On Monday of this past week, I found the moon. It was fat, full, gluttonous, and bright. I have a picture to prove it.
I have another resolution for this relatively new year: to be as artistic in possible in all that I do.
I deposited my second royalty check – $23.22. From October 29th to December 31st, I have made $95.40. I am not, and have never been, a “numbers person.” I am not sure if this means I am doing well, average, or poor. All I know is that I want to keep writing, and I suppose that is the most important thing. I did little to no writing this week, which is possibly why this blog post is so scattered and superficial.
I am convinced that in a former life, I was happily married to Ricky Ricardo.
Running in the wind is romantic and freeing. Running in the wind and the rain is stupid.
There is a dry, red, and raw patch of skin on my hand between my thumb and pointer finger. When I stick the cap on the opposite end of the pen, the plastic irritates the area. I have icky winter skin. I am over the cold, bitter weather.
I am sick of being tired.
I am envious of Winona Ryder – or at least her hair, especially when it is short. I remember feeling similarly after seeing, “Girl, Interrupted.” I watched “Reality Bites.” I liked the tone of it and I do sincerely miss the 1990s somewhat. I really am a fan of the earthy, sloppy fashion that was considered chic. I would like to bring that style back, but am unsure if I would be able to do so single-handedly, and am equally unsure if there would even be any other willing participants; I might have no other choice than to embark on a lone wolf fashion revolution. Either way, I am going to dress and style my hair accordingly – I am excited to buy new clothes once I lose the weight. Manufacturers really do not make fashionable habiliments for larger people.
I am mostly excited for Spring Break and vacation in Florida. I called my Aunt Kim tonight and squared away the details. Dad and his friend Andy fitted my car with new struts and fixed a leak that had to do with the transmission. I am constantly making a mental list of what I want to do before leaving. Lately, the trip has been all that I have been thinking about. I do not mind going alone, but Mom is thinking about coming along, and that does not upset me at all.
Sometimes, when I wash my face, I make the water too hot and steam rises up from the sink basin in the bathroom, and the water burns my hands, and opens my pores so wide that they sizzle. Once I was worried because for a brief moment, I could not get the cold tap to turn. Eventually I did, and it made me think of that scene from “My Cousin Vinny” when Marissa Tomei and Joe Pesci are ironically analyzing the dripping faucet that is off-screen as litigators would in court. Then I wonder how a casting director could match Pesci with Tomei (or vice versa). I worry that such wondering makes me shallow. Am I shallow? Am I a bad person?
What if I do not find romance after my teeth are straightened and after I’ve lost the weight? Will I have to conclude the defect is not my physical appearance, but in my personality, my very being?
I am going to take up painting this summer.
I need to write.
My last baby tooth, which never fell out, was pulled on the last day of February. So long, Little Mandi. The very last tangible remnant of my childhood was violently yanked from me. It was for the best – it was causing an infection and discoloration – but I was sad to see it go. I am reluctant to grow up and relinquish my sometimes irrational passions, and I am unwilling compromise between responsibility and desire; I don’t wanna. But then again, I am getting braces. Maybe it all works out and I will never have to escape my adolescence.
The way to blast blubber this week was to give up extreme thinking. I set a realistic goal of losing two pounds, and I lost 1.8 pounds; just two ounces shy. I have lost 18 pounds total since beginning dieting and exercising and I am getting closer to my goal. Chipping away little by little is okay; I am seeing results without being perfect or extreme, and that is both a very important and difficult lesson to learn.
So my pedometer arrived and I have been using it fairly regularly. I do not believe it is beneficial to my weight loss because I did not lose any weight this week. In fact, I gained two ounces. I overate last weekend and blamed it on the Super Bowl but really, I am just glutton, both for food and for punishment. I ate so much that weekend that I felt physically uncomfortable and incredibly guilty for the rest of the week. I fear I get some perverse pleasure from letting myself down. I also believe that I almost enjoy spreading myself too thin so that I am miserable, like I believe that playing the martyr actually suits me.
When I began this entry, I was incensed because I thought I had lost the aforementioned pedometer while I was shopping at the local grocery store, lost forever to be trampled upon in crowded aisles or crushed under the rubber tires that constantly plague the somewhat dangerous parking lot. I found it, as my mom predicted I would, in the snow near my car in the driveway, slowly icing over. I am relieved to have found it, as I paid for it, but I’m hopeless – I am forever losing items of varying importance. On my better days, I attribute my scattered brain to my creative nature and on my worse days, I concede that I am a careless moron and nothing more. This past week, I am saddened to report that I lived through mostly worse days and few, if any, better days.
Sometimes, I think it is a wonder I completed a novel because I am so lazy, I feel that I never truly finish anything and that I am never truly prepared. Instead, I settle and rationalize and excuse.
But I don’t want to be a Debbie Downer; time for some positivity.
Even though I did not lose any weight, I did not really gain any weight, either. Two ounces is nothing and really, the damage should have been much worse but I have kept up and even increased my exercise regimen. There is an excellent chance that I am building muscle which weighs more than fat. Also, without being too graphic for any readers of the male persuasion, some strictly feminine biological factors did come into play. Maybe that’s why I’ve totally been all about the self-loathing.
It snowed this weekend and the result was beautiful, absolutely beautiful. Running (really I was jogging, but let’s not ruin the moment or the sentiment with details, shall we?) uphill through the snow against the wind is really empowering. I almost enjoyed running.
Though this week’s way to blast blubber was a reminder that housework is NOT exercise, I decided to do both. I followed my routine and cleaned my room. I put new sheets on the bed and hung portraits of my male, musician idols above my bed. I should have cleaned the mirror and vacuumed but again, I’m lazy.
I am excited to announce that I have had something of a breakthrough concerning my second novel; the young lover that the musician’s wife becomes involved with is really going to be an up and coming serial killer. I am fascinated by human beings who seem to completely lack an inherent, intrinsic and somewhat sacred respect for human life. I believe the addition of that plotline will allow me to flex my characterization muscle and also add a needed complexity to the theme. I want to focus on the fear of aging and the fear of death, and the parallel between those fears and youth, beauty and the false accompanying notion of invincibility. Adding a serial killer – a tangible monster – as the antithesis of both is an intriguing dynamic.