What She Says

So the week is almost gone, and I have done no grading at all. At ALL. So tomorrow and Sunday will be marathon grading days. It’s nobody’s fault but mine. But I haven’t been lazy the last couple of days. I have cleaned out the basement, which still looks like shit, but smells better and looks better than it did. We took off cardboard, which was the bulk of it, and left over flooring, and trash. Lanie helped up a lot by taking off the glass for us. So sweet! It all fit in her car, though I do think she was shocked by how much of it there was. Good thing she has an SUV. I have spent the morning cleaning the house. Every room but the office is in good shape, and the office, well, it’s an OFFICE and we are messy, messy people. I just hope the appraiser doesn’t hold it against us. I simply cannot do anything else.

I have a meeting at three o’clock, the creative writing committee. I’m afraid I’ve been rather lax as committee chair, but this last semester has been really crazy and I’m so glad it’s almost come to a complete close. All the stuff with James was very taxing and has hopefully blown over now. I hope, I hope, I hope. Next weekend we leave for Disney and I hope it’s all smooth sailing. We will have to explain to the airport security folks that James may not understand their questions. I hope that isn’t stressful for him. Surely there are guidelines for the mentally impaired. No use getting worried about it now.

My weight is once again out of control, but I can’t see myself doing anything about it until after vacation. It’s so hard to give a shit when I’m so happy and I feel like I look good, at least from the front and back. Not so much from the side, but whatever. I feel good, too. I’ve been doing physical work the last few days, work that makes me sweat, but my body does what it’s supposed to when I tell it to. It’s a good body. It’s a good life. Grrrr and bite I hate being fat! Fat and happy, as my granny would say. Fat and happy. Indeed.

I finished Cheryl Strayed’s WILD, and I loved it. I loved it and I was pissed off that there wasn’t an actual epilogue. If ever a book earned the right to an epilogue, this one did. It’s an amazing book. It’s about her grief over her mother’s death. it’s about her trek on the Pacific Crest Trail. You feel like you’re walking with her, going through the hardships, being afraid, being brave, feeling terrific. I am so jealous of her I could scream. Jealous of her courage, of her success. Jealous of her writing ability. Jealous of her success. Her SUCCESS. I want my own success. And yes, I know. I know I am successful by many standards. But I want more. And MORE. Always I want more.

I started a new piece the other night. Alex and I talked and talked the other day, all about his feelings about James, about how he doesn’t want to be stuck taking care of him when we are gone, about how he doesn’t even LIKE him, wants nothing to do with him. Mental Illness scars you. It scarred me. I feel the same way about my brother. I don’t want to take care of him, but I will. I must. He is my brother. And as far as James goes. I want all of us to grow very old together, and then I want him to die before me. I simply cannot bare the thought of how lonely he would be without me in his life, without us, without someone. His orbit is so small and his needs so specific. I am sure that this is how anyone with a special needs child feels. But on some level, and at some point, I’m going to have to be practical. He will most likely outlive me. So I need to have enough money to set him up somewhere. That’s what I will do with my inheritance. If I ever get one. That’s what I will do with my mythical millions. I hope, I hope, I live in hope.

But about this piece. It’s going to be terrific, and terrible, and painful to write and to read. It’s going to take all my guts. I have never written about Alex before. He is too precious, too close. I have so many regrets, so many failures. I didn’t pour enough energy into him when it really mattered. When he was failing at school, I was in school myself. When he was thinking that James was perfectly normal, I was struggling with my own feelings about James. And he has never gotten over the fact that I didn’t tell him about James’ disorder until her was about fourteen years old. At least, that’s how he remembers it. It didn’t occur to me to tell him. I didn’t see things from his point of view. And he resents me for it. But in the grade scheme of things, it’s not a really huge thing. He loves me, loves hanging out with me, wants good things for me, wants me in his life. You can’t knock that. And it just occurred to me. I have written about him in poems, but never in prose. The prose is the thing that cuts straight to the bone. The prose is the thing that is, somehow, closest to my heart of hearts. In poems, you can hide yourself away, just a little bit. You can hide. But prose, at least the prose I write, is like having your skin flayed off. So I guess I do have my own kind of courage.

I am tired and full of nerves about this appraisal, about all the grading I have yet to do. About being fat and happy and just not really caring. But at least I am mostly calm. I have done good things, good work. So there, universe. Throw something at me. I can TAKE it.

