploded.

The cat is slurping as she washes herself over and over again on the floor.  I am not sure how to make this post today.

I’ve been trying to be creative and limit social media today.  This has been not an altogether successful mission, but lately, I’ve been feeling the sense of doing such a thing.  I’m feeling bombarded, both in good ways and bad, by ideas.  Things to worry about.  Things to do.  Things I could think about and build into other things I’m trying to be creative and achieve.  And it has become more than the small dustpan of my mind can handle.  So I have taken a certain percentage of the day to do what I do best, and that is, fuck all.

This, when it doesn’t coincide with someone’s plans, can be…a touchy thing.  We so rarely have touchy things.  But he says nothing and I say, tell me if you’re tired and want to sleep and aren’t going to go to bed unless we speak.  Don’t wait around for me.  I’m not…as I’ve heard it said…your girlfriend.  I am bending over backwards as it is to be generally available, to be generally present and picking up the phone.  A few hours without having to drop my train of thought to get on yours is all I’m asking.  One night to not have to live the reality of this half-fulfilled existence, to take my ball and go home.

Ah, sigh.

Instead, writing projects.  Instead, some MST3K.   Some Sunless Skies once I worked that little bug out. Some not giving into sugar and carbs so I can say Day 2 of the low-carb till ECCC plan is actually happening.  Going into a few fugue states – metaphorical ones, in actuality, more of a Pinterest freefall for writing inspiration that is a really bad idea on a number of levels.  More of that digital overwhelm when I just need to rely on my own brain to think up the details rather than relying on constant predigested inspiration.  That’s the worst, least effective kind.

Tomorrow:  we cook.  We see my mother and I square how she sounded on the phone with how she looks.  Nobody’s called me so, I’m assuming it’s okay for now.   Like she said, what else can you do?  Like Prof. Brian Cox said, the forward motion of time is a constant: everybody’s going to tomorrow, there’s no getting around it.

I’m yawning.

Let’s wrap this up and emerge from our psychic chrysalis tomorrow, fresh and awake and ready for life.   I’ve picked my spells.  I know what I’m needing to do.  There’s some intent in the haze.  Time to give myself the sleep necessary to make some of that happen.  Sleep sounds really, aggressively, objectively wonderful right now.   I think I am going to close this laptop up just after I press post and try and make shit happen in the land of Nod.



Well, It Said So On The Internet: Day 26

Oh, yes, my loves, the white blank page is trying to intimidate me yet again.  I have not yet stomped reason into it.  I should and I must.

So, as you would find if you delved into the enormous, cavernous archives of this great digital compendium…if you spelunked into the reliquary, you would find that many times throughout this great journey from then till now, I often will do very well for a short period of time.   I will be gung-ho and jazzed up and I’ll post the weight changes every day and then I have a gaffe or a fuck-up or a weird anomalous scale issue and all of a sudden I have to fuck it up.

It’s human nature, obviously, but it bothers me when I know better and I know it is a choice and that all options are open to me.

This is not the preamble to a confession, though, if you thought one was coming. This morning, I pounded on that scale and shifted it around and moved it around and on and of and on an off for 5 minutes, zeroing and checking and slowly losing my mind because it said 159 and I felt so goddamned exhausted with dieting and doing all of this restriction and having gained 4 +/- pounds overnight and like once again I have no real sense of what I’m actually weighing and what is the point and I don’t want to quit and I want to be doing well and rah, rah, rah.

So, well, I managed to get the thing to show 157.4 and I was able to leave the bathroom and face the day even if I didn’t really resolve all of those suspicions about my completely inaccurate weight situation.  We’ll just see what it says tomorrow.

And face the day I did.  Pre-event day and things are already ridiculously crazy and intense and surreal.

I went to the party I was scheduled via work to attend, just like I went to the party yesterday, thinking I looked vaguely cute.  Only there was only one guy within 10 years of me and he was the waiter, walking around with trays of little crudites that I wasn’t going to eat and fruit skewers I couldn’t have.  Luckily, he wandered round once with some kind of sirloin bite which I did accept, joyfully, and ate while listening to the elder statesmen of the room and this sweetheart pistol of a woman describe national security dilemmas and whether Julia Child was a CIA operative and then I took my blister-ridden foot and my victory rolls and scooted on out of there frustrated and irritated over everything.

