Well, I went and reread my post from yesterday. It got me thinking about what I actually get from rereading my own stuff. A part of it is the thrill of putting myself in someone elses shoes as I read, imagining another humans reaction. It's a form of connection. A part of it is editing, trying to catch mistakes in spelling or sentence structure. And an even bigger part of it is curiosity about self, a tangible connection to the me that wrote whatever I wrote. I'm mystified sometimes, rereading this shit I put out there. It feels like reading the words of a stranger. And I enjoy that feeling, that sense of me as an unknown.
I woke up this morning at 5:45am because I was having a scary dream about sharks. Great white sharks, in a canyon river, where I was watching a truly idiotic older dude refuse to get out of the water despite having one of the sharks almost attack him. It was a fascinating dream, with me apologizing to the doctor in front of me for screaming in his ear, even as I'm continuing to scream in an effort to convince this dude to get the fuck out of the water filled with sharks.
I couldn't get back to sleep after that, so I groggily grabbed my phone and started looking at facebook. The parallels to my shark dream were everywhere. Trying to convince people to get out of the shark infested water, and watching them toddle from side to side with a beatific look on their vapid faces, narrowly avoiding getting eaten only because the shark nuzzling them spotted a smaller, tastier look shark behind them... My dreams are reflecting a very cynical reality.
Then I did some stretching. Naked stretches after having just woken up are the best thing in the whole world. Until you're doing down dog, and your vagina decides to do some stretching of its own and suddenly air is escaping and squeaks are happening and you're giggling madly even as you try and stretch harder and the cats are horrified and you're imagining this going up on youtube someday because apparently you live in the public eye.
I did a lot of physical work yesterday, and today I am sore and happy. The physical work, of course, wasn't all that physical. A lot of walking around, a lot of trying to think like a goat, and then a lot of trying to circumvent goats despite how smart they are. I goat proofed under my back deck, and I goat proofed my chicken coop. Except the little fuckers STILL manager to get under my coop and to the food despite me leaving a space only large enough for a chicken to get through between two layers of chicken wire. So now I have to make it a smaller space, freaking out my chickens more but hopefully saving my fucking expensive all organic nothing but the best for these egg laying beauties chicken food.
I am seriously contemplating doing a no-carb/no-sugar diet for a good chunk of time in the immediate future. Which means I am having a brownie with my coffee for breakfast today. It cracks me up how immediately the yeasty beasties in my body respond to the idea of me starving them out. I think about this diet, and I suddenly am compelled to go out and buy brownie mix and make them RIGHT NOW. And then eat them as quickly as possible. I'm not a sweets craver, normally. I get my sugar in the form of coffee in the morning, and sometimes a sweet throughout the day. But my sugar intake comes mostly from carbs and alcohol. Which is why I'm not skinny, even though I generally eat like a Californian suburban mom who worships Whole Foods and froyo. Carbs are my downfall. And I don't mean like "Oh no, I ate a dinner role and gained an ounce!". I mean like "Well, I haven't eaten in 12 hours, so I'm going to make some homemade mac n cheese with cream cheese and butter and eat it all in one sitting". Yup. I love me some carbs. But I don't love the way they make me feel. I don't process them well, don't handle them well. Alcohol, lately, gets me drunk, sick, and fat. Pasta does the same, minus the actually drunk part. I don't eat bread often, but when I do it's not fun.
So, a protein and fat heavy diet is on the horizon.
Which means I have to exercise. And none of this "Oh, I walked to the pasture and back like a farmgirl" exercise. Actual exercise, where I breath heavily and turn red of face.
Boring.
Damn it. It's not so much that it's boring, as it is that I really shouldn't be talking about it if I really want to do it. I know that. So, no more talking about it.
AHHHHHHHHH. NOW I'M THINKING ABOUT IT LIKE I'VE ALREADY DONE IT. DAMN IT.
I woke up this morning at 5:45am because I was having a scary dream about sharks. Great white sharks, in a canyon river, where I was watching a truly idiotic older dude refuse to get out of the water despite having one of the sharks almost attack him. It was a fascinating dream, with me apologizing to the doctor in front of me for screaming in his ear, even as I'm continuing to scream in an effort to convince this dude to get the fuck out of the water filled with sharks.
I couldn't get back to sleep after that, so I groggily grabbed my phone and started looking at facebook. The parallels to my shark dream were everywhere. Trying to convince people to get out of the shark infested water, and watching them toddle from side to side with a beatific look on their vapid faces, narrowly avoiding getting eaten only because the shark nuzzling them spotted a smaller, tastier look shark behind them... My dreams are reflecting a very cynical reality.
Then I did some stretching. Naked stretches after having just woken up are the best thing in the whole world. Until you're doing down dog, and your vagina decides to do some stretching of its own and suddenly air is escaping and squeaks are happening and you're giggling madly even as you try and stretch harder and the cats are horrified and you're imagining this going up on youtube someday because apparently you live in the public eye.
I did a lot of physical work yesterday, and today I am sore and happy. The physical work, of course, wasn't all that physical. A lot of walking around, a lot of trying to think like a goat, and then a lot of trying to circumvent goats despite how smart they are. I goat proofed under my back deck, and I goat proofed my chicken coop. Except the little fuckers STILL manager to get under my coop and to the food despite me leaving a space only large enough for a chicken to get through between two layers of chicken wire. So now I have to make it a smaller space, freaking out my chickens more but hopefully saving my fucking expensive all organic nothing but the best for these egg laying beauties chicken food.
I am seriously contemplating doing a no-carb/no-sugar diet for a good chunk of time in the immediate future. Which means I am having a brownie with my coffee for breakfast today. It cracks me up how immediately the yeasty beasties in my body respond to the idea of me starving them out. I think about this diet, and I suddenly am compelled to go out and buy brownie mix and make them RIGHT NOW. And then eat them as quickly as possible. I'm not a sweets craver, normally. I get my sugar in the form of coffee in the morning, and sometimes a sweet throughout the day. But my sugar intake comes mostly from carbs and alcohol. Which is why I'm not skinny, even though I generally eat like a Californian suburban mom who worships Whole Foods and froyo. Carbs are my downfall. And I don't mean like "Oh no, I ate a dinner role and gained an ounce!". I mean like "Well, I haven't eaten in 12 hours, so I'm going to make some homemade mac n cheese with cream cheese and butter and eat it all in one sitting". Yup. I love me some carbs. But I don't love the way they make me feel. I don't process them well, don't handle them well. Alcohol, lately, gets me drunk, sick, and fat. Pasta does the same, minus the actually drunk part. I don't eat bread often, but when I do it's not fun.
So, a protein and fat heavy diet is on the horizon.
Which means I have to exercise. And none of this "Oh, I walked to the pasture and back like a farmgirl" exercise. Actual exercise, where I breath heavily and turn red of face.
Boring.
Damn it. It's not so much that it's boring, as it is that I really shouldn't be talking about it if I really want to do it. I know that. So, no more talking about it.
AHHHHHHHHH. NOW I'M THINKING ABOUT IT LIKE I'VE ALREADY DONE IT. DAMN IT.
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