Under a Super Blood Wolf Moon: Day 20

The most metal of moons.

I need to change this website.  I know I do.  I’m not entirely sure how to go about this.  But the endless icy sheets of black and white, even the blurry little weed breaking through the crack on the screen no longer makes me smile when I look at it.  I need to just hire someone?  I don’t know.  Just change the picture, that would be a start.

I am needing to do something different tomorrow.  All of it.  I made real shit choices today, this weekend, this month, really.  So.  How do you stop the engine when you’re rolling right along into a hotter and hotter fire?  You are here, for one.  You turn off the other noises and you give yourself over to a bit of self-reflection.

I have written a lot today, none of it really suitable to share.  That’s been the sum total of it.  Did leave the house for a brunch I absolute did not need to have.  I’ve spent the day bleary.  In some conversation with J, consoling him for his bleariness and ignoring my own.  Honestly, this is the hardest bit of it. The up and the down.  I don’t blame him for it or even judge him for it, but finding yourself attenuating your moods to someone who is equally fluid when it comes to being able to tolerate themselves is a rough gig.   Yesterday, I’m queen of the universe for him, today, exhaustion and sad posting and a bevy of other people suggesting how to break out of the mental funk while my suggestions get little more than a shrug.

I’m reacting much more poorly than I’d like to all this.

So now, end of the Sunday shame spiral: I am here, spattered with gravy from the undying pot roast, and everything is a mess.  Petrified to check my work email.  Checked it as best I could and nothing was radioactive so I feel instantly much relieved.  My plan to combat this and come back to some form of recognizable :

Become Willing
Find my Fitbit
Drink an entire glass of water (a whole and entire eight ounces)
Charge my phone and fitbit and put them somewhere I can find them in a few short hours.
Defenestrate the undead pot roast.
Not get so distracted by nonsense that I can’t finish this post
Finish this post.
Remember I have my drink in the fridge in the morning.
Brush my teeth and try and wash my face in a format that my face will find tolerable and not set to itching over.
Fix my sheets so I don’t find falling asleep completely impossible.
Set my alarm.
Figure out what the heck I want to wear tomorrow out of the bundle of laundry I did and tossed aside out of some sense of boring laziness that sure as fuck fucks me over now.
Possibly order groceries for tomorrow.  Possibly just plan to go to the grocery store?
Trust in the process.
Remember to reschedule therapy.

The Raven Took My Eyes

Watching A Very British Romance documentary with the adorable and quite capable presenter Lucy Worsley and this is impacting my mind as you will see below.   I learned about Pamela (or Virtue Rewarded), which I had certainly heard of, but not how much it had changed the landscape of literature.  I never fully grasped Samuel Richardson as a key player in the same way that Austen was, so it was interesting to see it framed so.  Completely enjoyable and I shall be putting the third one on – modern romance – once I finish up my holy obligations here.

Feeling a bit winded and worn in the sort of way that one sleep might not improve.  Feeling a bit exhausted in the bones.  The day was okay.   The weight I lost is not truly lost yet. I am petrified about forgetting shit, but here we are, facing Wednesday, and the fact that things are going to have to be alright regardless of whether or not we know how to make them so.

I am also a bit keen to have my conversation.  I need just a bit of a moment to understand this.   I can’t…wait forever.  Everyone reminds me I can’t wait forever.  All of the historical romance documentary tells me so.  And if the hold up is simply not being understood, well, that’s something I can effectuate change around (there’s the corporate world beginning to slip into my vocabulary.)

Because I am thinking about the RP’er again. I can’t help it.  I’ve glanced back at those final, closing emails. The ones that said the door was open.  A door I’ve shut because I thought that I was starting something legitimate and and tangible and sincere.  And it is those things – in one sense.  On some days.  I can’t help but wonder if regardless of what either J. or I want, there’s no feasible way for us to have this happen.  The distance too great, the issues too large.  The height distance notwithstanding.  If he doesn’t want to figure out how to see me, if he doesn’t want to say it, if he doesn’t want this to check that box.  If that’s how he sees it, then why am I not available to other people even in limited ways?

