There is no reason for me to be up at 5 a.m. No reason but to stop my negative thoughts – again. When you’re angry enough to just get up and SLAP someone but you live half way around the world, well, there’s not much you can do. Get up. Have some coffee. Roll.
A lot of my mornings seem to start this way.
Eighteen hours since I’ve done my abdominal exercises and I still can’t decide if it was me taking control of my flabby tummy or me beating myself up. It’s damn close between the two. And it surely FELT like beating myself up as I grunted my way down to the floor, grunted my way through the exercises, then huffed, puffed, and grunted my way back up to a standing position. Good Goddess! You’d think I’d never done a sit up before. If it was me being a masochist, well, there’s plenty more sessions like that one coming up.
My late start yesterday and a vow to be easy on myself (post sit ups, of course) meant I kept my smoking on the lighter side. I’ll blow through that today – literally and figuratively. Less than a week into that hateful calendar and already I see a pattern emerge. I smoke more in the mornings, to calm down. By afternoon I usually have slowed down to one J every 2-3 hours. My average is sitting at 6 Js a day- not great, but not as bad as the 8 I thought I was smoking. Just letting myself smoke as I want has become an issue; ticking that fucking box every goddamn time I fire up is a nagging reminder that’s too close to the constant on-my-ass shit my mother gave me. Get it done! Write it down! Stop procrastinating! Oh, fuck off. I don’t want to even TRY to slow down ’til I have a week of unfettered toking noted. Let me observe myself in my natural habitat for a fucking week before we bring the bulldozers in, please. I don’t think that’s asking too much.
But that ‘someday’ I keep saying is coming WILL eventually turn up on my door. I’ll have to stop just checking the boxes and start saying no to myself.
Maybe that’s why I landed on the floor yesterday, pushing myself. Doing my abdominals is my number one hated thing in the world. Hate them, hate them, hate them. Love what they do for me, but still I hate them. It becomes a matter of discipline; of holding to my commitment to myself. Smoking is very similar. Gonna hate it all the way – drag me kicking and screaming away from my ashtray. In the long run, it’ll be good for me.
Yeah, yeah. And I still like bacon, despite the recent headlines. I just don’t eat bacon every day.
The start of the week again. Time to pick up the threads of life and get busy. Friday overshadows the rest of my days with an appointment that says ‘PSYCHIATRIST’ on it. I’ve got the typical fence post up my ass; half of me is looking forward to it and half of me is dreading it. I refuse to deal with myself when I’m like this. Even my internal conversations are fucking bipolar, bouncing back and forth between two viewpoints. Can’t stop it, so the little me in my head can talk to the fucking hand right now. I’m ignoring you! There’s only two things I need to do for this appointment. One is check the train schedule. The other is to write out my goals, my truth, so I can tell the doc. That’s it. Worry is NOT on that list.
I’m long overdue for a session with George, so I’m off to the canals today. Screw the real doctors. When Dr. George is in, all is sunny. It’s also time I get out and breathe some fresh air. Take a walk. It feels almost spring-like here after our five day cold spell. Temps are back in the teens. The air doesn’t knife through you as you wait for the metro. The snowdrops are blooming and it takes a bit to remind myself it’s now January. Of 2016. Again, fence post up my ass, I feel divided about that. Half of me feels I’m living in the future – wow! 2016! space aged shit! – the other half feels I’m living in ancient times – the turn of the century? think how OLD that will feel to people in 40 years!.
Maybe I’ve got a twin me inside me somewhere that never got fully developed. You hear about that. Conjoined twins and one never develops, so the remains of it sits inside the surviving twin. Feels like that sometimes. Feels like I don’t know my own mind. Like I don’t control it. Someone else occasionally pulls the strings. Someone else sits there with the exact opposite opinion and reaction of mine. She’s stubborn, and she won’t go away. And her thoughts and feelings drift into me. I know them, I can feel them at the exact same time I know and can feel my own. Let it go on too long – and it’s gone on waaaaay too long – and I can’t separate anything anymore. It’s all one big ball of yarn. I’m finally getting the help I need. You are such a weak assed tit for needing help at all, ya big baby. I did my abdominals. What, you think getting down and doing a round of sit ups is gonna help that tyre you wear around your middle? Think again, bitch. I’m going out to take a walk; it’s a nice day. Yeah, go ahead. Not like you have anything else to do. You are SUCH an inconsequential shit.
On and on.
I’ve read stuff about self love, but really! She’s so fucking HARD to love.
This ping-pong game is at a stalemate. Sometimes she scores a point, sometimes I do. We’re pretty evenly matched right now. I want to win this. I want to be in the serving position. I want to hear those words blasted out across the loudspeakers of my mind: advantage, Beeps.