Saturday, February 13, 2016

Dear Diary

Dear Diary
Big news: Last night I ate some salmon with mashed potatoes, and this morning I was able to eat scrambled eggs on a gluten-free waffle. It's about time. After two weeks of consuming nothing but chicken broth and dairy-free protein shakes I can see bones between my breasts. That's not really the look I'm going for these days.

Better friends
You read about what happened to Gram Parsons' body and you feel like maybe you should find yourself some better friends.

In need of convincing
These feelings that I'm feeling complicate my mind. I am not exactly sure what I want, which is further complicated by the fact that I am also not entirely sure what I need. Some days it seems I have convinced myself one way, only to discover a few days or a week or, perhaps, even a month or several months later that I have convinced myself the other way. Some days I feel sure, but then I start to question whether I am actually sure or if I am trying to believe that I am sure because feeling sure is much less complicated than not feeling sure, and, in wondering these things, I realize that I must not really be sure. Other days I feel that I am positively sure, but the obstacles to embodying that sureness are very high, and so I start to wonder if I am really sure enough to justify confronting those obstacles and, in wondering this, I begin to convince myself that perhaps I am not as positively sure as I had originally thought. This has gone on for some time now, and, as you can imagine, it all feels rather complicated.

Ice cube
The cat has learned to associate the sound of the freezer door opening with the possibility that he might be given an ice cube or several. He loves to play with ice cubes. He baps them all over the kitchen, down the hallway and into the living room, and occasionally he'll knock them down the stairs and watch them fall all the way to the bottom. If an ice cube fails to fall the whole way down the stairwell, and instead stops on one of the wooden stairs, he will run down to where the ice cube has interrupted its downward trajectory and knock it, once again, off the edge. At times he will bap ice cubes underneath the brown couch in the living room, and then he will sit beside the couch waiting, and hoping, for an ice cube to leap out so that he can bap it back underneath the couch again. He enjoys these games so much that now, whenever I open the freezer door, he will come running into the kitchen, no matter where he was in the apartment prior to hearing the freezer door open, or what he was doing.

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