Writing About My Naked Body
I have been writing a lot lately. Hold on. Let me clarify something. The title does not mean to imply that I have been writing a lot lately about my naked body. I will, at some point in this post, get to the discussion of my body (not exactly about it being naked or with any description of anything beyond PG-13 rated), but the title is a way of connecting two different ideas.
So, anyway, back to the first sentence.
I have been writing a lot lately. My posts here are obviously more frequent than in the past few months. And I've been writing letters to no one, which, in the event of my death, I would encourage someone to download from my computer so that the thoughts and feelings aren't lost for all eternity. I simply write the letters because, for the time being, I don't want to know what the response to the ideas presented therein would be. I just want to talk.
My mind and body have become vastly different than before. Now, my mind is calm and my thoughts flow easily, allowing me to explore ideas more fully. But my body is restless. I feel cooped up and confined by anything that's not sidewalk. I am in constant motion, like a shark - if I stop moving, I die. I exhaust myself by walking for hours without rest. My mind works hard, occupying my consciousness so that I can avoid any unpleasant feelings I have. The narrow focus I had before is gone. I have abandoned my sloth in favor of ... well, anything that keeps me from sitting down and being still for even a moment.
I'm restless, but not anxious. I can see clearly, but have nothing on which to focus my sight. I have a great deal of hope for the future - my future - but have little reason to be happy.
And all the while, I am the center of my universe (as is everyone, I believe), but am fully aware on the fringes of my mind that I am just a speck of dust in the cosmic wind of the universe. There is something building up inside of me, but I don't know what it is. I can't see it, I can't connect with it yet. It might be anger. It might be sadness. It might be real hope or true happiness. Something is inside and it is going to burst free soon. But I can't identify it yet.
Since I don't really know what I am meaning to say, I'll move on to the other topic: my body.
I look good. I look very good. I've lost seven pounds in the past few weeks, due to both my increased amount of physical activity and the fact that I didn't eat solid food for an entire week at the beginning of this month. I've been having trouble eating lately - I eat very little and only about one full meal per day. I'm just not hungry and when I go to eat - because I have to eat, I know that much - the thought of almost any food makes me nauseous. But I still force myself to eat. The last time I felt like this was almost three years ago, right before I gave up my mass consumption of caffeine. And, oddly enough, I have been drinking very little of anything with caffeine in it. I've decreased my sugar intake. I've been drinking only Gatorade, for the most part. I just feel sick and can't eat.
But like I said, I look good. Which leads me to the conclusion that, since I need to eat and not be all crazy anorexic like whichever (or both) of the Olsen twins, I must start using the gym downstairs. I like seeing my abs (or the vague outline of them). I like that I can see I could potentially have that sexy V-shape. I like that I wake up early and stay up late and don't feel fatigued after 12 hours of being awake. I like looking and feeling healthy - and sexy! So I think I'm gonna try to stay that way.
I hope this post is semi-coherent. It just came out and I really can't even recall the first line of this post without scrolling up to read it. I'm just talking and I don't even know who is listening or if they understand. And I don't know if I want to know if they understand. Or even if they're listening. I just want to talk.
So, anyway, back to the first sentence.
I have been writing a lot lately. My posts here are obviously more frequent than in the past few months. And I've been writing letters to no one, which, in the event of my death, I would encourage someone to download from my computer so that the thoughts and feelings aren't lost for all eternity. I simply write the letters because, for the time being, I don't want to know what the response to the ideas presented therein would be. I just want to talk.
My mind and body have become vastly different than before. Now, my mind is calm and my thoughts flow easily, allowing me to explore ideas more fully. But my body is restless. I feel cooped up and confined by anything that's not sidewalk. I am in constant motion, like a shark - if I stop moving, I die. I exhaust myself by walking for hours without rest. My mind works hard, occupying my consciousness so that I can avoid any unpleasant feelings I have. The narrow focus I had before is gone. I have abandoned my sloth in favor of ... well, anything that keeps me from sitting down and being still for even a moment.
I'm restless, but not anxious. I can see clearly, but have nothing on which to focus my sight. I have a great deal of hope for the future - my future - but have little reason to be happy.
And all the while, I am the center of my universe (as is everyone, I believe), but am fully aware on the fringes of my mind that I am just a speck of dust in the cosmic wind of the universe. There is something building up inside of me, but I don't know what it is. I can't see it, I can't connect with it yet. It might be anger. It might be sadness. It might be real hope or true happiness. Something is inside and it is going to burst free soon. But I can't identify it yet.
Since I don't really know what I am meaning to say, I'll move on to the other topic: my body.
I look good. I look very good. I've lost seven pounds in the past few weeks, due to both my increased amount of physical activity and the fact that I didn't eat solid food for an entire week at the beginning of this month. I've been having trouble eating lately - I eat very little and only about one full meal per day. I'm just not hungry and when I go to eat - because I have to eat, I know that much - the thought of almost any food makes me nauseous. But I still force myself to eat. The last time I felt like this was almost three years ago, right before I gave up my mass consumption of caffeine. And, oddly enough, I have been drinking very little of anything with caffeine in it. I've decreased my sugar intake. I've been drinking only Gatorade, for the most part. I just feel sick and can't eat.
But like I said, I look good. Which leads me to the conclusion that, since I need to eat and not be all crazy anorexic like whichever (or both) of the Olsen twins, I must start using the gym downstairs. I like seeing my abs (or the vague outline of them). I like that I can see I could potentially have that sexy V-shape. I like that I wake up early and stay up late and don't feel fatigued after 12 hours of being awake. I like looking and feeling healthy - and sexy! So I think I'm gonna try to stay that way.
I hope this post is semi-coherent. It just came out and I really can't even recall the first line of this post without scrolling up to read it. I'm just talking and I don't even know who is listening or if they understand. And I don't know if I want to know if they understand. Or even if they're listening. I just want to talk.
posted by Dave at 9:58:00 PM
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