the closer i get to you
Yesterday, as I was walking home from the bus stop, I had a little check in with myself. I observed that I had a pissy attitude. This pissitude had developed around cooking school, and why I was there and how I didn't feel like I wanted to continue, and I felt this kind of downward-spiral on a slippery-slope thing that's all too familiar. It's the point where I talk myself out of achieving a goal I've set for myself. I am really good at this. I am a master persuader. Ever see that old produce label with the picture of the kid in the baseball hat and above it the phrase "Lil' Hustler"? That's me. If I didn't have the power-Frau telling me that I'm not allowed to quit, I'd be out looking for a job today-- that is, right after I'd maybe done a few bonghits and watched STARTING OVER.
But I'm not there, am I? I'm still in school. In fact, I'm about to sit down at the kitchen table and write out my objectives for this quarter (my chef wants this information).
And what, pray tell, does all of this have to do with weightloss? It's the quitting, the eventual and inevitable lack of sticktoitiveness that develops over time. I always go there/here. It's the part of me that says
Right here is fine. Over there, that's too much work. It's not gonna be easy. I want easy.and another thing:
Wah!and so all that stuff seeps (or rather, surges) in, and I get washed back to where I was before, justifying myself the whole way. I don't need to get to goal. I've worked hard enough. I'm so damn tired.
But that's not an option anymore. I mean, I can't do it with cooking school, and in not doing it with cooking school, I'm looking at what it means to not do it at all, and let me tell you, I'm not so comfortable right now.
It's like someone's walked through this heaping pile of shit, and I can smell the shit, and it's like
Okay now, who walked through that?only when I keep trying to trace the footsteps, I get this weird feeling, and then I look down at my feet (which are, by the way, bare) and Voila!, there it is in all it's steaming, streaking, smeared and stanking grandeur.
Oh, my.
So I've washed my feet off, but I can't really get over that kind of thing, and perhaps I shouldn't.
posted by Stine @ 4:40 PM
3 comments
3 Comments:
and the shit goes in the garden and becomes the nourishment for the new growth, feeding its roots so it can grow up towards the sun, spread its branches, unfurl its leave, push up buds that become flowers that become fruits and then seeds.
And the sacred cycle repeats over and over and over without end and every cycle brings us closer to some kind of truth, some kind of healing, some kind of nourishment.
And it all starts with the shit.
xoxo
maddy
a) S. loved the WAH! I was expressly instructed to tell you that.
b) I titled my blog before I'd read yours. vewy intewesting.
c) bless our respective power-Fraus. Bless bless bless them.
d) and self-care fits into stickittoitness how?? exactly? (genuine question)
e) and those objectives were/are?
f) surely there's a lil hustler tee somewhere on ebay...i must check it out.
g) is for garden, where i'm going now...
your biggest (but hopefully not for long!) fan,
m
sticktoitiveness and self-care? ah, it's that bit about sticking to it with myself, as in longhauling. I mean, I'm my only constant, right? I feel like I'm only starting to get that, like I'm only beginning to understand working on my own behalf.
Oh, and the objectives of self care- you know, moisturizing,stretching, exercise, fiber, more moisturizing, respecting the old body cues-- tired, sleepy, need a day off a day on a little amuse...
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