Salad
I wish I wanted to eat more salad in the winter. There's this restaurant near my house called The Naam, one of my favourite haunts, filled with absolutely delectable, all veggie, totally decadent, totally yummy food. I am craving Naam-ness, with a huge glass of carrot juice.
My relationship with food, always so strange, it has been that way since I was around eight. When I read books on the subject, the subject of women and their relationship with food, they often mention the age of eight, something marks that age, something happens there. I've never really revisited those years, all those years, how many years, all 14 years aghhhh fourteen fucking years, of food battles. I've certainly never dealt with them publicly. I had a brief relapse the other night, the battle is adictive, it's in me, but can never be fully indulged because my body knows, it sends me warning signs, she lets me know what's up. She says "whoah bitch, take fucking care of us!" Such a strange pull, still very, very much present.
Am writing one looooong ass story, involving music. Never involved my musician's life this much in fiction.
Am writing one play. A play to be performed at the end of the year. My body is making me keep the oddest schedule, working until two in the morning. I get this creative drive when the sun goes down.
I love making A.R.T.
Am writing a biogrpahy of my best friend.
Have a Slav term paper and a Spanish exam.
Had a moment yesterday on campus between non-fiction and Spanish. I am swamped, life's piled it all on for the next couple of weeks, but yesterday was a surprisingly, and unaturally for this time of year, clear day, it was four, the sun was setting and making the sky red, and orange, intense. And I realised that this moment needed to be lived. I finally understand something about creating your life, it involves letting go of some things and then taking in the other things that make good moments, I couldn't plunge into a book when all this sense-boggling gorgeousness was happening outside. So I went outside. Take that Spanish.
Now I will go study my Spanish.
My relationship with food, always so strange, it has been that way since I was around eight. When I read books on the subject, the subject of women and their relationship with food, they often mention the age of eight, something marks that age, something happens there. I've never really revisited those years, all those years, how many years, all 14 years aghhhh fourteen fucking years, of food battles. I've certainly never dealt with them publicly. I had a brief relapse the other night, the battle is adictive, it's in me, but can never be fully indulged because my body knows, it sends me warning signs, she lets me know what's up. She says "whoah bitch, take fucking care of us!" Such a strange pull, still very, very much present.
Am writing one looooong ass story, involving music. Never involved my musician's life this much in fiction.
Am writing one play. A play to be performed at the end of the year. My body is making me keep the oddest schedule, working until two in the morning. I get this creative drive when the sun goes down.
I love making A.R.T.
Am writing a biogrpahy of my best friend.
Have a Slav term paper and a Spanish exam.
Had a moment yesterday on campus between non-fiction and Spanish. I am swamped, life's piled it all on for the next couple of weeks, but yesterday was a surprisingly, and unaturally for this time of year, clear day, it was four, the sun was setting and making the sky red, and orange, intense. And I realised that this moment needed to be lived. I finally understand something about creating your life, it involves letting go of some things and then taking in the other things that make good moments, I couldn't plunge into a book when all this sense-boggling gorgeousness was happening outside. So I went outside. Take that Spanish.
Now I will go study my Spanish.