oh and.
05/31/04|10:34 p.m.

blagh. I don't want to be communicative right now. but as I am still lacking a pensieve, this is the best means I can come up with for letting a few stray thoughts out of my head. the doctor took the holiday, and so I'm surviving a whole week before speaking to him again. what a strange Monday - I didn't get to bawl my eyes out or gloat about all the magnificent feats I've performed. now what will set the tone for my week?

(I'm kidding. At least, I really hope I'm kidding.)

so the mission yesterday was successful, despite the thunderstorm that so emphatically stated, "the show must go on, but *you folks* best go home; I'm the drama around here." another storm tonight... knock on wood, we haven't flooded yet. and things seem to have calmed down. the second part saddens me a little. I love thunderstorms, especially at night. the thunder still sounds to me like the sky cracking open, as if the atmosphere breaks and the water dammed behind it pours through... I'm always a little confused when a crack of thunder isn't immediately followed by an increase in the downpour. my science teachers must glow when they think of me. really. I'm a star student; let me tell you.

anyway, I went to the pool - which was freakishly underpopulated (yeay!) - an act which basically involves (pg-version) sticking my tongue out or (pg-13 version) raising a middle finger at just about every facet of disorder and disease within my mushy liddle brain. rock the fuck on. I went back again today and am now mildly sunburned once again. although I experience minor anxiety around this being the first step toward skin cancer, I do also sport my randomly rosy coloring (half a forearm, a shoulder, etc) with some pride. the new red badge of courage, one might say. (and, immediately following, wish one hadn't.) one small step for Mary, one giant leap for ... erm ... ok, one giant kick in the chest of Mary's agoraphobia. sound good? yeah.

apparently, our pool's major demographic is elderly women, about half of whom are immigrants, each with a taste for just the right hat. the lifeguard on duty lately is a college-age dude who, if I'm not mistaken, fulfills the stereotypical definition of "hot." tawny hair, tan skin, ability to show me up within five seconds of stepping into the water. but then, anyone can show me up in a pool. the grade school girls playing "find the penny" and pretending they were dolphins showed me up, and I was forced to ream my mom for not forcing me to take swimming lessons as a kid. I clung to a styrofoam noodle and floated aimlessly about. still, it's great to be in the water, and I don't really feel shown up because I don't really feel like it's a competition. I'm a winner just for being out there. (I swear I was smirking the entire time I wrote that sentence; I am not *that cheesy* yet!) plus, after awhile, I realized that slow and simple movements to the piped in radio music were the closest thing I've found (as of now) to the increased-air-density, weirded-out-gravity world of my dreams, where I float and skate and dance against the pressure of the air. so I played with that for awhile and was amused.

it seems like there's something else that I wanted to give myself a gold star about, and I finally remember it now. I was thinking I'd done something else yesterday that had recovery-merit, but it's actually broader themes around the same pool story. I just want to point out to myself that I went to the spucking pool for the first time in Godd's-secretary-knows-how-many-years after flipping out yesterday morning over the fact that I couldn't do these things, that my mom offered me activity, and I wanted to take her up on it, but instead I cried and hid in my room. instead, I threw my recovery in the trash and took the trash to the dumpster and picked the dumpster up really loudly at 9:00 in the morning and took the trash with my recovery to be incinerated ... er, sorry, carried away. I was all over myself about how I choose not to fight this and I would like to take this moment to (say screw the academy and) emphasize this as an example of how thoroughly bullshit that belief is. I choose to fight. always. the truth is, I choose to feel my fears and my doubts and everything that sucks, and then I go out and do what I need to, anyway.

did I mention I've never worn a two-piece bathing suit in my life? did I mention that the reality of not having swum in so many eons makes catching my reflection in swimwear strangely separate from my past? and I'm actually able to retain some of that initial feeling of, "holy cricket, I look *healthy* and *capable* and *real*..."? Mmm. I like my tummy. It got queasy just now as a sign of its impatience for the night-dose of propranolol. So, I had some chocolate (my mouth was showing some signs of wanting that as well), and now the tummy's calm again. the head was not so easily placated, but hey, the meds will kick in soon, and at some point before or after that I'll fall asleep. speaking of which, (knock on wood, once again) I haven't had any coma sleep since I started the propranolol. that's only - what, two nights? - but still it's much appreciated.

at the moment, I need to find out who's going with me to the American Idol auditions because I have an audition idea I find truly hilarious. (and if I find it hilarious, the rest of the world will certainly feel the same, right?) I don't want or expect to go any further than the first audition, but I think it would be amusing, and I'd love to go "as a writer" (as my mom put it) or rather "as a person" because it's such a random experience to have in my history.

otherwise, things are slow. my uncle is pearing down his library again and sent me enough Calvin and Hobbes to content a girl for many a day. my other, neglected books are sneering at me: "did you see the review that says I'm a modern classic? hunh, hunh, did you?" I feel a little guilty, but the truth is Calvin and Hobbes are as classic and intelligent as anything else demanding my attention. So, phooey on the other titles for the moment. (besides, it's funny, after reading so much legitimate sci-fi recently, to dive into Calvin and Hobbes and discover the oh-so-lovable Spaceman Spiff waiting to 'fulfill' that component.)

also, Marybeth has gone. it was a rather limited visit for us; I was not so social as I usually am, mainly because I did not allow us to end up alone together for any period of time. I just wasn't in a place to host someone - even a friend of the family since before I was born someone - and I was a little uneasy about how much she listens to me. that seems odd, but when someone has known you since you were a beybey and is a good thirty years older than you, her approaching you for wisdom is a little awkward. and generally, I move past that; it's fun to ramble on, and I've always liked an adult who'll treat me as a peer. but I also like adults who know that my (very much existent) experience is (nevertheless) limited based on my age. and I'm creeped out when people ask me to answer a direct question that isn't about me. in this case, she asked me to talk with her about how to help a friend who's daughter is struggling with an eating disorder. I'd already told her I'd be willing to exchange e-mail with the girl and/or her folks, and when she asked if I would feel ok giving her some advice on what to tell her friend, I was just a little floored. confused. because she has an eating disorder! she's been in recovery for eons, the 12-step route, and granted COE and anorexia are not the same disease, but they're not so very different that her own experience doesn't apply. maybe she feels my comparable age will provide insight. I honestly don't know. I told her I was sorry to hear someone else is struggling, but in all honesty right now, I'm not in a place where I feel comfortable listening to a description of someone else's illness and trying to help figure out a plan of action. she was all cool around that, of course, but it sucked that we didn't have a real conversation about something else. we got a lot closer when I was diagnosed with an ed and started recovery - the similar experience opened doors. but I don't want to be the ed expert, and this weekend, I didn't even want to play one on tv. surely, I have some other wisdom we could share?

in a lot of ways, I feel sad for her. in all likelihood, she has untreated OCD which has made her recovery as regimented and inflexible as my eating disorder. she's one of those people I hurt for, who makes me question if there comes a point in illness where you really do have to settle for something less than a full life... if after a certain point, you can only recover so far. of course, Sara's kicking that theory out the tenth-story window. so I continue to believe everyone can live, fully, again. and I continue to wish I felt as confident with my peer-status as Marybeth seems to, so that I might say something to her - as a friend - about how all that pain she manages and negotiates around every day does not have to be. about how there's so much pain we can't avoid, so why not heal and protect against that pain around which we *have* power... maybe I'll be brave enough to say something eventually.

and now, I do believe, I've remembered nearly everything I kept forgetting to say... so to bed with me and my Calvin cartoons.

~me

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