I work too much. My last day off? It could have been today or a month ago and I wouldn't know the difference. Each day blends into the next and here is how I keep track of them: meals and clothes. On any given day, I may have worked three different jobs: I can have that transferred from another store, would you like another round of drinks, I can't fact check this without gaining access to the witness testimony. White blouses and specialty 'martinis' and exonerees and today might as well have been yesterday or tomorrow except! Yesterday I ate a bowl of cereal with nonfat milk, three potstickers, and a glass of wine for dinner. Today I ate eggs and bacon from Eddie's Cafe, a shot of something disgusting, four carmelized leek and ricotta ravioli, one cider, one glass of Stella Artois. I can tell you how many calories I consumed in a day and how much everything I'm wearing cost (Casual Corner black camisole, two for $24, Aeropostale underwear, three for $8, one Payless terrycloth sock, three pair for $7, one Champion sock, three pair for $10). This is how I define my life: by what I'm wearing on the outside and what I'm digesting on the inside. Not by human interaction, because what is that worth except a series of words which may or may not be significant at the time or otherwise; not by crossing things off my to-do list because no matter how many phone calls I make, how much laundry I fold, how many dishes I clean, I'll have to do it all over again tomorrow. My life is defined by my outward appearance and my inner makings, in the absolute literal sense of the terms.
For a long time I knew that if I could just be skinnier, then I could get a boyfriend, if I could just fit into a size six, I would feel comfortable attaining my other goals. It's been such an obsession for so long, just ten pounds more, just five pounds more, just five more pounds, that to have finally reached that goal and to be forced to work on the things that aren't so easily achieved (not that losing weight is easy, but that it's obvious the things I need to do to achieve that goal) is more than slightly disconcerting.
So at this point? I have laundry to fold and a sink full of dishes to wash. There's sex to be had, money to be made, connections to avoid severing. Letters of recommendation to write, printers to connect, books to read. Cigarettes to smoke, phone calls to make, movies to watch, tears to cry. My mom once told me about a time that she was crying in the shower over the stresses of life and it occured to her how efficient it is to emote while cleansing: this is where I come from. Even breakdowns need to be penciled in.
In the meantime, I'm hungry and absolutely devoid of any thoughts aside from what needs to be done tomorrow.