I have fallen down a bit on my regime and I feel horribly guilty so I need this to be a confessional blog. I have been cheating on the "Cancer Diet", I have not been keeping up with my writing, which is the thing that gives me peace, perspective and discovery....its like a direct line to my soul. AND....I have not been doing yoga and exercising as I feel I "should" be. Nor sitting in the russian bath house as I "should" be because I have 7 passes. Yes 7. It doesn't even cost me.
Now two things are happening in this predicament. Fear. And guilt. Guilt. If there is anything I wish to erase from my life forever and ever it is big fat guilt. I carry so much guilt around with me on a daily basis over the most trivial of things. My room isn't clean. Guilt. I am 34, it should be spotless. I can hear my mother's voice in my head and her disgust at me. This room has been the source of so many arguments growing up, a source of shame, punishment, and my mother not being pleased with me. I am 34 years old and still, I walk into this room with the eyes of my mother. Instead of making me clean it, this perspective makes me miserable and I want to go in the kitchen and eat cookies, none of which are on the Cancer Diet, which gives me further guilt, so instead of writing about it to get it off my chest and into some cleansing artistic experience, I decide to go shopping. Spending money I shouldn't be spending (my father's voice) and further avoiding going to yoga class or working up a sweat. So now I have a messy room, a junk food system, a fat ass, I am broke and my writing career is in the toilet. You see what happens with this guilt cycle? Round and round.
So here it is. I have cheated on the cancer diet but not so much, that it is irreparable. Its not like I ate donuts and ice cream and steak....well I had a small dish of pralines and cream but that was for childhood's sake. And no, I didn't even bless it, I just ate it standing up in my mother's kitchen at midnight for no good reason besides....pleasure. Some would say that is a good reason, quite actually, my mother has said this....pleasure. No, no, pleasure is not a good reason, the guilt is sure of that. I have had a messy room, BUT I have had clean sheets and laundry and I can find things relatively well. And it smells good and the plant is alive. And in 20 minutes it would be clean so who cares. The exercise has been regular every other day or every two days.....it is not going to get me in iron woman shape BUT, I will maintain the flabby ass that I currently have and it shouldn't grow larger. The shopping....well, if you take a look at my new belt, enough is said on this subject because it is quite the piece.......every time I look at it I get pleasure running thru my eyes and down into my heart. It has paid for itself in two weeks. Nuff said. Writing,....well scribbling some thoughts on the subway and currently writing right now, feels like maybe the writing Nazi's will forgive me and the creative angels will take up residency again in my fingers. I sometimes think of all the things I could have written all the juicy fragments of life I could have woven into some sort of story or prose piece or rant or article and I pray pray pray that the gods have lodged those moments somewhere in my brain that they will slip out poetically in some writing session and make them onto the page....I must make an altar to the writing memory gods.
Okay. I think I have taken myself off the hook enough to go to bed and wake up and try and eat the cancer diet, exercise the body, conserve money, write the best of the heart, and clean the room spic and span...THen I will be perfect and no man in a little guilty suit will be able to shake his finger at me and disrupt the inner angels from playing hooky on school to go joy riding with the cute boy. Nice girls finish last.
Now two things are happening in this predicament. Fear. And guilt. Guilt. If there is anything I wish to erase from my life forever and ever it is big fat guilt. I carry so much guilt around with me on a daily basis over the most trivial of things. My room isn't clean. Guilt. I am 34, it should be spotless. I can hear my mother's voice in my head and her disgust at me. This room has been the source of so many arguments growing up, a source of shame, punishment, and my mother not being pleased with me. I am 34 years old and still, I walk into this room with the eyes of my mother. Instead of making me clean it, this perspective makes me miserable and I want to go in the kitchen and eat cookies, none of which are on the Cancer Diet, which gives me further guilt, so instead of writing about it to get it off my chest and into some cleansing artistic experience, I decide to go shopping. Spending money I shouldn't be spending (my father's voice) and further avoiding going to yoga class or working up a sweat. So now I have a messy room, a junk food system, a fat ass, I am broke and my writing career is in the toilet. You see what happens with this guilt cycle? Round and round.
So here it is. I have cheated on the cancer diet but not so much, that it is irreparable. Its not like I ate donuts and ice cream and steak....well I had a small dish of pralines and cream but that was for childhood's sake. And no, I didn't even bless it, I just ate it standing up in my mother's kitchen at midnight for no good reason besides....pleasure. Some would say that is a good reason, quite actually, my mother has said this....pleasure. No, no, pleasure is not a good reason, the guilt is sure of that. I have had a messy room, BUT I have had clean sheets and laundry and I can find things relatively well. And it smells good and the plant is alive. And in 20 minutes it would be clean so who cares. The exercise has been regular every other day or every two days.....it is not going to get me in iron woman shape BUT, I will maintain the flabby ass that I currently have and it shouldn't grow larger. The shopping....well, if you take a look at my new belt, enough is said on this subject because it is quite the piece.......every time I look at it I get pleasure running thru my eyes and down into my heart. It has paid for itself in two weeks. Nuff said. Writing,....well scribbling some thoughts on the subway and currently writing right now, feels like maybe the writing Nazi's will forgive me and the creative angels will take up residency again in my fingers. I sometimes think of all the things I could have written all the juicy fragments of life I could have woven into some sort of story or prose piece or rant or article and I pray pray pray that the gods have lodged those moments somewhere in my brain that they will slip out poetically in some writing session and make them onto the page....I must make an altar to the writing memory gods.
Okay. I think I have taken myself off the hook enough to go to bed and wake up and try and eat the cancer diet, exercise the body, conserve money, write the best of the heart, and clean the room spic and span...THen I will be perfect and no man in a little guilty suit will be able to shake his finger at me and disrupt the inner angels from playing hooky on school to go joy riding with the cute boy. Nice girls finish last.