~r.

I am having terrible fits with my freaking eyes. I truly didn’t read that much yesterday. And I did watch a lot of TV when it was clear that I couldn’t read anymore. That is true, and sometimes it seems that that hurts as well. But I’m not sure. This morning my eyes are already bothering me. Dry and gummy. So I took some Benadryl and maybe that will help. If it doesn’t help, then it may be even more drying. I am also using my eye drops. But Dale is having allergy trouble this morning, so maybe it really is allergies. Whatever it is, it’s maddening.

Today Alex and I are supposed to clean out the basement, or at least clean it out enough so that the appraiser doesn’t think we are as white trashy as we really are. We are SUPPOSED to do that, but I may not be motivated enough today. I just may not. What I really WANT to do is read. And read and read. Perhaps, perchance to write a bit. I want to use my eyes, but they may not cooperate. The last time I went to the eye doctor, Chuck, he mentioned plugging up my tear ducts, but surely that would be a last ditch resort. Maybe he thought I was moving in that direction. When we went to Italy back in 2009, there was a student suffering from terrible dry eyes. It runs in his family. In any case, I hope it’s better today. If it is allergies, I don’t need to be outside AT ALL.

This morning I dreamed of All My Children and woke up sad. In my dream, they were showing reruns of the show which thrilled me. But somehow, there were new storylines within the reruns. I got so excited in my dream when I told Dale that we had to record All My Children again. It was so REAL. Then I woke up and realized it was just a dream. I thought of writing novels set in Pine Valley. I wonder if someone will do that. Or I wonder if someone will realize that folks like me, who love the show, WOULD watch reruns. The reason they took it off the air is that not enough people watched it to make up for the fact that it cost so much to produce. Well. RERUNS WOULD COST NOTHING. It would be all PROFIT. Seriously. Somebody think about it. Please.

Last night we watched an episode of Deep Space Nine that got me to thinking about the current economic situation, the haves and the have-nots. We are haves. We are making money, saving for retirement. We have hit our midlife stride. But so many people are going through terrible times. Which is always true. As Jesus said, the poor will always be with us. Which I hope is utter bullshit. From a Star Trekian perspective, it is bullshit. We can and will solve this problem. We will. But I just heard on the Today Show that something like 60% of college graduates under the age of twenty-five are either under-employed or unemployed. And degrees in humanities, i.e. English, are some of the very worst to have as far as employment goes. This makes me think twice about giving advice to students who are getting English degrees. I advise all these creative writers to go on and get MFAs. But maybe I, we, need to rethink that. The job market is scary, and my position is sort of unique. I am certainly not average, or not in an average situation. I know some of my students want to BE me. They want my job, even though it doesn’t pay well. They think they would be perfectly happy as lecturers. And they want to go to school for it. And I thought that, based on things I’ve heard around the department, that an English degree was a good thing to get, especially a creative writing degree. Creative writers know how to think and analyze and communicate. But get this. Just now on the Today Show, this “professional” guy said that he has hired thousands of college graduates and that the degree itself, unless you’re going to be a doctor or lawyer, is irrelevant. And that’s what I have always thought, too. I encourage students to do what they love, to double major if they can, to pursue their dreams. Am I wrong to tell them that?

Last night the novel was in my head again. I have worked out a lot of the setting, the world, but the storyline isn’t clear. Again, I am just not plot-oriented. I also wasn’t planning on starting a freaking novel right now. I need to work on my short story collection, something that’s been shoved to the backburner all this time. And I still haven’t written the Megan poems. I am also writing my way toward a new collection of essays, something that I think will be better than Squeeze. At least I hope so. But does that mean that I should abandon Squeeze? I just don’t know. But if I’m not going to give up on it, I need to start submitting it again. It’s only out to one publisher right now.

And I’m still waiting on some submissions that I did last fall. Still waiting. And waiting. The waiting game. And now I’m starting to blahblahblah, so I will stop writing for now.

Here’s hoping that I can read today.

~r.

