Bitch, bitch, bitch
In a vile temper.
Last night was the first time I've gone out of control with my eating. Went out for mexican food with Martha and ate a grand meal, finishing up with their specialty dessert, designed by the NACECD (North American Committee for the Encouragement of Coronary Disease) -- a sort of deep-fried cookie crusted with cinnamon sugar. Then all evening I was scooting down to the basement to grab handfuls of Heshey's kisses and surreptitiously scarf them.
The night before that I lost my temper -- again, in the basement, which seems to house my id -- and I kicked viciously at a bench that I expected to send flying or shatter. Instead it held its ground nobly and injured my toes, so that I'm still gimping around: the next morning my entire big toe had turned a lovely raspberry color, with a fetching purple line across the last joint. I don't think I broke it, but I'm not entirely sure. I gave out that I had stubbed it accidentally.
This morning, Martha asked if I was okay as I was dressing, and I said "oh, I'm a little sad and unhappy." Why? she asked. I had to think a little. "Because I dripped salsa on my clean pants last night, so I have to wear a different pair today," I said, perfectly truthfully. "Which tells you how serious my troubles are."
We got the kids off to their end-of-the-year campout, yesterday morning (which is why I had been in the basement, the night before, finding twine, or rather not finding twine, to tie around rolled-up sleeping bags, and assaulting benches.) So supposedly the pressure is off. Actually, of course, the pressure is jacked up, because now I should be spending quality time with Martha while we have the chance. And all the while I'm hopelessly behind with housework and with the database maintenance for the sangha, and the young man whose grad school application I edited is pressing me to read Zarathustra and have meaningful conversations, and my practice is a shambles (I sat -- what -- twice, in the last week?), and the very earnest man who wants to redesign all of the sangha information systems with me has been calling, and what I really want to do is go out to a strip club, and get very drunk.
What it is, I guess, is that I hate letting people down.