5/26/25
Need to keep track because migraines and headaches are back.
1—smoked 3 cigs yesterday. No alcohol.
2—had enormous and long phone conversation with my daughter, fraught and strange and brain-demanding. (we are estranged)
3—had poetry group in which I wrote 3 actual poems geeze the brain explode.
4—cooked twice fast as lightning, oh my but being prepared is everything everything.
5—sussed out mother-daughter weight so heavy conversation with Dale.
6–had headache (not exactly migraine) all day long. That’s about 3 days in a row now.
It was a lot a lot a lot but I am glad I called her. We are going to meet in person in two weeks. I refuse to quake I refuse to topple over in my spindly boots. I don’t even wear spindly boots. My honor is always somehow at stake, even when I’m trying so hard to be kind. Parenting is the most awful job, in both senses of that word.
The cooking. I am hoping it will really come together. As soon as I am able to manage burgers of every veg/vegan kind, as soon as I can do that, I/we should be set. Frozen onions/peppers, frozen everything is the way to go. Easy. I don’t end up wasting stuff. Slaw is the best delivery of roughage stuff for me. I adore slaw. All this life I could have been eating and making my own. I am a picky eater who grew up on an extremely limited diet. Textures are my biggest issue. And joy. I love crunch. I love silky. I love smooth. I detest smush. Meat is an increasing horror, even vegan sausages are somehow ick. I am doing up the vegan pulled chicken today and I hope it don’t taste or mouth-feel like chicken.
Enough. The water PT is going well. I just have to get into the routine of going at least 3 times a week. I think 4 would be better because when I do go I get SO SORE and am even MORE TIRED than sore. Geeze, it’s a mess, the body. It needs attention and compassion. I will do that I can do that.
Food Coach is, I think, no longer available. Her world has fallen apart. Her husband had a stroke. I feel so bad for her, but I either need to carry on as I am, or get a new food coach which I am loath to do. It is helping me, the restriction I’m doing, and all it is really is sticking with things I love—fruit, veg, legumes, nuts, seeds, tofu, grains, fats, bread, butter, a little milk in my coffee. And no meat, not in my kitchen. I’m always going to crave McDonald’s when I’m sick or down. I will eat bacon if someone else cooks it, but I am entirely and completely done forever with touching meat. It is vile.
And all the other stuff—good for body and planet and spirit—that’s all good, but I am following my brain and mouth on this—meat is gross. I’ve always thought so since I was a child it’s all about texture not so much the animals, and the varying weird conditions of meat. The only ones I like are canned tuna and things with easy textures like shaved ham and turkey. But I won’t miss eating those. Sugar remains an issue, it’s always the issue, but I think I can put down my head and step into the wind. I’ve been thinking about what it would take to move from that particular method of hurting myself to moving into a space where I won’t allow that “addiction” to hold sway over my suffering body. Moving into that space, flowing into it. It is a place full of pure cold see-through water.
Water. Water is everything. Someone left a comment on my essay “Water” and it was glorious. I am so glad people who read it get it. I don’t just love water. I would become water if given the chance. I would be a creature like those in that movie The Abyss. I would be fluid and full of light and also deep darkness.
If I allow myself, I could write like a blue pure fire streak of speed and frenzy. But I cannot allow it. My head will explode.
At present I am listening to music with words while writing this. I never do this. The world is varied and my place in it shifts and shimmies, lifts up its dress, and gives me the moooooooooooooooon.
Well. That’s a poem.
~r
