In Which I Use The Word Vague A Lot

Watching the window slowly filter in small bits of sunrise I realize that it is almost 6:00AM.

I’ve been keeping weird hours these days.

I don’t know how long I’ve been laying in bed. I was so sure it couldn’t possibly be that late/early. I flashed back to Sleep Disorder 2007 briefly. I marvel that it ever happened. I don’t know how I held down a job or managed to keep sane with the odd tricks my brain was playing with me. This doesn’t feel like then though. It just feels like freshly laundered sheets, a warm kitty and a vague feeling of tiredness.

I should, by all means, be ripping my eyeballs out tired. I was up at 6:00 AM yesterday on very little sleep, needing to walk an anxious Buckley. I was barely awake as she dragged me around Civic Center in my pyjamas. I am only vaguely tired. I had spent all night doing laundry, failing at sourdough attempt #2 and making my way through “The Omnivore’s Dilemma” (which I almost chucked off the balcony and onto Market St. this morning).

Eric asked me this afternoon what I was reading and trying to explain to him the book and how processed food is so far removed from whole food and it just made me feel self conscious and weird. I wasn’t ready to discuss how there used to be 38 components to a McNugget. I had read a lot on Josh’s balcony this morning and my brain collapsed trying to figure out a way for more people to eat outside this system built by ADM and Cargill. I thought about being such an unhealthy little chubby kid. I thought about all the things I’ve tried to alter this body and its inner workings. I thought about how learning to read labels years ago has changed my eating habits, but now they’ll be changing even more. I thought about how hard it feels sometimes, to care this much because I want to feel better, even when I think I’m fine, I always want to feel better. The struggle and the want to know what people are really supposed to feel like. Then I get into wondering why I feel so different and why I assume that other people MUST feel/be better then me. I am consistent in feeling like there is something fundamentally wrong with me.

I worry. I worry about the lot of us, fat with reconstructed meals composed of things that used to resemble real food. I worry about the diets we go on, calorie restrictions, eating disorders and painful body dysmorphia. Our relationship with food is not a healthy one.

I let my brain get carried away too much in one direction it inevitably tries to take my heart with it. This prompted the great need to chuck the book onto the busy street below me and just to be done with it. Lots of these things I knew already but only in a vague sense, the details of it all made my whole body hurt.

So I made my way to the gym to make my body hurt in a way I could understand. This breaking down to build up made sense to me.

I came home to find Eric had left work sick and he sat curled up on the couch with Blinky while I showered, ate, cleaned and fed my bread starters before heading back to Josh’s to take care of Buckley.

When I came home later on in the evening, I started the gigantic pile of laundry that has been building for weeks. The downside of owning a lot of underwear is that when laundry gets desperate, it gets desperate.

I don’t know how it came to be, but 3,4,5 AM passed without me really aware of it.

Now I wonder what time I’ll be waking up today. My bet is 2:30PM.

Because I am a glutton for punishment.

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