I changed my number.
I count. Not all the time, but not infrequently enough for the behaviour to surprise me when I notice. At least I count in my head most of the time. Doing that type of thing out loud brings questions I prefer not to answer. Ditto to all the oddities I sometimes exhibit – perhaps my grandmother’s dictate that we avoid making personal comments should come … Continue reading I changed my number.
Lilacs, birds, and pink-slips.
I like to look out the window at the neighbour’s lilac tree and watch the life therein. I positioned my desk well even if the “back to the door” of my chair occasionally gives me heebie-jeebies. Sometimes, life watches back: the squirrels and chickadees are infinitely curious about what’s going on behind the monitor and I swear the hummingbird wants to start something. … Continue reading Lilacs, birds, and pink-slips.
A breadknife and things I’m supposed to be doing.
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 voice. I do not have the energy to deal with … Continue reading A breadknife and things I’m supposed to be doing.
Dark corners and crafts.
[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 and then. We are who we are, after all, and … Continue reading Dark corners and crafts.
From Famine to Feast 