I haven't had a drink in six days; my Prozac dose has been up since last Friday; I've worked out every day since the ninth except for Wednesday; today I went to AA today for the second time ever--the first visit was last year and didn't work for me, but I think this one might. It was women-only and I liked that.
Last Wednesday I had an epiphany. Not a silly "epiphany" about, say, how I should grow my hair long to change my life, but one about drinking, where for the first time, finally, I understood that alcoholism is a disease. I don't know that I can really talk about it, at least not right now, because whatever I say will come out awkward and trite, but I'm trying to hold onto that insight.
I'm not going to drink today but I am feeling restless and queasy. I've identified the queasiness as fear, but I'm not sure of what. Maybe free-floating fear. Earlier today I watched a guy cutting tomatoes behind a deli counter and had a moment where I thought, Every day is just one more day cutting tomatoes--what's the point? I think that's where the fear is coming from. Plus I don't know what to do with myself today. I don't want to do much of anything, but there has to be something.
That's the daily blurt.
I'm a nominal bisexual, nominal because despite all the porn squirting from my fingers and dancing in my head I feel pretty asexual in real life. I've joined this new gym, and I just want to note: you shouldn't really worry about real or imaginary lesbians staring at your naked flesh. If you're someone who worries that way. I suspect a lot of lesbians or half-lesbians are like me, and are so discomforted at the possibility of being suspiciously squinted at that they take extra care not to stare at The Breasts and the Stuff Down There. Whereas straight women will casually bend over and walk around buck-naked holding conversations about kid troubles and jobs and their vacation in the Bahamas. The other day I passed a fortyish woman standing in her naked entirety next to an eight-year-old who was clearly a friend's daughter, chatting with her about school. Like me, the eight-year-old's gaze kept sliding off to the side away from the COMPLETE NAKEDNESS in front of her.
I know it's probably hard to believe but I'm a bit of a prude in real life. Body-shy, not too comfortable talking about sex, etc. I'm less uneasy in my body than I used to be, and can imagine getting progressively more easy with that kind of breastful sharing. But still.
I think I've said all I needed to say. Maybe I'll feel slightly less restless now. But hmm, I didn't Share with the Group yet how I ate three Godiva chocolates and had a bikini wax today. There. Now I have. Oh, and I didn't mention how I've been thinking about Vaughn/Jack for two straight days. It's a weird, weird fantasy. It's one of those imaginary slash pairings that pushes the envelope of plausibility--the kind that probably gives slashers a bad name to some people.