Well. The party was GREAT, maybe a little too great. I really felt it yesterday. But it was so much fun. We even gathered around the piano and sang hymns, one of my very favorite things to do. I slept very late the next day, and then, in the afternoon, we went down to my dad’s and celebrated my brother’s birthday. We played with Dad’s new dog, a little blue heeler pup with bright eyes. He is brilliant. Then we walked over and looked at the field of wheat my Dad has growing. I petted the two lovely horses, something I haven’t done before. They are very sweet and I fed them bits of the wheat. The weather was astonishingly lovely and crisp, almost cold. It was a great afternoon. THEN, last night we went to hear the amazing PUNCH BROTHERS. Simply sublime. The concert lasted until after eleven and I was the D.D. I drove the drunkards to Taco Bell, then we went back and ate at John’s place. He and Alex were really lit. It was a lot of fun, though I wish this concert were like the last time we heard them. Last time was at UTC in the Roland Hayes Music Hall and it was intimate and comfortable. This was at Track 29, which is also intimate, but mostly everyone stood up, which always pisses me off when there are seats and I’m hung over to boot. But about midway through I was into it. They are simply amazing and if you like Blue Grass even a little bit, or complicated music of any sort, then you should seriously check them out, or check them out seriously.

So today I have done nothing. Slept late, then did the grocery shopping. Some dumbass hit the power pole across the street and that had to be fixed so we lost power for a little while. After groceries and Subway, I read for a while, then took a nap just because I could. Now I’m awake again. The house is to be appraised at two o’clock on Friday, so Alex and I have lots of work to do to get ready, mainly with cleaning the basement. If everything works out with this refinance, then we will be on a ten-year term, which is very good. We can just pay off the house, then maybe the market will be back up and we can sell it at a profit. But I must say—the kids who were here Friday night LOVED the house, just gushed over it. I love it too, except that I wish it were bigger and that the laundry wasn’t downstairs. And that the road wasn’t so busy. But it’s a very nice, little house, full of love and charm and animals and books. I was just thinking a few minutes ago that I have everything I want except a larger house, which is saying a very big lot about my life. I am happy.

And that’s why getting depressed like I did last Wednesday is so frustrating. There is nothing to get depressed about. I love my life and all the people in it. I have a book coming out. I write often and well. I have opportunities to read my work. I am a freaking SUPERSTAR. But I have a disease, a mean little thing that has to be controlled. I wrote in a poem the other day, about a friend who is also bipolar, that this disease undoes us, but it makes us possible. How very, very true.

I am reading, on my Kindle Fire, Cheryl Strayed’s Wild, which I am enjoying very much. She has an essay, “The Love of My Life,” in The Touchstone Anthology of Contemporary Creative Nonfiction, which is, hands down, the best anthology of CNF that I have been able to find. I used it this semester in my classes, and I will use it again in the fall, without repeating any of the pieces, unless I want to. It’s a big book, but very cheap.

And speaking of fall. I have plans to make. In the fiction literature course, we will be reading The Great Gatsby, Brave New World, A Wrinkle in Time, Mother Night, The Things They Carried, and lots of short stories. The class explores values. Is that a great opportunity to do some important teaching, or what? And who, I ask you, is better-suited to such a task? I can’t wait. Of course I have to reread these books, but that will be a joy, not a burden. I also have to decide if I’ve been overworking my poor CNF students. I may lighten the load for the fall. I am certainly going to figure out a way to go paperless. That makes me a little nervous because it feels like more work for me, but I will get used to checking their work on Blackboard. I just have to be diligent about it. And then there’s also planning the upper-level CNF class. I think I tend to give too much work, but I truly do think it’s all important and one of the only ways to get students to actually read is to have them respond in writing. Even then, a savvy student can get away with not reading. It’s frustrating. So many students don’t see the value of reading, but still want to be writers. Or they’re just lazy. Or they think that creative writing should be an easy A. Oh well. Too bad for them.

For poetry I am using the new Rita Dove collection. Jackson won’t like that, but I will. I see nothing wrong with having them read classic poems. And we will also read Triggering Town. And I am going to make up a list of books for them to choose two from. I will get Jackson’s help with that. Oh, yes, there’s so much to do.

But not today it would seem. Today is for recovery. Today is for laze. And let’s not even talk about the absolute lack of working out the last couple of weeks. Let’s not even mention it, no. I need to do submissions. I may just start writing this novel that’s stuck in my head. I may, I may not. Who knows?

~r.

So I really hope that students show up tonight. We have cleaned. We are prepared. If no one shows up, I will never do this again. Once I had a party and only two students showed up.  Of course, that was just one class, but seriously. I am doing this for THEM, so they better show up.

