the end of the line
Just a few things I wanted to write about the past three months. So here it all is, in small, disorganised chunks.
It pains me to say that I've stopped running. What was once a major part of my life, something I once took great pride in, has become nothing more than a bittersweet memory. Now, it's surprising if I run even twice a month. It's no coincidence that one of the main reasons is that I'm finally, more or less, at peace with my body. There's no pressing need to sweat and ache anymore, no matter how good it feels whenever I do.
I've noticed the changes, of course. My legs aren't as muscular. I don't have abs. My stomach is squishier. Running for a mere forty minutes takes a lot out of me.
But these are just minor details. I'll always worry about how I look, I think, but as long as it doesn't get me down, I can't say I'm unhappy with this bizarre turn of events.
I dream of having a white apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over a grey and dull city. Everything in this apartment will be white. The floors, the walls, the furniture, even the pet. Maybe a cat. Or a dog. Or a hamster. Or all three.
I'll have long, hot bubble baths with scented candles all around me. I'll do my work at a clean, tidy desk. I'll sleep on a huge bed and cover myself with a thick quilt. I'll have a hollow mannequin hidden away somewhere, a mannequin with lots of holes from all the stabbing I do to it whenever I get frustrated. I'll have a kitchen where I make all sorts of healthy meals. There's no dining table in my apartment. I never have many guests so I'll just have a kitchen counter lined with three bar stools. I'll have all my meals there.
Wherever this apartment is, it's in a place that has all four seasons. So I can watch the snow during winter. And I can watch the summer rains with Hyde or G playing in the background.
I'm a dancer. I attend rehearsals in a sports tank top, tights and sneakers. My long hair is tied up in a messy but secure bun. Once I arrive at the studio, I put my bag down at the corner and then join my friends for a chat. During the rehearsal, I twirl and jump and twist along with the music. After that, I go out for a meal with my fellow troupe members.
I'm a scriptwriter. It's a hectic life, one that requires a sense of urgency and responsibility. There are always rewrites to be made, script-reads to attend, stories to create. I greet all the actors at the first script-read and we all sit down. Once it begins, I start smiling to myself. I love hearing my script come to life by having the actors read their lines in character.
I'm a movie director. I plan shot sizes and angles. I let the actors decide what their characters should do most of the time, but sometimes I step in and give them specific instructions. When I watch the final thing, I can forget about all the technicalities that went into making it. I become part of the audience, no longer the director.
I'm a veterinarian. I see animals all day long. I get to hold them and pet them and make them feel better. Sometimes, I have to put an animal down. I'll never get used to seeing life leave the animal's eyes, to feeling their heart stop beating under my hand. I can't cry, though, not in front of the animal's owners. I have to be professional. But it's not a bad job. I get two breaks throughout the day, which I spend having meals or scrolling through tumblr. The rest of the time, I'm helping my furry friends.
I'm a novelist. I spend my days staring at my laptop, doing and thinking nothing.
My lives are movies.
My hamsters know me only by my hands which I use to cradle them, pet them, feed them treats. They don't know me but I know them. I know all of Loreley's actions and habits -- her way of telling me what she wants. I know Moon sometimes sleeps with her eyes open so I have to let my hand linger in front of her face so she gets my scent and won't be scared to death if I wake her up when I touch her. I know Peanut, Butter and Jelly are good little hamsters that eat whatever I give them, unlike the others who only like the mango and papaya treats. Sunny's the one who stays with Snow (my brother's hamster which I nicknamed 'Grandpa' because he's old) and cuddles with him like a good granddaughter. Robo doesn't like me. Margaery's the gentle, sweet one who never fights with anyone, but she does snarl at Robo when Robo annoys her. Leeca (Peanut, Butter, Jelly, Sunny and Margaery's mother) fights with everyone.
I've created a cosy little getaway under my bed. I've got a table and lamp down there, and at least five large cushions. Sometimes I crawl underneath there to nap, instead of climbing up onto my bed. It's much nicer down there. It's small and cramped and sometimes it gets too hot but I always get the best sleep when I sleep there.
I do light exercises fifteen minutes a day, sometimes less. Just two sets of crunches and then stretching. It's nothing compared to what I used to do but I derive enjoyment from it all the same. I love touching the marble floor with my forearms with my legs stretched as far as they can go. I like attempting to form an upside-down V shape with my body and failing. I like it when Wally and Max crawl into my lap when I stretch my legs out on the ground.
My life is almost perfect on weekends. Then Monday rolls around, my alarm wakes me up at 6, I trudge on to school.
Weekends. Weekends are all I look forward to now.
Game of Thrones is everything right now. E v e r y t h i n g.
It's made me realise that I am very much attracted to old men. Not old like Hyde and G. But old, as in, they actually look their age. Jaime Lannister? Pfft, you can have him. Give me his father Tywin. And the black-hearted sarcastic Bronn. And the vicious and elegant Oberyn. And the wise and strong Jorah.
I'm also attracted to the young ladies. Dany? Missandei? Asha? Ros? Shae? Brienne? I'm so there.
