Trip to Dad’s was a Tom’s breakfast, a Glenwood lunch including a sausage patty that seemed too much even as I bolted it, and Burgerville dinner in Albany which included a hazelnut chocolate milkshake that was really, really disgusting. Then a night of diarrhea and weird cramps in my calves and obliques and groin, like what the hell? And a day of recovery, and then today, still not feeling quite well, but the POINT is, the point is that there wasn’t any binge at any point of it, and I’m still on track, with enough data to reasonably say yes, I am on a regimen that presently comes to a pound and a half of weight loss per week, which is exactly what I am aiming for. It will change; everything changes; but for now I can say, this is exactly where I should be, this is the course, I am steering for the right star, gleaming above the waters.
So at last I know. And of course life is punctuated with illness and times when you can’t exercise, that’s simply human life and always has been, probably more frequent illness now that I’m an old man, but who cares? And it’s always been way more frequent than I’ve ever acknowledged. Roll with it, roll with it, roll with everything, sir. And maybe I go to work today or maybe I just leave it till tomorrow and none of it really matters, because I’m just doing them a favor anyway and the whole thing is laid out, regardless, I see the whole vista and this work thing is finished. It can’t really touch me any more.
The meditation vow is broken, but we’ll repair it, it’s not broken badly.
The opening pages of John Gray’s Straw Dogs is absolutely amazing and quite beautiful. I wish I had come upon him long ago. And also reading Otoño del Patriarca, which is also absolutely amazing, and responsible I suppose for all these run-on sentences. Much love dears.
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