I feel okay, though last night I couldn’t sleep for shit. I had the evil wine at Lanie’s house, then, at Kiki’s and Ben’s I had a bit more wine and a beer. But I think part of my nausea was from the hollandaise sauce. I wouldn’t have eaten it if I had known what it was, and I didn’t eat much of it, but. It’s the thought maybe? I don’t know. Dale was fine, but I felt like vomiting for a couple hours after we left. But it finally passed.

Almost every night, I have this novel going through my head. It’s a fantasy thing and it’s very complicated and I keep working out details at night. It’s very weird, this thing. I may or may not write it. I don’t think I have enough sense of plot to write a fantasy novel, which relies so heavily on plot. And setting. These are just not my strong suits. In any case, the story, what there is of it, keeps unwinding in my head. Who knows what may happen.

I had my blood drawn today. It had to be done on the third day of my cycle and I hope that the results clear up the estrogen mystery. If what the doctor suspected is true, then my levels will be normal. If not, then I have no idea what will happen next. It’s a mystery to me. And it doesn’t make sense that my estrogen would be high when I’m having hot flashes, does it? I don’t know. Anyhow, that’s done. All next week I will be grading. I like to think that I will do a little bit every day, but I know better. I will probably leave it all to the last three days. Oh well. As long as I get it done, that’s the important thing. I have more than a week.

Okay. I am going to go dress a salad and pop some rolls into the oven.

~r.

So I slept well last night and am up early this morning. I still woke up a little after three, but I went right back to sleep this time. I just feel good. I cleaned up the kitchen a bit and put on coffee after I fed the animals. Damn but I feel good. And not too good, either. Just awake and alert. In the last hormonal week, I have wanted to sleep and sleep and sleep late and nap. This is the first morning I’ve felt refreshed in a while.

So last night Dale and I ate at Amigos and then we went to the mall and I bought Bath and Body Paris Amore fragrance stuff because I am obsessed with it. I got two things of lotion, a body spray, a shower gel, a shower scrub, and a lotion/shimmer combo, all for $43. They are having a huge sale and it was either this, or more Estee Lauder. So. THEN, Dale and I browsed at Dillard’s and the men’s clothes seemed too expensive, but then we stopped in at JoS. A. Bank and, believe it or not, Dale bought three shirts (one linen) and a pair of linen slacks. !!!! It is so hard to get him to give in and buy clothes, especially when I am with him, especially on the spur of the moment. He didn’t even want to go to the mall. THEN, we went to H. H. Gregg and bought me a Kindle Fire. !!!! I have wanted a Kindle forever, and Dale has always talked me out of it, but for some reason, he was game last night. I am excited because we have too many books in this house, and are bringing more in all the time. Hopefully this will solve at least some of that. The first book I got was Cheryl Strayed’s WILD. And here’s what I’ve discovered so far about the Kindle:

It is heavier than I thought it would be. There’s a heft to it that I’ll have to get used to. And it’s not ideal for lying on your side. It’s not terrible, but it’s not ideal. Also, you have to turn the pages more often than with a book, something that always gets on my nerves anyway. And that’s only going to be worse when I change the font size, which I will do because of my eyes. And I haven’t yet gotten the hang of turning the pages. I kept messing that up. BUT, the keyboard, so far works for me, which I thought wouldn’t. Magazines look great, but I have to enlarge the pages to read them, which is frustrating, but I’m sure I will get used to it. And I realize that I have to be careful not to spend too much money on books and magazines because ordering them is just a click of a button. It’s too easy really, but at least it does give you the option to undo your purchase. On my laptop, Amazon never gave me that option when I used the Kindle. So, overall, I am excited and pleased with it. It’s very Star Trekian, which I love of course.

So today I am supposed to get my book order together for the fall, which really pisses me off because, can someone please tell me, why they want it so far in advance? If Barnes and Noble can’t get its own books shipped within a freaking month, then I don’t get it at all. But maybe it’s just me. I have some idea about what to use for the poetry class, and I can always add to it, but it’s the principle of the thing that bugs me. (Is that the concept or the person, I never know?) Anyhow, duh. Don’t want to do it, but will do it.