I don’t know.  I am so willing, but I lean forward and he pulls back. Then I have thoughts like this, thoughts that question whether or not I am just some Mary Haskell-type figure, worrying over and wanting to help him and support him rather than a true fount of flourishing romance.  Though, who am I to say what Mary Haskell and Khalil Gibran were really truly all about.

Still.  I…this halfway ain’t enough.  But is it halfway forever or just halfway and all I have to do or say is that I need more and I’d have more?  But I’ve asked and the feeling was quash it, kill it, suffocate it. Maybe that’s not what was intended.  That’s what I’m supposed to do – find out what was intended.






It’s day 3 of low-carb. If one believes scales, and I have yet to be convinced, four pounds are gone.  That doesn’t seem right, but sure.  Maybe?  Why not.

Roll on, Day 4.

It is hard.  In the darkness, to sit with these sparklers burning down in the back of my brain.  Adorable.  There’s that word again.  That off the cuff assertion after I say something or am earnest or am in some way undetectable to my, whatever’s going on in your mind, it boils hard enough for that to spill out of your lips.  I hear it and something just runs over the cilia in my mind, this waveform that moves from end to end, right through me and says…you, he means you. Even if I doubt that if he knew me properly he would say such a thing, he said it knowing something more than nothing.  It is a compelling force – the sense of someone else’s attraction.  It is very hard to ignore and set aside.

Not that I am advocating setting it aside – I just don’t know how long this lasts, or what this stage means.  It’s like, briefly, sort of, it was at the start.  This…I don’t want to hang up from you feeling at the end of a call.  A feeling you commented on tonight.  I don’t know how to do this with you being so fully vested in…youness.  A singular person.  Not a field of possibilities.  A choice I can make that will change my life because it involves someone else’s life.  It’s stronger than just another thought floating by in my head.

A woman at work who has become something of an office sort of friend asks about you.  About this saga of online relationships and I’ve given up trying to explain or justify because I will make some assertion as to the tangibility of what we are and the slow, even breathing will become just silence and the compliments just stray interjections that any person of female persuasion would collect from you were they to chat on the phone.

I don’t believe that either, but what can I do that doesn’t feel like a demand that would destroy all of this with words.

I want to say, if there’s a thing I could be doing…a way I could be being…something that would make all of this come together for the both of us…just tell me what it is.  I would do it.  I would go there.  I would make it happen.

But the problem is neither of us know.   There’s movies and stories and magazine articles that make suggestions – but we’re none of us precisely cut from a mold.

Watching Princess Shaw on POV.  Feeling so impressed by her and her drive.  Her willingness to just struggle forward. Curious and hopeful to see how it winds up.  A life touched by someone else after so many years of carrying on and wanting just to be seen.  There’s a lot to get out of it. Persistence.  Persisting.

Things You Say

I don’t know.  I made it through the day and now…scheduled relaxation.

I have something to eat in a second.

I’m just faintly…faint.  I am a bit, after one glass of wine, detached.   I don’t know who should be here with me, though I think someone should.  That feels firm while I float around it.


I’m getting a bit nervous I’m falling too far off the grid.  But I am thankful and grateful for a chance to let the tautness in my muscles, in my jaw, go slack.  I like the new skirt I’m wearing and my black tights and my little necklace with amber.  I like that I was able to drive out and about today and get a few things done willy-nilly, spontaneously.  Made me feel mildly human.   The NeuroSleeep was actually very helpful last night in helping me drift off and stay asleep.

I am gathering steam in figuring out some stuff right now.  Since probably May, there’s been the usual crush and thrust of events that has been, well, punishing.  And the new year’s energy for self-revolution dissipated after I went to Disneyworld.


I keep getting back to the idea that as much as I fail, consistently, deeply, almost aggressively at this dieting, life-organizing thing…there just is no other way to get to what I want.  Because what I want is on the other side of change.   I just.  I both understand that and also understand how it seems like just getting by seems to be all I’m capable of.  I mean, I should have a boyfriend.  I should feel cool with driving wherever I want.  I should be getting things published.  But my sense of wanting that seems to ebb whenever it comes close to doing the essential, daily, exposure-pushing tasks that will get me there.  And everything in my life allows me to just wade about in the shallows.

