We will be infinitely more clever tomorrow. We’ll have a clearer picture tomorrow. Or we won’t. At any rate. Big, scary news made less scary by excellent friends and talking the freaking hell out of it.
I have written a bit in reviewing a couple stories for group, but I don’t think that constitutes 500 words so I am just going to need to focus my little fevered brain and settle down here and settle up with the page.
Today, I think, as a bit of an object lesson, I have to talk about the Big Mac I ate for lunch. I, the girl who is attempting to diet, ate a Big Mac hamburger sandwich and a whole thing of fries.
Basically, I needed a cheap fix and we were stuck in the office unexpectedly and I had cash in my pocket (vs. cash in my bank account). It isn’t a big deal, really. People eat haphazardly all the time, it isn’t amoral. I just felt like STRESS = FOOD = WHAT IS GOING TO SHUT ME UP RIGHT NOW? I felt the absolute continuum of emotion with no break, no moment of realization or awareness or ability to question what I was doing.
That is what I don’t like. I don’t like leaving my body to go on walkabout in the middle of the day. It doesn’t matter to me that I ate it (and wonder of wonders, actually got myself to track it, even if I’m hunting down this goal and this pushes me in the opposite direction), it just matters to me that I felt so much like giving up. I felt failurific and that the whole premise of self-improvement was dust in light of the fact that I could just up and make a choice like that just because I was a little bit freaked.
I am not perfect. I don’t make perfect choices. Nobody has me down on the list of perfect people cause nobody’s got that list and if they do, they’ve got a long list of scratched out names. It’s an old shitty story I tell myself because it makes me feel special and pretty, and it’s not right. I just ate McDonald’s because was super hungry and it was 2pm and I wasn’t sure what was going to happen with my life.
And I was still under calorie-wise. Even with this popcorn and the macchiato. And then I even got on the bike and whirled around for 30 minutes when I was so damn sure that I was going to cave and fail and lay here sighing at the ceiling. I have done that, a bit, but I did also get up and do that. The pound of shit in one hand is matched by the pound of gold in the other. It’s just where you choose to put the emphasis.
So. Yes. It’s going to be fine. We’re going to Seattle, we’re going to eat pizza, we’re going to solve the mystery of V.M. Straka, we’re going to live.