Soujin (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
psalm_onethirtyone) wrote2007-12-31 10:03 pm
psalm_onethirtyone) wrote2007-12-31 10:03 pm
Entry tags:
"My Men Turn to Me for a Sign..."
A few notes.
We got almost all the moving done to-day! Only I shall have to get a new boxspring, because it turns out mine is rotted through and was only holding up because of the crossboards underneath. Luckily we have a spare, so we won't need to buy another. To-night I sleep on a mattress on the floor; it and my gutted bureau and nightstand are the only pieces of furniture left in my room, except for the treadmill hulking evilly in one corner.
While I was going under my bureau to clean out all the things I'd shoved under there over the years, I threw away over two years' worth of eating disorder material I'd written for myself: everything from food journals to calorie counts for hundreds of different items in hundreds of different restaurants to little notes saying 'you're a fat fucking lazy bitch and if you tried harder you could do this'. There were notebooks full of my exercises, and notebooks that mentioned every time I 'indulged'--sometimes under the heading and date there are entries the entire text of which were 'one half a piece of hard candy' or 'some powdered sugar that was in the air and got in my mouth' or 'two chocolate chips'. And then more notes.
And I threw it all away. All of it.
Happy new year, everybody.
My Papa's Waltz
by Theodore Roethke
The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I held on like death:
Such dancing was not easy.
We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother's countenance
Could not unfrown itself.
The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step I missed
My right ear scraped a buckle.
You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt.
We got almost all the moving done to-day! Only I shall have to get a new boxspring, because it turns out mine is rotted through and was only holding up because of the crossboards underneath. Luckily we have a spare, so we won't need to buy another. To-night I sleep on a mattress on the floor; it and my gutted bureau and nightstand are the only pieces of furniture left in my room, except for the treadmill hulking evilly in one corner.
While I was going under my bureau to clean out all the things I'd shoved under there over the years, I threw away over two years' worth of eating disorder material I'd written for myself: everything from food journals to calorie counts for hundreds of different items in hundreds of different restaurants to little notes saying 'you're a fat fucking lazy bitch and if you tried harder you could do this'. There were notebooks full of my exercises, and notebooks that mentioned every time I 'indulged'--sometimes under the heading and date there are entries the entire text of which were 'one half a piece of hard candy' or 'some powdered sugar that was in the air and got in my mouth' or 'two chocolate chips'. And then more notes.
And I threw it all away. All of it.
Happy new year, everybody.
My Papa's Waltz
by Theodore Roethke
The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I held on like death:
Such dancing was not easy.
We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother's countenance
Could not unfrown itself.
The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step I missed
My right ear scraped a buckle.
You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt.
no subject
You are strong and wise and brave, and for those reasons, this year will be better than the last one. I hope you had a merry, merry Christmas, and a very happy New Year. Keep us all updated on your progress. *loves*
no subject
Thank you so much.