I just wonder if it’ll ever happen.  If either circumstance or willpower will shake me free?  I wonder if I will ever get the formula…no, I know exactly what the formula is, I just wonder, really, if I’ll ever choose to see my way clear and stop standing in front of open doors.

Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving.  It’s a season of self-assessment after many months of just putting the blinders on.   It also puts the focus on food.   The empty feeling.  The need for constant distraction.

I just really want to shock everyone with what I’m capable of.  My grandfather’s not doing well.  I really want to find a way to a different place.  This is all just talk, things said while sugared up and gagging for attention.

I just wonder.  This could be the last time I do this.  I could never have to be wondering ever again.  I could not have to suffer through another Christmas unsettled, exhausted by the constant internal churning of discontent.  I could be with someone.  I could be with someone?  Someone? I don’t know.  It shouldn’t be so laughable.  It shouldn’t be this bizarre, Beckett play level joke.



Long is the Day

Commander Shepard’s a wise woman.    No matter how you play her.

How do you get through whatever it is that you’re going through?  One step at a time, over and over again.  Somehow you manage, even in those bleak moments when it seems certain that this gale force wind is just going wipe you and all your chess pieces off the board.  You manage because those things don’t happen, not the things that you hope but nor the things that you fear, and though your heart thrills in either direction, in general, in the short term, you are safe.

And in specifics, in the long term, we’re all quite dead.  So there’s hardly any reason to be bothered at all.

The meteorologist wants to meet for tea or coffee.  And we’d discuss Mass Effect, apparently, even though he has entirely the wrong position on the best love interest.   The gynecologist is quite sympathetic to the fact that I am a secret shut-in and wants only to share ramblings.   And at the moment is provided the more effective sounding board, but I find the whole idea of future stages horrible enough to make me blanch.

So, no matter how unbothered one might be, you can always be chastened (ahem) by the prospects of romance.  Even using the word leaves me wanting to go glower in a chamber and safely rail against a world so un-provisioned with love versus actually venturing forth to ingratiate myself with someone who cares even a minute amount about my opinion.   The idea of a broken, loveless world is infinitely more poetic and therefore, palatable than spinning the wheel and just working some arrangement out with whomever is on the slice the plastic indicator stops at whenever it arbitrarily stops.  Sometimes, that is how my romantic options feel.  They don’t feel destined or pre-determined or infused with this sort of soulmate vibe that sensible girls get knocked out of them by the time they’re sixteen.  I’ve never had the stars knocked out of my eyes, instead, they’ve just burned me blind like dear Florence sings about and I feel about in the darkness for whatever matches up to the vision in my head.  Which at this stage is much more a collection of features, likes and dislikes, and a haircut than an actual man.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with either of them.  Except of course, at least go to coffee with the meteorologist and then, if my track record is anything to go by, stand around and wait for him to forget me.  As they inevitably do.  It’s easy to forget shadows, ghouls and half-made things.

Much better to think of vacation.  Exodus to warmer climes.  The bright fiddle that will sing out while Rome burns.  Or doesn’t.  We got some excellent news today that isn’t fit to report here without a great deal of explanation, but I think it will ease all of our suffering heads.   The rest, well, it can all be endured.

Second Verse, Same as the First

I am running the meeting tonight.  It will be a fast, wham, bam, thank you ma’am kind of meeting.

Better?  Today.  Um, I know I am pre-menstrual which is awesome and fun for me to get to share with the internet at large, but I can’t be too concerned with those of whom I’ll never meet and whose good opinion  couldn’t possibly hold.

I am home, minding my p’s and q’s after a long day and too much free pizza.  I’m tired and I want to write and listen to Answer Me This, and again, time slips into the void of the internet never to be seen again.

