When I told Pav I feel lazy, and he looked at me like I was crazy, working three jobs as I do and feeling like I don't accomplish enough, but the truth is, I misspoke. I meant to say that I feel weak.
I'm the rock, right, I'm the one who listens to your problems and tells you how to fix them or fixes them myself. But lately, I can't.
I can't bring myself to call my dad and experience that particular pity party. I haven't been able to for months. When's the last time I spoke with him? Has it been three months, or four?
I can't remember the conversation, but I can tell you what was said: I told him I am working and doing just fine, he told me he is broke and depressed. Because that's the same conversation we've had since I was 12.
I don't know if it's a positive thing that I'm cutting him out of my life. I've threatened--no, that's the wrong word, because that would imply there is something he could do to change things. I've contemplated never speaking with him again, and now that it's just sort of happened, I can't decide if it's a reflection of my recent habit of eliminating negative energies from my life or if I'm just being selfishly weak. The truth of the matter is, not talking to him takes less energy than talking to him, and I don't gain anything from our conversations.
I can't fix him, and he's asked me to. I don't appreciate my father putting me in a position to fail.
I'll tell you this much: when your mother spends $100 on a scale just for you that will tell you everything you never wanted to know about your body, you really need to be grateful that she also gave you a fantastic sense of humor.
I wish Obie were still alive.
Because, you know what? It's not that everything will be ok when I'm thin and healthy, because here's what happened the last time I was thin and exercising: I got a stress fracture in my foot that resulted in an inevitable fully broken foot and now it's going on three months that I'll have been wearing a cast. Allow me to reiterate: you know what's hard to do when you only have access to one good foot? Fucking everything. But especially exercise.
Oh god, I've just gotten an email from my top-choice law school asking if I still want to be on the waiting list. Hum.
(P.S. Looks like smott was googling herself. Hi!)