I’m not going to do yoga today. My hips are aching. I’ve been doing about three hours of it a day these past ten days or so. I suspect that’s excessive. It’s not all at once. A twenty-minute cycle here, fifteen minutes of poses there. It’s about not being sedentary and placating my eating disorder... Continue Reading →
[Trigger warning. I reference self-harm. It might be disturbing.] I have a vague headache and I’m deciding between marijuana and ibuprofen. The numbed-out life has an appeal. I didn’t eat breakfast until about eleven. Definitely headache-contributing behaviour. I wasn’t hungry. I’m never hungry these days. That doesn’t stop me from rage eating compulsively every now... Continue Reading →
I miss Word Press. I miss writing. I miss doing pretty much everything, even though I am doing some things. It's just that it's all done under the veil of depression which makes me discount the matteringness of it all. On the bright side, I've been doing a lot more stretching so should I find... Continue Reading →
I’m having a very bad day. I’m hearing that in Lisa Simpson’s voice and the humour is a nice relief from the intermittent crying over the futility and pointlessness of my life. I’m bored by my despair and its persistence. Welcome back, yoga. I’m doing my practice wrong, of course. Depression prevents sustained attention so... Continue Reading →
From Famine to Feast. 