I was thinking today about needing time for a breath, about the feeling of being breathless and unable to reflect even though I do this project and I have post work downtime (to a degree).  I think I begin to really understand the great value in sharing your life with someone in cases such as these.  When you know that there are people in your life, not romantic prospects, just people who take a role in your day to day and that they are suffering and going through something that despite their age, they don’t have the means to really process and deal with, it’s heartbreaking.  I observe the suffering now and I have nothing I can do but try and be present with it, ask questions, listen.

In this particular case, I know part of the suffering is because he is being shut out of his wife’s medical problems, that they live this sort of detached physical existence but he has a thousand things now that are killing him and he maintains this buoyancy even in the face of what must be a frigid cold shoulder at home and I feel deeply sorry for both of them and there’s nothing to do but push myself to be better and more helpful even as grow more and more mentally detached from my work.

Mr. Rochester is gone.  He has been gone for six months, but I was sitting here, thinking about frozen yogurt…that ubiquitous product that has replaced his much beloved storefront in all its Black Books-esque glory and I realize that I hadn’t hoped he would return in some fashion to me.  I hadn’t hoped it because I was dead sure that somehow, some way, he’d crop up like a bad penny.  I was sure he wasn’t entirely gone in the way that he is.  No return address, no email and I have nothing to say, six months later, that shouldn’t have been said right away when his hand still burned through mine.  I’m afraid if I google-stalk, all I’ll find will be uncertainties that will break my heart.  That’s melodramatic.  I know what he was.  I bring him up both here and in my mind because I am lonely for support.   For someone to listen and be present with me even if there’s nothing to be done.

It has rained every day this week.  It is raining now.  I’d build an ark with your smile.


Mint Julep: Day 15


Memorial Day.  I honor and recognize this day and all those who have given all of themselves so that I have the freedom to bloviate on the internet and wail about things as specious and ridiculous as a quest to slenderize myself.  Such a huge offering.


Alright, last day of the three day vacation.  The great gasp before we plunge into the proverbial abyss of summer events.

So, what I require of myself today is a bit more giddy-up and go.  This is why I’m typing to you from my bed before 10:00am in the morning with not a great deal today except to proffer up one more daily plan of goodness and progress.


Well, we giddied-up and went.  Today took an unexpected turn and my sister decided that it would be a good day to go out and check out Red Rocks.  Silly me, I thought, Red Rocks, that’ll be fun.  Which isn’t to say it wasn’t, but of course, once we got ourselves packed with a lunch and driven over there, I felt groggy and irritable and the thought of tripping through the undergrowth, sidestepping rattlesnakes, and basically all the significantly unpleasant things you might associate with hiking reared up in my head.  All of a sudden, my little anxiety-ridden mind pulled a screeching halt to “this will be fun” and it played a little sequence of You, honestly, truly, despite the fact that everyone else is doing it, physically cannot go on this trail.  Played it in that voice that I have spent a very long time listening to and so I pulled up short, gazed out the distance halfway up the ramp that would take us to the ampitheatre and dizzily made my way back down, letting my sister go on ahead.  I was dehydrated and this incline in elevation would make the blood vessels in my head pop and I’d start crawling on my hands and knees.  These were the kind of out-of-control, completely groundless and wasteful thoughts I had.  They frustrate the shit out of me now, but in the moment, they always, always feel like the truth.

Curious as I am to see the ampitheatre and having never actually been to a concert here despite living 30 minutes away most of my life, I still meekly went back down.  Not knowing what to do with myself, I walked around the parking lot, almost 3/4ths of a mile until she came back.  Then, I thought, well, this is kind of bullshit on my part.  This is kind of annoying for me to do.  To come all the way out here and not take advantage of it.  We got ready and everything.  I don’t want to leave with that shitty feeling hanging on me the rest of the day.  So we went and did the trail and while it was hard in some spots…I didn’t panic or freak or spaz  and was kind of a normal human being for a minute.  So glad I did that.  Next time, we’re going up the ramp.  I can climb the Great Wall of China, I can climb this, easy.

It’s all easy, in the end, when you get your brain out of it.

Today: 160 on the nose.  Less salt, more water!
Yesterday 159.2
Goal: 155 by June 15