But then, I had dinner at my mother’s.  Simple and resolving after my mood shift and my lack of good sense.

So much to be joyful in my life, I really can’t waste a day on fear and wangst.  Tomorrow, we sunscreen, we wear our hats, we shut up, we don’t accidentally eat things we don’t want to and we drink water.  Hopefully I’ll walk miles and miles and miles and burn off all of this ambivalence.  It’s already leaving me, but I want it dead and gone.

Today: Not entirely sure.
Yesterday: 156.4?
Goal: 155 by June 15


Tuba: Day 6

I have a story bit to put here, but as I am frantically drawing closer towards the witching hour, I had best put my boots on and get to typing and leave that narrative shite to the girls who know how to string together words and plot and energy and I, tonight, am not one of them.

In fifty word chunks, I will march my way through.

Not that this day has been uneventful at all.  It was my sister’s birthday.  Wow.  My words are just having to be drug full on out of me and this is not what I was hoping for at all.  I mean, we trudged down to the lake today in the mud with my knee boots gathering all that wet sand and scraping it off again as we crossed the delicate shoals of Standley Lake with the dog and the wind was whirling in such a fiercely melodic way, so near to my ear that it was like a helicopter was taking off just beyond my peripheral sense and we all four had on hooded jackets and looked like very grave and multi-colored sojourners on some lonely and pre-apocalyptic mission and I felt that if the world was to end that day, that would have been a very fine memory to close it all out on.  My mother and sisters and the sound of the wind and the water and we just marching and watching our feet, parasailors and hanggliders dipping in and out of view as the gusts yanked them all over the goosepimpled skin of the lake.

But, as may yet be obvious, we didn’t die.  Nobody we knew did and the very sad people who must have spent years justifying the failure of the last prognostication of doom in 1994 by looking forward to this one and spending thousands to rebuild their own delusions of the rapturous end-times as prophesied by an aged snake-oil salesman had to go home, get back into their beds and accept another day on this perhaps unacceptably flawed earth.

You can kind of understand how for some the easiest way of keeping going is imagining an end to it all, and better yet, an end for all things.  An overdeveloped ego can sleep a little easier if it knows that there isn’t some joy left in its wake, some future where it is neither needed or considered.

For me, though, I ate properly and lightly (even up to and including the buffalo wings when we went out with our friends and their near 4 year-old who is exactly what he should be at that age: a delight and a terror).  I did not eat cake.  I did not pine for cake.  I did not bemoan the absence of cake, at least not on any seismic scale.  I spent most of the day being berated and cheered for ketosis breath which left me bemused, but still committed.  It is a process.  I burn.  I change.  And perhaps, in the short term, I have the breath that might emanate out of the mouth of hell.

This is just Day 6.

Start: 166
Today: 161.6
Goal: 155 by June 15

No One Wants to Kiss a Girl in Black

Oh, no.

I am so bereft of words.  I don’t mean to be, but I am.   We’ll have to go very slowly and speak to particulars so that we can eke this one out.  Currently, I’m watching Downton Abbey and adoring it.  Adoring every littlest bit of it.  It just blew my mind.  Maybe that’s why I’m having such trouble concentrating and finishing this up as I should. It’s every five minutes going, blowing my fucking mind out of my fucking ears.  For fuck’s sake.

There’s some famous line about obscenity being the lowest form of communication, somewhere I know this line exists, and it’s surely true, but it is also the most expedient.  And certainly, I am further sure, the most cathartic.

