08/24/2010

There's just not a whole lot to say today.

Except that all I want to listen to are seventies and eighties classics. Rush? YES. Cyndi Lauper? YES. Eurythmics? YES. Motorhead? YES.

For the last few days my head has been filled with things...mostly things that need to be done, not said. So until I can clear my head by accomplishing a few of the things I need to get done, I may not have a whole lot to say.

Life Thus Far

As the day crept by, it seemed less and less likely that I would coax some noteworthy thought from my mind. Thankfully, something has surfaced at the eleventh hour.

I sat in front of my computer at the kitchen table, caught again by the grasping hands of those who would wish to get in touch with me. Inevitably, any time I make myself slightly available, any time I open the door just enough to see sunlight, all the people who have not heard from me in whatever they consider to be "too long" come rushing forth, crowding what little space I can provide. Of course they never mean ill...what else can I expect when I only make myself available once in a blue moon? And I love to hear from everyone...I enjoy the companionship of my friends and family. But the difficult part comes in facilitating four conversations at once five hours from when I have to wake up for work...I shouldn't gripe. Its my own fault.

As my conversations came to an end and the opportunity to sleep could finally be seized, I set my alarm. Thankfully, mine is not the kind that makes horrible noises to force me into a state of disgruntled consciousness...it is the kind that lets me pick what I want to wake up to. Some mornings Monolith by CFCF is the best. Other mornings Untitled by Interpol is top of the list. But tonight, I know that my ears will want to hear Summer Skin by Deathcab for Cutie as the sun rises. Placing my Ipod on the proper song and then setting the alarm itself, the song triggered some sort of momentary lucidity, allowing me to remove myself for just long enough to really take in what I had made for myself.

Look what I have. Look what I have in this little room. Lying on the beige carpet is my nest; my wonderful creation made of thermarest and too many blankets, where I spent my first months as an independent seventeen year old. The big printer box just next to it is still what I call my "desk"; it is more like a nightstand, though, only ever home to my numerous hair clips, ties, and pins and the occasional book or tea cup. The big window that takes up the full length of one wall. The heater just below it that spans the same length of wall. Between the two, the entire wall becomes a huge expanse of unusable space, expect for drying my gi. There is the small wooden table, gifted to me by my cousin Margie and her husband Neale who were so kind to let me stay with them before I knew where I was going or what I was doing. On top of that is the printer from my "desk" that has jokingly become my small home office. It has printed few things that weren't somehow related to helping me get a job. Also from Margie and Neale is a wonderful wooden chair that sits in the corner between the printer and the heater. Lastly, there are the cubbies I built for myself to keep my clothes in. Target actually provided me with something useful.

Everything in my room, every last hair tie, power strip, cardboard box, and piece of clothing has something attached to it. It means something, and carries more weight than just its own.

In that one minute of removed observation I looked at myself and everything I have made since the time I got here eleven months ago. Though it is small and unimpressive, it is my greatest achievement yet.

Finally

It took me all day to come up with something. Anything, really. A lot of time has lapsed since I last wrote...but it has not been for lack of material. There is plenty in my head, but the undeveloped vastly outweigh the developed.

But, as I stood in front of my door, keys in one hand, Sprite in the other, it occurred to me in one fleeting moment how horribly addicted I am to sugar. And as I put the key in the lock and set my Sprite on the window ledge, I thought about how I had eaten almost nothing but sugar for two days straight in some effort to try and satisfy my craving for sugar. And for another moment I thought it was funny. Just quickly though, before I realized how much that actually meant. I try to watch how much crap I shovel into my mouth if only because I don't want diabetes when I get older. But occasionally I slip up and say "screw it. I'll eat well tomorrow. Today, I need to get my sugar fix." But at the end of the day, I am no more fulfilled than I was the day before...despite the fact that I doubled or tripled the amount of nasty crap ingested.

This conclusion, in a moment of rare clarity, brought me to the following conclusion:

Its like that with all addiction. You up the dosage to try and get your fill, try to kill the craving by having just enough. The problem is...enough is never enough. No matter how much more you indulge, you will always want more.

And so I realized that that summarizes my relationship with sugar. I will always want more, regardless of how much I eat so it is pointless to seek a "stopping point", a point at which I will be satisfied and no longer crave sugar. Instead, I need to have self restraint and discipline, realizing that eating more won't help.

Well, that all sounded a lot more philosophical in my head than it does written out. Damn.