Merry as a Grig

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I know I need to write on the novel.  I do, I do, I do, or at the very least start editing a few other things, having some word fun.  The Faithful Light (i.e. the very cleverest, most loyal part of my inner eye that watches all and guides towards higher ground) said today that it is only doing the work that will save you, not the dreaming of doing the work.

So I heard her, but I have applied it in a different arena today and have tracked food, eaten a little that felt like a lot (still have room for some ice cream, caffeinated ice cream which I don’t need), and have done a little in-home cardio for 30 minutes rather than the baseline 10.  Also, it appears that I have nearly (.8) lost the first pound of the however many I end up losing and leaving lost.  Almost wish it was frameable and could be stuck on the wall to remind me.

But it’s not even a whole dollar’s worth of a pound yet.  And who can say what my body will do as I collar it and yank it around the exercise pen.  There’s always push-back.  There’s always stress headaches and skipping food and long days rather than three day weekends and food cooked for you to fuck it up.  It will happen.  But today, today was grand for its clarity.  Also washed all the pots and pans and watched a bit of The Tribe, so I feel well sated for intentional living.

As shitty as yesterday was, we boomerang around to feeling alright.  Thinking about my birthday coming up.  Happy about it, actually, because I’m both working on myself so I’m not Queen of the Slugs, and because I’m free to enjoy it.  Actually enjoy it and not have to consider how much I have to pinch and cut to make it “justified,” or insisting that I was going to throw caution to the wind and just gorge myself.  Now, it’s just going to be a nice day and I’ll read on it and write on it and dance on it and sing on it and possibly cry and mope on it and it won’t be catastrophe.

So long as I get my dutch oven.



+300 story words.


A Few Bites Left: Day Sixty-Two

A few bites left of my test scotch egg.  Well, we’ve learned from that cooking experiment.  They’re delicious, only without breadcrumbs and more egg to coat and bind them, the sausage/ground turkey binding strained on a few and flat out fell off of the one I am eating now.  After spending much of the afternoon waiting for Skyrim to download (a trip over to my parents’ house shortened that by about nine hours), I looked up recipe after recipe for these things and finally got to the point where I thought that it was a fairly achievable cooking task.

The end result makes it clear that my skills and materials must have been off.  Because they look like eggs with meat swimsuits on rather than being whole balls of meat hiding a marvelous, soft yoked egg inside.  Well, I’ve got eight of them to eat now, so I think I can continue on low-carbing, focusing on the fact I get to cook and invent randomly.  That can be a bit of an incentive.

My weight, despite all these good efforts is stuck at 158.  I need to find the energy to do more than the 10 situps / 10 minutes on the bike paradigm, but I’m really grateful I have that much, too.  Because before I started this, it wasn’t always clear or obvious to me that my energy would allow me, or that I would choose to do anything related to exercise in a given day.  Mostly, I wouldn’t choose those things and would still end the day exhausted and full of starches that nothing was happening to save converting into fat.  I think that’s how it works.  So at least now, there’s a foothold, a handhold, a map to the next level.  I just have to get out of my own way and do it.

If I can just keep the house clean enough, my heart open enough – ah, hah, that reminded me of something that’s been missing on my board lately and I’ll have to add back in tonight – there will be room to maneuver when I come, sincerely, to the table and ask for something more than a comfortable, livable status quo.  Right now, we are out of the trench, out of the muck, and out of the mire, though we’re still covered in it and looking for a place to rinse off before trudging the open roads where one is bound to collect all sorts of detritus.  All of that is a roundabout way of saying, yeah, we need to do more tangible things, but we’re proud of where we, collectively, are right now.

So I have to go put those dutch…french..SCOTCH eggs away before they get eaten by an itinerant feline and then I have to apply my many liniments and ointments  and unguents  that convince the world I have a face.

Tomorrow’s monday.  We’re full of meetings and tasks and things I hoped I’d touch on this weekend, but didn’t.  So I’m going to be a basket-case, but a basket-case on the move.


Earth-Clan: Day Two

I wonder if I’ll be able to collate all my Day Twos, or Day Twenty-Threes, eventually, and sort out my pattern and fix it.  Lately, everything feels so discrete.  Good days followed by weird and awful days.  Even with this record open and ready for my perusal, everything just is telling me to push forward, don’t look back.  Don’t spend the time in self-analysis that you could be using for living.  I don’t know what internal voice is giving me that advice, but I’m taking it and being happy with the result.

