I just sent an email that sounded like a Trump Tweet. It made me realize how effective it was to use a powerful negative with an exclamation point. SAD!

We’ve ended on a negative note the last couple of posts. I am going to try to change that intent and pull the writing juiced back up by the boot straps. I need this. Also I need to explore the inner dialog no matter how vile it has been.

Repulsive! – That’s a strong word to use against yourself. 

But I did. And I do. I used it against myself yesterday. I told my therapist that I have a hard time relaxing with “menfolk” without these feelings and thoughts stirring. I feel that I am being examined and found wanting. There are so many images of ideal beauty out there now and I feel so “less than”.

But let’s focus on changing that from “repulsive!” into “charming!”, “funny!”, “sexy!” – you can still be sexy with a few extra pounds.

SEXY!

(Trump – you can learn a lesson, let’s start ending with a positive and then the exclamation point). Maybe not sexy though, maybe not in this climate. 

CHARMING!

Okay, that could also be seen as sarcastic/negative. 

Intent for today: Laugh more. Stop taking everyone (and everything) so damn serious. We are in a world of imperfect people with flawed ideas about themselves and everyone else. It’s not my job to judge or accept judgement of any of these things.

Take the day off.

AWESOME!

She gestures to me – mimicking a pen and paper… You need to write this down.

I owe her $150. She hasn’t quite figured out Venmo and the money just sits there, but the advice is good. I’m going to have to pay up for it. It’s good shit.

It’s worth every penny that I haven’t paid yet.

He is your practice. My practice of saying what I need to say.

But this is the hard part. What I want to say is that I want you to not want me.  I want you to be disgusted by my drooping 40 year old breasts. The cellulite on my ass. My mother’s apron (no matter how much weight I lose it never goes away). I want you to leave me alone and validate the feeling that I don’t deserve your attention or the attention and love of any man.

There are literally a million or more women in the world that have tighter asses than mine. Younger, hotter… Asian. Things I can never be.

Because do you know what would be worse? You wanting to be with me. That would be truly terrifying. Things working out. Would be truly terrifying. You or anyone else seeing me. Devastating.

Me having to be honest with you? Worse than a thousand episodes of cheating with a mega hot babe that has a better job, thicker hair, bigger boobs and a decade less of traction on her.

So much worse. 

That I would have to admit to you and anyone else that has ever known me in that way, that my need for love was larger than a pre-historic sea. Think Great Basin large. No one, and I mean no one… will be able to satisfy me. The cold chill that I know I will be the only one that will be able to comfort me in the middle of the empty night is the frigid millstone that I will always have around my neck. I will forever be my own worst enemy. I will forever feel alone.

As it stands now.

Secretly… I want to tell you how much I want you. All of you. How much I need you. All of you. How I wish I were the only one. How I would cry an endless amount of tears if that ever happened.

And I say “you” but I really mean every “you” that has crossed my path. “You” are all the same, and all different. Even the “you” that never made it past the bad cologne and theater date. “You” will be “you” until “you” have a name and a place.

Or maybe not.

This is only practice.

Not saying I’ve actually been trying to do something good – at all. It’s been about 24 months since I’ve had a regular gym routine. About 4 years since I followed an eating plan and about 14 years since I’ve been my “ideal weight”. New norm much lately?

But — is this survival. I had another scare again where I contemplated an explosive end to my source of income. Every layoff survived, every volatile interaction makes me realize how delicate this situation really is. I mean you don’t need much to survive… only about 7,000 or so a month… hahah… hahaha… no really… it’s close to that.

Merica amiright?

I could give up my cable, car, facials, hair coloring, clothing, beer, food, utilities, braces, child care, health care, heat, toiletries… cat food. I mean – we used to live in caves (but now that’s illegal except in California).

What to do, what to do? Focus on what? Diet? CPTSD? Love Addiction? Food Addiction? Alcohol Addiction? Budgeting… Fitness? Meditation? FUCK… everything… everything… feels like a self-improvement novel. 

I feel like the Victorians didn’t stress so much – take your Laudanum, have a rest on the fainting couch and CHILL already. Everything will work out until you die of typhoid or something else ghastly at the ripe age of 32…

Thus the problem… now I’m 41? What do?

Try to do something “good” everyday.

So captain’s log – day 1:

1. Blogged
2. 10 deadlifts, 10 kettlebell swings, 10 squats…
3. Applied for one job
4. Cleaned out my desk a little
5. Tried to not buy anything new except for Trader Joe’s stuff (I mean come on… that Chinese 5 Spice Salad and Cheese tapas plate – that shit is good)

Intent for tomorrow – 10-20 minute morning jog (if not I will be punished by making it an evening jog.)

Maybe blog again.

Not fantasize too much about all that vacancy in my life.