+ Occasionally when someone asks me why I like waking up so early, I'll say that it's because I like to beat everybody at something at least once a day. That is partly true. (Mostly it's because I hate being late and I also hate rushing, so unless I want to invite a total fucking meltdown into my life I need two and a half hours to ease into being a person.) Lately, I've been using that same logic to get myself to drink water as soon as I wake up. If I get the whole glass down, I feel like I won something. My prize is having to pee. I wish that "being hydrated" was motivation enough, but it really isn't.
+ I think I've been pretty transparent about how violently I vacillate between "being okay" and "being a fucking psycho" when it comes to my body and how I feel about it and how I take care of it. I'm proud of myself for eating better lately (and for me, "eating better" has a slightly more complicated meaning than just "more greens, less candy") but not proud at all of the damage I've done to my metabolism over the years, and even less proud of the shit I continue to do to it in spite of knowing way, way better. The past couple months have been ENORMOUSLY better for many reasons, mostly because I have the luxury of a regular sleep/meal schedule now. My boyfriend makes my lunches for me and 90% of the time we choose whole, fresh foods. At the same time, though, my activity level has plummeted - even though I walk to work - because I am no longer running up and down stairs/around in circles/on a proverbial hamster wheel twelve hours a day. That's huge, and its impact is extremely evident. Example: I spent Friday night at my mom's house so we could pack more of my stuff away because she thinks my bedroom there is like, part of her house or something. (I will be sixty years old and PISSED if I don't have a bedroom at my mother's house. Although I guess by then she'll be the one having a bedroom in my house. Whatever, I'm sure I'll have plenty of other things to be pissed about when I'm sixty. This is not a waste of parentheses.) ANYWAY one of the things she's using my room for now is for keeping a scale inside of, and I weighed myself for the first time in many many months. And I was NOT pleased. Luckily I'm in a place where it wasn't the end of the world, because like I said, I know I've been eating well. But then in a way, that makes me MORE frustrated because - I've been eating well! WHY, SCALE? Why. And the reason why is that my biology has whiplash and doesn't trust my brain. Moral of the story is that I brought home my sports bras and sneakers so I could put the huge park that some nice people built in my backyard to use. And the confession of the story is that I'm in a really weird in-between-y sort of place… with… that. ("Just like every blog you've ever 'written,' you mean?" said everybody.)
+ I peed on the floor at work. I wasn't overtired. I didn't have scotch for lunch. I just sat too far forward on the seat, and the next thing I knew there was pee on the floor.
+ I intentionally left "toilet" and "bathroom" out of that last confession so you would maybe imagine that I peed just, you know, on the floor in front of everybody.
+ There was a brief moment where I considered not cleaning it up - only one other girl works where I work, and where there's fifteen dudes and one bathroom there's bound to be some pee on the floor sometimes, right? But then I remembered about karma and also about hygiene and so I did clean it up.
If you're thinking that having a unisex bathroom in real life is anything like Ally McBeal, you're wrong. Dead wrong.
Thanks again to Becky for giving me a reason to blog, and for giving my boyfriend a reason to ask me what I'm doing on the computer for so long fifty times.