Not that I don’t engage in regular navel-gazing, anyway.  Went to a short session of therapy and ended up having the therapist ask if she could come to my writing group.  Talking then, to her, I realized how positive I am about most things.  Sort of.  I’m positive about being positive, about trying.  Even with the driving which has paralyzed me even before my car got destroyed.  She said she noticed I was talking a lot less about my parents and family and more about extending my social circle and she really liked that I was working on building a community even if I still need people who would be close enough to deal with my minutiae, my personal shit.  That I was trying to get around people who had things in common with me, who could help me and I could help them versus sticking so close to my family and the beautiful people on the internet I’m lucky if I can see once a year.  I felt like the way I always do, like I dropped some of my anxiety off and I don’t have to take it back.

Then, we accomplished some things at the bank, and my boss told me some terrible story about a counterpart elsewhere that I found it impossible not to take as some sort of foreboding warning. I didn’t eat lunch since I was running around so eventually, once work was done, my sister and I went and ate a big ol’ chicken wing dinner at Buffalo Wild Wings.

Then I pulled out and updated my You Need a Budget Software and I’m really a bit overwhelmed because I’ve never had this much money at once and while I’ve put a fair amount of it aside for the car, I’ve got a good little bit set aside for vacationing.  I’m asking myself at the moment what I’ve done to deserve this happiness?  Probably the same as I’ve done to deserve my loneliness and empty highways of despair.  Nothing.  This is just how it’s gone, the plates that are spinning now.  And I’m grateful, universe, just in case you thought I was taking this all for granted.  I’m quite grateful that I’ve come across this turn of fate and seem to be looked after.  Maybe it’s my grandmother putting a punt in for me.  Maybe it’s just my turn.  I don’t want it to slip through my fingers, though.

Listening to Santigold at the moment and watching my sister play Mass Effect.

Tomorrow’s Friday.  We’re getting there.

Today: 157.2
Goal: Less than that.

Minnaloushe: Day One

It’s a slippery thing, a fresh start.

Not to say I haven’t caught mine.  I’ve been a good egg – need to walk some more, but I would like the calm to get here and start washing over me.  I feel like I’m charged up on caffeine even if that’s only the shake I had twelve hours ago. I’m anxious, I suppose, given all these unusual things that are happening to me and in the lives that are within my radius of impact.

I think I’ve picked out the new car so long as it hasn’t been sold by Saturday, because I assume that by then I’ll have the money from the claim.  We’ll have to see.  I want to put a bunch down on it, but I don’t see anything on the website that shows they’ve received my envelope.  They have taken away my busted-up old car, though, so I suspect that means they have to give me something for it and can’t just run away and leave me hanging.  You wouldn’t think that a big insurance company could just run away, but you hear about it all the time. They’ve also sort of found the person they think did it, but they can’t prove it because they can’t find him and he has not returned to pick up his vehicle.  I told the officer I was appreciative of his efforts regardless since he’s definitely done a lot of legwork trying to track this reprobate down to no avail and he sounded frustrated about it.  But it doesn’t seem to impact me much, and I don’t want to be too chipper, but getting my car hit is going to potentially make my life kind of nice.  If things go as planned, I’ll be able to get a better car at a doable payment that will make me feel more secure driving in less than perfect weather, a new computer that won’t cook and turn off as it pleases, and a little bit of a travel fund for Italy.

I’m really glad that therapy’s tomorrow.  I’m just really glad because I’ve begun while knowing some things, but not really knowing where I am.  Not that therapy is about ticking a box, or marking off a list, but I come back to my heart, I come back to my senses, and I feel like I start making choices from a clearer, better place.  I get support and also, challenged on my bullshit, which I think is a really good recipe for how to grow a me.

