I thought I had this problem licked.
In last Friday’s shopping, I bought an extra 600 g pack of trail mix to supplement my usual 1 kg bag of No Name Original Trail Mix and said to myself, “OK, surely THIS will be enough to see me through until next Friday. “
But it’s only Tuesday and I am staring in disbelief at a mostly empty canister of Trail Mix and wondering how the hell I managed to devour almost the entire 1.6 kg of various trail mixes over the course of just four days.
I mean, I know I ‘ve been super hungry lately, but I haven’t increased portion sizes to compensate. I don’t do that kind of thing.
At least, not consciously.
But the only explanation I can think of as to where it all went is that because I knew I had “plenty” of trail mix this week, I subconsciously increased my portion size by taking bigger handfuls from the canister and now I am almost out and it’s only Tuesday. I still have two more days plus the rest of today and Friday morning to cover.
There’s no way I can make it that far. I am going to need to either order my weekly groceries two days early (gack) or order a supplemental batch of groceries to see me through til Friday (and pay an additional delivery fee, argh). .
Or, ya know, learn to eat like a grownup despite my limitations. Ha ha ha ha…. ha.
No matter what I am eating, whether it’s trail mix or steal tartare, it has to last through the whole week. It makes me wonder if I need to get one of those little kitchen scales so I can measure my portions more precisely.
I would hate to have to get that anal about things, though. I hate that shit.
One nice thing about trail mix is that it’s something I can keep with me here in my bedroom, no trip to the kitchen required before I can eat it.
The trip to the kitchen is highly problematic because there are so many simple, easy meals that I just can’t have because I can’t transport them and use my walker at the same time. I just don’t have a hand free to carry them.
Like my beloved soups, stews, and chili. They are quite reasonable in price and I adore them, but how the heck do I get a bowl of soup back to my room via walker?
This is why I looked into getting myself a big Thermos when I first became crippled. Sadly, I don’t think anything ever came of that.
Something to shop for when I get my next deposit and thus have escaped the confines of a fucking five week month.
That’s the only reason I am stressed out about portion size. When it’s not a five week month and therefore I am not expecting to live for fives weeks on what nomally only has to last me four, I manage, by some miracle, not to stress about my groceries much.
Ergo, I greatly resent this fucking five week month bullshit coming along and disturbing my equilibrium and making me all neurotic about this shit again.
I mean, I find myself having to ponder how many meals a given edible item will cover and therefore how much per meal it costs.
I haven’t had to do that since my first days here in BC, way back in the early 2000s, when i was on regular welfare and hence starving.
Now I am getting almost three times the amount per month I got back then and yet I am still beset by the same neurosis every three or four months.
And it pisses me off.
More after the break.
I’m not alone
But I dunno, Michael. I sure as hell feel alone. Incredibly alone. Completely alone. And I don’t remember ever feeling differently.
It’s better when I am with my friends, usually. I feel less alone then. I am still a long ways off from them but I can get close enough to feel some warmth.
Especially the warmth they get from me. That’s the only way I can enjoy my own glow. I need people to be in my orbit, reflecting my rays back to me, before I can bask in the warmth I share so freely with others.
It’s my life hack for bypassing depression’s anhedonia. And all those ways in which the rules are different for me than for everyone else.
Because you see, anything coming from me is invalid, because I am horrible and terrible and completely disgusting and far, far less than worthless.
I am a walking talking liability. A canker sore on the anal lips of life.
Or so the dark voices in my head tell me.
Ergo, by having my light reflected back to me from others, it gets “cleaned up” by not being totally from me any more, and then I can enjoy it.
And that’s why this foxy shines so bright. The end.
Anyhow, back to feeling alone.
I know that I am not alone in life. That there are people who care about me and love me and want me to heal and prosper and glow and be OK.
But the brutal truth is that I can barely feel it. And that’s all on me, not them. They are not doing anything wrong. It’s my own problems that keep me frozen in the dark.
I can feel the part of me that is supposed to be able to reach out and connect with others and I can feel it struggling to spark up and come online so I can finally come in out of the cold and come home.
But there is so much Midnight Tundra between me and that warm safe home. I feel so far away from others. The very idea of being able to reach out and find love seems alien to me. The kind of thing that only happens for other people.
But still, I hold out hope. Perhaps the right man (or series of men) could piece my shell and bring warmth and heat to my inner realm and finally melt the ice around my heart that I might live again.
I just hope I live long enough to find him (or them).
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.