I’ve decided not to go on to the next episode until I finish this up.  So away we go and I’ll tell you first that today was not so terrible as it might have been considering yesterday was completely about me being too terrified to drive to work and not doing so and hanging about here at home  wringing my hands over how hideous and shitty a person I was for just up and choosing not to work because it suited me.  I worked very hard and got as much on top of the giant pile of crap that is my workspace as I possibly could.  This also meant hearing about my absence in a weird way, as though a whole alternate universe where I didn’t work where I work and where others have to manage things and thankfully, joyfully, they got by.  They could send an email with an attachment if they had to, they could! Sometimes I don’t believe this and I think this is why I feel so guilty leaving them alone with themselves, not just because there is a certain caregiving aspect of my office job which I never anticipated but has imbued itself into my work relationships, but because I think my presence often keeps them from trying what they should be able to try since they know they can just pass the work off to me and I can do it efficiently.  They don’t have to learn how to send an email when really, in this modern era, how can they expect NOT to know?  It actually is a good thing that I unexpectedly am not there because one day, I will plan it, and I will, unexpectedly for them, no longer be there.

So, last night I had a bit of a psychological tempest in a teapot and I watched Bridget Jones’ Diary and couldn’t get over how much I truly disliked Renee Zellweger and her whole 136 is disgusting and zaftig and how this kind of ridiculous, awkward, terrible person warrants a Mr. Darcy in her life and I felt like throwing punches out of the blue.  Now, it seems so obvious about the misdirection of my anger that I feel a little irritated that I was so petty.

But sometimes, we’re just petty, miserable, goddamned motherfuckers.  No two ways around it.

I realize now, that I’ve hit my quota, that there’s plenty else that could have been said and will now be pulled into the undertoad.  The potential new friend who doesn’t seem all that interested in being friends.  The new artwork for the project that I love.  The driving.  The food=bad.  The scale=WTF, the two stools each with a cat primly settled on top and observing the silent scene with equanimity.


The Road to Ruin

Second to the last day of the year, second to the last post on this mad quest and I am here, still proving a point to myself.  I was laying in bed, sort of trying to take a late afternoon nap and I startled awake concerned that it was midnight and I’d somehow let the time slip by me and ruined everything.

I haven’t, in fact, ruined EVERYTHING.  Not EVERYTHING whole and entire.  And I’m here, same as before, same as tomorrow, same as forever – I guess, writing down the day.    Story of today is snow.  We haven’t had it the whole month of December and it turns up on December 30th with its snub nose and milky eyes and it goes and lays its lumpy body wherever it sees fit. Like some unfortunate relative.  Like the not-so-very-pleasant fairy the king and queen in fairy tales always decide to not invite to their firstborn’s Christening and the fairy always retaliates in some infernal, world-sucking method like putting all us jerks into a chilly white stasis.

I was hoping to wake up to such an unmovable feast this morning, where calling off would be natural.  But the roads were clear and the sky limpid, disarmingly so, and I battled with myself and put on my bright pink skull and crossbones t-shirt under my hoodie where only I could know how anarchical I was approaching the day, and I globbed on the most obtrusive eye makeup I thought I could get away with and I drove the half an hour to work.

At work, I did very little of consequence.  Boss wasn’t in, co-worker was fine, my whackadoo volunteer who shows up possibly once a month and expects me to give her the lightest of office work while she tells me about how wonderful she is at office work turned up in her usual sexy septuagenarian kit (which involves a pretty flimsy glittery green shirt, skirt and cowboy boots all flashing and sparkling against her fried green hair and pink frosted lips – and I already feel like I should be offended on her behalf for writing such a description and posting it somewhere online for public consumption as if we’re all just a few hits away from virulence and me from a slander suit – but that’s what she chose to put on and I’ll always own up to the mildly inappropriate clothing I have on, today is a case in point.)   At any rate, whoo, we futzed around for an hour and a half and then there was snow.  OH SHIT there was snow.

And everyone knew I was leaving early, my boss even told my co-worker yesterday that I could leave whenever I wanted so as not to be driven into some holy ditch of terror by my inability to snow-drive, but she decided to go to the post office and I couldn’t wait.  I’d spent all morning trying to decide if I could just call off to avoid such a situation, and I decided against it and 10:30am, drove home.

Kind of a lame-ass story for today.  No broken-hearts.  No facing fears (well, I got myself home in the snow and I was proud of that but I’m not surprised if no one else finds that all that praiseworthy).  No grand finale.  Just me in the world today, avoiding ruin.

I wish vodka went with Diet Dr. Pepper.