One of yesterday’s most marvelous finds was the whole Griffin and Sabine series for $15.  Truly gob-smack worthy because they’re in gloriously mint condition, no letters lost or grimy, fiddled with dog-ears (even if I want to take and clutch each one in my fists), now I just need the rest.  I’ll be on the hunt.  I accidentally started reading Sabine’s Notebook as I only owned the first previously and of course, went through the whole thing with great abandon.  Now, I do the most cursory of googling, and today, today of all days, it turns out that they’ve optioned these books to be made into a movie.  How they will do this, I have no idea, but I suppose if they can make the Hobbit into a thousand films, they could bind these three into one.

It’s just…I have a sense of movement in my life again…strange to feel so hopeful a year after feeling so unbearably trapped in hell.   Though, fresh starts are slippery, and liable to change shape just as you claim them.

I’m aware.  But smiling.

Weight: 157.2
Goal: Less than that.



Take It With You: Day Twenty-One

It’s 3:34p.m. and I am in my office, listening to Ben Howard and working on signage for our chili cook-off that’s happening this weekend.  I’m here, because my thought was yesterday (yesterday when I was entrenched in work and pretending that weekend didn’t matter) that I would just work all day and go to this wedding reception party thing afterwards.  Afterwards being all the way at 6:00pm.  That’s a long time to be at work on a Saturday if you get there at 11:00am.  But here we are.

I know I ought to be struggling away running double-time.  But I am fucking tired.  I don’t really want to go to this thing anymore, but it’s hard to just blow it off now that it’s 4:16 and I’m still dicking around here.  So I’ve said, I’ll be very uncool and arrive right at 6:00pm.  Hang out with the old biddies for half an hour, go and order and get my chicken and go home and play video games.  Like a 29 year old person should.

So yesterday’s post was nice.  Not nice in that I think it was good, but it was nice in that it helps me move things forward mentally with the story.  I am already itchy about its imperfections and don’t want anyone to think I find it miraculous and wonderful.  All I find it at the moment is serviceable.  There’s all these plot gaps, as to who does what and how things are discovered, and I keep thinking if I just gloss over it in my mind, I’ll sort it out but it really does take having to force two people into a conversation to figure out where they’re coming from.   I have to write it down to begin to break down these perfect visions.  That maybe she does love her kid in this moment.  That maybe the psychic lady has a bigger part to play than anyone initially assumed.  So, we’ll try and keep going, but I’m finding myself unable to accomplish jack shit here and I’m focusing on this damn post to get me through.

Um, I guess we could talk about weight loss.

I’m at that point.  That shit or get off the pot point where if I could manage it, and only eat the same food for the rest of my life at this level of activity, my weight would probably bounce around like it always does after this long on the diet…153-155 or so.  If I slip up, like I might have some barbeque at this party, suddenly I can wake up and I’ll be 166 again.  Not, obviously, overnight, but if I don’t focus, and do something to balance it out, my fulcrum settles at 166.  The food can get me here, to this point where I feel aware that I have lost weight.  But this exercise anxiety?  This sense that yeah, yeah, that’s the other part of the equation and if I add it in, I will have the answer and it freaks me out.  That’s awful.

So, I’m trying to get some energy back…

I watched Broken English last night because I saw some gif on Tumblr of Melvil Poupaud who I’d loved since forever ago when I saw Diary of a Seduceur on IFC (and being a French student at the time, thought was the best thing since cliched sliced bread) and of course, it was on Netflix and so I watched it near tears.   It’s sort of me right now.  Without an inexplicable Frenchman.  The anxiety, the depression, all of it in some degree or another.

That’s why I’m making myself go to this party even though I’ll know most everyone there and those I don’t will have no interest in me and my Barbarella hairdo and my wallflowerish tendencies.  Because who knows, I guess, who knows and I can post and post and post about loneliness, but it’s human people that can take away loneliness.  Not my words reflecting back at me.  So I suppose it was hope that brought me down here.  And I suppose it’s hope that’ll get me through in the end.


Well, hi there, strangers.

I am pressed and packed in my bamboo sheets like a ball of dough, to warm and rise and be ready to face a pounding in the morning.

That sounds a bit perverse, but I’m leaving it.  I’m not likely to be touched in any sense of the word in morning, but the week has the potential to bake me straight through anyway.  I will be working until I don’t exactly know when…next Saturday I might have off.  I’m going to try and be sensible and ask for some time off, though I don’t know when that will be a sensible request.