I have a party this afternoon, Wine Over Wine, and I have cards and dinner tonight. I have a massage this morning and I haven’t touched this hell-hole of a house. The party is tomorrow night. I have to make it to Green Life for bread and cheese. At some point tomorrow I have to have my lab work done. At least, I think I do. It’s supposed to be the third day of my cycle. I started on the 19^th…20^th…21^st. Right? Or do I not count the first day? Is it like calculating interest? Duh. THEN, on Sunday, we are celebrating my brother’s birthday. Fifty-two. I can’t tell you how much this scares me. I’m next. I’ll be forty-eight in November. Yikes!

So the day is spreading itself out before me. It’s sprinkling outside. I surely hope it doesn’t rain tomorrow night.

~r.

So I think I’m better today, though my sleep cycle is messed up. I went to sleep okay last night, but I woke up after a couple of hours and couldn’t sleep. So I got up at 3:40 and stayed up reading the Internets for a while. Then I went back to bed and slept until almost 1:00, which is NOT good for getting to sleep tonight. I read this morning about sleep and bipolar disorder and I need to get this under control. I know my shrinkette would tell me to take something, but I don’t want to go down that road unless I absolutely have to. I think this was mostly hormonal. But I’m not sure. Yesterday was a terrible day. I was just plain depressed and the problem with getting depressed is I have to keep reminding myself over and over again that it’s going to go away, that it isn’t going to last, which is very hard because when I’m depressed, I feel that it’s always been that way, and always will be that way. It’s just like getting physically sick. I can’t just “snap out of it.” It’s like someone shoots me up with a depression drug.

And maybe some of it was nervousness about the reading. I say this because I almost got choked up when I read, which really surprised me. I knew that I cared very, very much about the reading, about the piece, but I didn’t know that it would be so hard. So, now that the reading is over and it went well (which it did, very well) I think that that may have been part of my mood yesterday. In any case, the depression seems to have lifted away, flown away. The waters have receded. I feel a bit numb from sleep, but okay.

The reason I almost got choked up was the close, close nature of the piece. I hadn’t thought of it that way when I wrote it, but it does deal with many, many of my deepest issues, and it does expose me in ways that would make almost anybody unsettled. I suppose it is a very, very brave piece, and fierce. I am so glad I wrote it, that I read it, but I don’t think it’s finished yet. I think I have more to do on it.

The semester is over and I have much, MUCH to do. The party is Saturday, but I have all next week, and next weekend to grade. Grades aren’t due until the 30^th, so there’s no great pressure. I have room to stretch and roll around in the grass.

Here’s to a much better day.

~r.

It is clawing me, right now, stirring up my belly. This is the beast that comes from nowhere. I woke up, I checked my email, and then it started. Nothing is wrong. This is my last day of the semester and all I have to do is watch student plays and lead poetry workshop. Then, tonight I have my reading, that I am looking very forward to. Maybe that’s it? I am more excited about reading this piece than I maybe should be. It is very dear to me, and I want everyone to love it as much as I do. That makes me vulnerable. That puts me at risk. Just now I feel that I am at HIGH risk. The beast is cruel.

I am obsessed with cheese, now that I’m eating, all I want to eat, melted and draped, I want all I can get of this stuff. That is what some folks say about milk products, that they are addictive. Maybe so. I am addicted to cigarettes. I smoke in the morning now. When we go to Disney World, we won’t smoke. I hope that means that we will be quitting again. I hope, but I have no great confidence in such a thing.

My hormones are whirling around my ears. I am heavy as lead, full of beetles. They are crawling through my concrete center. Their hairy feet are seething inside me. There is a yawning mouth, full of terrible milk teeth, just at my back, threatening to overtake me, to pull me under.

Words help, writing here. I must get into the shower and let water wash over me. Maybe that will help. Then the blood will come and that may help, too, this whirling inside my head. Even my shoulders are spinning. My teeth are biting against themselves. Yesterday morning I was full of anger, until I got going. I was mad clean through to the center of my soul. Blind rage. Which is worse? Well, this is. At least with anger I feel somewhat in control. I move through it and out the other side. But this….my belly full of worms and claws and sticks and stones. I have fallen into myself. Now I must struggle up the slimy bank and find my way clear.

~r.

Thank you, Missouri Review, for your kind rejection. Thank you for saying that my mean, fucked-up, sick story was an enjoyable read and very creative. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for telling me that my story does not meet your current needs. Thank you for having current needs that I cannot meet.

