Damage Control

I holed up for a week and a half or so to do some damage control.

I didn't get anything done really. I lolled about in bed with a fever and the flu and convinced myself I was probably dying of consumption. Or something.

It was easier to contemplate death then living though. I knew Monday was coming around the corner. I knew I was feeling better and I couldn't hide behind a Nyquil induced haze for the rest of my life. Real living needed to start again soon. I woke up this morning miserable and groggy but I dragged my fat ass into the shower and on to a bus. I have a job. I have things to do and no matter how badly I wanted to spend the rest of my life in bed with my cat, chugging cough syrup every time I hit a moment of clarity, I couldn't condone this behavior. The last thing I needed was to get my own A&E Intervention "Cough Syrup" special. Reality Television can really do without any candid shots of me in an extra large t-shirt surrounded by hundreds of empty bottles and a septic green ring of dried Nyquil around my chapped lips.

*shudder*

I'm grateful for the sporadic outings my friends have planned for me to get me out of the house and into the living world. I am constantly reminded that ultimately, this will go away and I'll feel somewhat normal again. I keep in mind that I am also my own worst enemy and inevitably I will assume the worst has happened before I pull back to see that it's not as bad as I had thought it was.

I just need to shut off that part of me that wants to look back and romanticize how awesome it all was, when the reality of the situation is that it had its ugly parts as well. There were brilliant moments of genuine love and happiness. I sorta need to put those in a box though, so I don't crumble, thinking about how that may never happen again with us, or with me and anyone else. I just want to throw the towel in on this whole love business. It's exhausting and painful and everytime I give it away because I believe wholeheartedly in it...I end up feeling foolish. It's stupid. All of it is stupid. I need something new to do. I need to take up Extreme Sports or something. I'd rather die in a freak Moto-cross accident then have to go through this all over again.

I've either eaten one meal a day or I'll eat everything I can get my hands on all day long. This needs to stop.

I've spent most of January in traction so now I look like the living dead. Sure I showered this morning, but that only takes you so far. I'm back in Bikram tonight and tomorrow I'm back to Vinyasa. I'm getting a much needed haircut. I may even do something weird like wax my eyebrows. Something, anything, to look different, to feel different. I was close to getting a random tattoo yesterday. Instead I went to Bed, Bath & Beyond and watched my roommate buy a box of "Shamwow". Then we had burgers at Magnolia and Jason came over for Rock of Love and for a split second I felt relatively normal.

So it is possible. I am getting there. I need to keep on moving through it.