Oh, and, I'm a blonde now.
Ciao.
It pains me to say that I've stopped running. What was once a major part of my life, something I once took great pride in, has become nothing more than a bittersweet memory. Now, it's surprising if I run even twice a month. It's no coincidence that one of the main reasons is that I'm finally, more or less, at peace with my body. There's no pressing need to sweat and ache anymore, no matter how good it feels whenever I do.
I've noticed the changes, of course. My legs aren't as muscular. I don't have abs. My stomach is squishier. Running for a mere forty minutes takes a lot out of me.
But these are just minor details. I'll always worry about how I look, I think, but as long as it doesn't get me down, I can't say I'm unhappy with this bizarre turn of events.
I dream of having a white apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over a grey and dull city. Everything in this apartment will be white. The floors, the walls, the furniture, even the pet. Maybe a cat. Or a dog. Or a hamster. Or all three.
I'll have long, hot bubble baths with scented candles all around me. I'll do my work at a clean, tidy desk. I'll sleep on a huge bed and cover myself with a thick quilt. I'll have a hollow mannequin hidden away somewhere, a mannequin with lots of holes from all the stabbing I do to it whenever I get frustrated. I'll have a kitchen where I make all sorts of healthy meals. There's no dining table in my apartment. I never have many guests so I'll just have a kitchen counter lined with three bar stools. I'll have all my meals there.
Wherever this apartment is, it's in a place that has all four seasons. So I can watch the snow during winter. And I can watch the summer rains with Hyde or G playing in the background.
I'm a dancer. I attend rehearsals in a sports tank top, tights and sneakers. My long hair is tied up in a messy but secure bun. Once I arrive at the studio, I put my bag down at the corner and then join my friends for a chat. During the rehearsal, I twirl and jump and twist along with the music. After that, I go out for a meal with my fellow troupe members.
I'm a scriptwriter. It's a hectic life, one that requires a sense of urgency and responsibility. There are always rewrites to be made, script-reads to attend, stories to create. I greet all the actors at the first script-read and we all sit down. Once it begins, I start smiling to myself. I love hearing my script come to life by having the actors read their lines in character.
I'm a movie director. I plan shot sizes and angles. I let the actors decide what their characters should do most of the time, but sometimes I step in and give them specific instructions. When I watch the final thing, I can forget about all the technicalities that went into making it. I become part of the audience, no longer the director.
I'm a veterinarian. I see animals all day long. I get to hold them and pet them and make them feel better. Sometimes, I have to put an animal down. I'll never get used to seeing life leave the animal's eyes, to feeling their heart stop beating under my hand. I can't cry, though, not in front of the animal's owners. I have to be professional. But it's not a bad job. I get two breaks throughout the day, which I spend having meals or scrolling through tumblr. The rest of the time, I'm helping my furry friends.
I'm a novelist. I spend my days staring at my laptop, doing and thinking nothing.
My lives are movies.
My hamsters know me only by my hands which I use to cradle them, pet them, feed them treats. They don't know me but I know them. I know all of Loreley's actions and habits -- her way of telling me what she wants. I know Moon sometimes sleeps with her eyes open so I have to let my hand linger in front of her face so she gets my scent and won't be scared to death if I wake her up when I touch her. I know Peanut, Butter and Jelly are good little hamsters that eat whatever I give them, unlike the others who only like the mango and papaya treats. Sunny's the one who stays with Snow (my brother's hamster which I nicknamed 'Grandpa' because he's old) and cuddles with him like a good granddaughter. Robo doesn't like me. Margaery's the gentle, sweet one who never fights with anyone, but she does snarl at Robo when Robo annoys her. Leeca (Peanut, Butter, Jelly, Sunny and Margaery's mother) fights with everyone.
I've created a cosy little getaway under my bed. I've got a table and lamp down there, and at least five large cushions. Sometimes I crawl underneath there to nap, instead of climbing up onto my bed. It's much nicer down there. It's small and cramped and sometimes it gets too hot but I always get the best sleep when I sleep there.
I do light exercises fifteen minutes a day, sometimes less. Just two sets of crunches and then stretching. It's nothing compared to what I used to do but I derive enjoyment from it all the same. I love touching the marble floor with my forearms with my legs stretched as far as they can go. I like attempting to form an upside-down V shape with my body and failing. I like it when Wally and Max crawl into my lap when I stretch my legs out on the ground.
My life is almost perfect on weekends. Then Monday rolls around, my alarm wakes me up at 6, I trudge on to school.
Weekends. Weekends are all I look forward to now.
Game of Thrones is everything right now. E v e r y t h i n g.
It's made me realise that I am very much attracted to old men. Not old like Hyde and G. But old, as in, they actually look their age. Jaime Lannister? Pfft, you can have him. Give me his father Tywin. And the black-hearted sarcastic Bronn. And the vicious and elegant Oberyn. And the wise and strong Jorah.
I'm also attracted to the young ladies. Dany? Missandei? Asha? Ros? Shae? Brienne? I'm so there.
Oh, and, I'm a blonde now.
Ciao.