Thank you, literary world, for having patience with me. Thank you for believing that I am a real writer, even when I cannot believe it myself. Thank you for rejecting the best things I’ve ever written, for rejecting the very best that is in me. Thank you for making me doubt myself and my place in this world. And thank you most of all for reminding me that I am lazy and small and evil.

For I am an evil wind. I have gone to the English banquet and snarled. And smirked. Yes, my students would be thrilled with me. I actually smirked. I came close to rolling my eyes. I ate eggplant parmesan which I don’t think contained any eggplant. I measured my peers and was thrilled that I wasn’t the fattest one there. Yes, it’s true. I am always measuring people, and I seldom measure up. I mean, COME ON!! Who cares about awards if I don’t win one? Yes, folks, her heart is nut-hard and weary with appreciating other, lesser humans. She is mean inside, clean through to her core. She will snatch your awards right out of your fingers, right out from under you. She would sell you out in a hot minute. She has no love and no integrity in her heart. Mean. Evil. Tiny.

This does not mean that she is not a happy, evil person. No, she is the happiest of the evilest people. She curls her flabby fist around her spiky heart and calls it good. And you know what? People LIKE HER. If only those people could crawl into her brain just now, crawl in and view the world through her mean, small, beady, evil eyes. Because, inside, she is still nine years old, or maybe twelve. She is still a stone-cold sinner getting ready for altar call. AGAIN. Tonight she will kneel and ask Jesus into her heart AGAIN. She will ask him in and wait for him to make her finally, everlastingly CLEAN. And she will wait, and wait, and wait.

See how much better she feels now? See how she grins an evil grin and spreads out the covers to go to bed? She will curl up around her fat middle and dream of eating Fish Fillet sandwiches. She will walk down a mountainside into a village where the people gather around her coming and tell her how terrific she is, how special, how very unique in her bitter, bitter evilness. The people will gather around her and tell her that she is good. Yes, at the end of the day, it’s all about those people because you know what? If it weren’t for the teeming masses, she wouldn’t even know she was alive.

Because there will never be enough mirrors. There will never be enough pink foam rollers and Sunday afternoons to save her. There will never be a magic bullet to take away her pain and her meanness that wells up every day, all over the place springing up and overtaking her as she wakes up and wonders what to do next. Because that is the thing. It doesn’t matter that she wrote a poem today and it made her feel good. It doesn’t matter that she worked on a beautiful essay that breaks her heart with its beauty. It doesn’t matter that her life is just shy of a perfect life. It doesn’t matter that she has a book coming out someday, someday that feels like NEVER. It doesn’t matter that she’s been to Bread Loaf and she has a mile-long list of publications and perfectly-formed toes. No, none of it matters because today she was rejected AGAIN. And will be rejected again and again and again and AGAINAGAINAGAINAGAINAGAIN. It just doesn’t matter.

So boo-FUCKING-HOO. If you are successful, I hate you right now. I will love you in about fifteen minutes. I will read your beautiful books and poems and be glad about it. But now, RIGHT NOW, I hate everybody who is more successful, more beautiful, more thinner, more brighter, more richer, and more fucking PERFECT than me.

~r.

So another day has come. We had a great evening last night, lots of talking and cuddling. And what, tell me, was up with American Idol?? Jessica being in the bottom, and Joshua? And Holly not even in the bottom, or Philip?? Seriously. It was WEIRD. I voted for Colton and Skylar. Skylar is my favorite and I hope she wins. I think she has a good chance. But I also love Colton. But the very best singers? No doubt that that is Jessica and Joshua. Period. I wouldn’t mind either of them winning. But that’s enough about that.

So I weighed myself this morning, faced the music I haven’t been facing. Recorded my weight and food. I don’t know why this is so hard, to keep track, to give a shit. But the buzz is that I’m in good company. What is it now, half of America is fat? Or almost half. Every time I’m in a group of folks, say twelve or so, I check everyone out and see if I’m the fattest. I often am. Where are all the fat folks when you need them? I swear. At that writing retreat, there were like 25 people and I was the fattest. Most of them were trim and slim. Wretched. In any case, I diet, then I go crazy. That’s what always happens. Then I turn back to the right path. So, I spend at least some time giving it the old college try. I bought a Self magazine the other day, a magazine I like, and they have some weight-loss meal plans and fixing all that variety of food would just wear me out. I would need a personal chef. Or I would need to live alone. No wonder people try things like Jenny Craig. Pre-packaged food has to look really attractive at some point.

