I can’t sleep. I can’t write. Except, of course, I am writing. And I sleep some. Fits and starts. Fifteen minutes here, two hours there. Awake in-between. Awake so often. I have permanent bags under my eyes, something the self-loathing of the eating disorder loves to latch on to. It’s because I’m fat, of course. …
I’m okay with other people’s mucus. In truth, I seek it out. I’m a helper. So, I’m okay with difficult truths, with hard and painful and ugly bits. I’m not good with reciprocity. The facts of existence, I’ll share. The ugly bits underneath, the feelings, not so much. They remain locked up tight. I venture …
Thou shalt not kill. Thou shalt not do a whole bunch of things, actually. Every religion and ever philosophy has a list. Not killing is one of the more popular prohibitions. One of the many they all have in common. It’s a shame we’re so bad at following the rules. Especially the “not killing” one. …
I’m reading - still- Bessel van der Klok’s The Body. And listening to an excellent playlist. And standing because I sit too much in general. I’ve heard sitting is the new smoking. Like we’re not all going to die at some point. Random thoughts keep intruding and my attention keeps wandering. Would I have been …
I don’t want to be fat. I’ve been obsessing over it lately, just a little. Maybe a lot. The perceived extra ten pounds is incessantly on my mind. I feel like a failure. Because ten pounds is the difference between being an acceptable human being and scum of the earth. And it’s definitely about the …