Yesterday wasn’t quite finished as far as me describing it, but I think it’s better just to leave it lie and move on.  Today was a better day anyway, even if my teeth/gums hurt more than they ought and I’m contemplating buying a $100 toothbrush (my mouth is turning into a fucking money pit) and it’s making me a bit nervous and hyperchondriacal along with this foot that’s been cramped for a month.  Even despite all that…I exercised today.  Mr. Ted Dwane’s got some excellent advice about bad moods being lifted by going outside and getting a bit of exercise.

I put Jane Fonda’s 1989 workout video on YouTube.  I have a lot of memories of this  – though surely it must have been my mother’s video, but as early as seven or eight, i remember trying to put it on and do it.  I always remember it being challenging, but fun.  Not a lot to remember, and the throwback style felt a lot more endearing and compelling today than the bike or walking with the Wii.  And I just felt like I needed to do something with myself.   Maybe it’s because I want to be able to stand up near the front of the concert and not have this voice in the back of my head saying I’m too much of a weeping willow to be out in the hot sun with the rest of my contemporaries.  Maybe it’s because of yesterday’s talk where I spilled the beans on this goal I have for myself which I’m hoping they’ll all forget, but actually, now that I am coming to think of it, it’s because I weighed myself and put it on the fitness app and I’d lost like 1.8 pounds in 3 weeks and for whatever reason, I was bitter about that.

Because the weight I’ve lost had been entirely through diet.  And for a while I’ve been tentative about it.  I’ve just wanted it to slide off gradually in the night,   And it has.  But now we get to that point where I’ve got to talk about it a little bit and I’ve got to do things that activate my body so it will burn the fat away.  God, that sounds so banal and like someone out of a Jane Fonda video…but all I’m saying is that I get that I have to take it seriously.

So there’s other things going on, and it’s all getting sucked under the great swell of this event.  I keep telling myself there’s life beyond that so we can’t live as though we’re walking towards an apocalypse.

Steady On

It’s all going to work together.  It’s fucking holistic, is what it is.  I am going to type a hundred words at a clip, no difficult feat after so much practice, then I am going to run around my condo like a madwoman, slug some water and play some more Mass Effect.  Then, I will repeat the cycle.  Because I have done a lot of good things today, like a load of laundry, and made a pot of soup out of my own invented recipe, but I have also not done near enough movement.   Seriously, a whole day off and not even 3000 steps is a bit lame.

I am back! Huzzah! This plan is going swimmingly.  Right.  It doesn’t matter if I don’t make perfect sense at the moment to you, because I’m making this work for me.  I need to get more active in my life as well as keep up with the commitments and desires I have to be still and staring at a screen.  You should see how bloodshot my eyes are right now.  You’d think I’d been on some sort of three week bender.   There’s gotta be some hyphens in that phrase, three-week?  At any rate, I like being busy.  I worry sometimes I keep myself running at such a clip so I don’t sit down and analyze myself properly.  Even keeping this journal, the running and the speed production of text goes a lot way to keep any meaning out of the message.  I am aware.   And that  really is the first step.

Steps.  Yes.  When I take a look at my little fitbit, it’s amazing to me how you can get 7500, 8000 steps in a day and not be aware of how much that is but just trying to get from 3500 to 4000 seems impossible.  You can feel the muscles pulsing and flickering in your legs and thighs and every step is pressure against the floor, the feeling of the sock gripping and slipping against the texture of the rub, the friction distracting.  It all becomes very distracting.  But I’m not giving up, I’m just finding my slippers and goose-stepping my way back and forth across the living room.  I defeated the treacherous villainry of my birthday, and I ended up losing weight this morning down to a whoppingly insignificant and sure to wobble 161.8, so I can’t fall backwards into all my sloth and gluttonry just a matter of days later.

Tomorrow, we’re going to do some cooking with my mother.  I haven’t told her about how much weight I have or haven’t loss, despite being tempted.  It doesn’t make sense to do it now.  It just causes weird bars to be set that I didn’t agree I wanted to leap over. I want to make the best use of her support that I can and not allow it to get twisted into control or rewards or her expectation that I will only be valuable as a tiny, thin pixie.  And not allow myself to take on any expectation other than I’m going to continue working on eating healthy, moving the ol’ body, and observing the cosmos.