But I had breakfast, which I cannot live without. I love my bagels. And I had an orange with it. A tiny step in the right direction. Dale and I talked about it last night. He says it’s calories in = calories out. It’s that simple. I’m not so sure. Seems like I would maintain weight at some point, instead of gaining and gaining. I don’t feel like I eat THAT much. But perhaps I do. Anyhow, maybe I’ll get back on the wagon, actually do some cooking.

And that creative girl who wants to eat cheese, who wants and wants and wants, who sleeps forever and wakes up and feels terrific? What of her? Today she will get a massage, and then go to a meeting that she has no desire to go to. Then she will go to the English Department banquet for dinner. Always in the past, graduating students have asked teachers to introduce them and talk about their future plans. For some reason, our new department head has decided that we aren’t going to do this this year. More’s the pity. That was my favorite part. But all throughout this, there will be no writing, unless she can squeeze in a moment just now. But the impulse, the whirling blue fire isn’t in her just now. Just now she is as pedestrian as a morning train, as normal as the dishwater she used to pretend was beer. And that doesn’t make her unhappy. She just wishes she would have the impulse to clean house.

~r.

So it’s a lazy start to my Thursday. I woke up around 9:00, but stubbornly went back to sleep and slept until after 11:00. Then I called the bank and started an application to refinance our house, which will be a very good thing. Then I got up and ate some yogurt.

And about eating. I have been cheating so much, that I think I’ve decided to just be a vegetarian. I am conflicted about this. I guess it means that I’m weak. But I’m trying to be logical about this. This whole thing, and most things that have to do with food (for me) mean doing all or nothing. But it doesn’t have to be an all-or-nothing thing. So maybe I’m not completely, 100% vegan. Does that make me a bad, weak person? I think it just makes me human. Cheese is the thing. And not cheese that I buy myself, but going to Amigos and getting the salad with melted cheese, or having cheese pizza at school. I want, I want, I want. And I want some more. Of course, the reality is that most of my meals are still vegan, but.

And what of the ethical issues? What do I really think? I have always been conflicted. I HATE the factory farming aspect. That is just wrong. I won’t be eating meat. And when you choose to eat milk products, you are supporting the beef industry because the babies are taken from the mothers for veal, or for other reasons. Is my palette more important than that? Evidently it is. And that makes me selfish. But.

I have never felt the way PETA feels about milk, saying that it’s full of pus. The fact is, we have, many of us in the Western World, developed with the cow and are able to eat the milk without awful health consequences. There’s actually a miraculous genetic mutation that accounts for it. And I can see a wonderful symbiosis between the cow and the human. But. I have also never felt the way PETA feels about hunting. I think if you can hunt and kill and eat the meat, then that is ok. That has integrity. It’s when people want meat and would never be able to kill it themselves….that’s the rub for me. And there are also farm situations where the animals are treated very well and slaughter is just the ending of their lives. I wish there were no slaughter, but….I am conflicted. All I want is to eat cheese, and to not worry about a bit of egg here and there. I want to not THINK so much.

It’s impossible to be truly vegan. Animal products are everywhere, in everything. I have tried to cut out as much as possible, but they are still in my car, etc., etc. And now there’s my mouth full of cheese, my mouth full of pizza and cheesy salad.

I love a good label. I love regiment. I love order. I love the idea of sacrifice. That may be one of the main reasons, time for complete truth, that I became a vegan. The idea appealed to me. That came first. Then came my reasons for doing so. I had many reasons. But at the core of it was Alicia Silverstone’s book The Kind Diet. That book makes veganism seem so glamorous and wonderful. And I suppose it is, except that you can’t eat cheese. And I WANT cheese. I want, I want, I want.

It was never about health reasons. But I did hope I’d lose weight. And I did. A little bit of weight. But it hasn’t been a magic bullet. I wanted a magic bullet. And the truth is, I often eat unhealthfuly because of the vegan thing, when if I could have a bit of mayo, or not have to worry over a bit of egg, I could be eating much better. That is one thing.

But maybe I’m just tired of it. And maybe that makes me weak and lazy. Maybe that makes me a hypocrite. But…I have the ability to convince myself of anything. Yes, I really do. And here I am.

~r.