So I’m not at home for a couple weeks.
Or I’m at home, depending on how you look at it.
I went to my parent’s house, because I’m sick.
I’ll be back in the city where I’ve chosen to make my path in a couple of weeks, when I’ve healed, but for now I need to let my body recover.
It’s interesting to me that the first thing that happened, last night when I came here, was that I was given a compliment. My mother told me I’ve lost a lot of weight. I instantly became body-conscious again. It was nice of her to say. I know she didn’t mean anything other than a simple compliment by it. I know she wasn’t saying anything mean. But I instantly felt measured.
Today, I am uncomfortable in my skin. Slightly dissociated, feeling uncomfortable, feeling not-me. Feeling the need to bind, like I’m supposed to be something other than I am. No one is even around right now. I’m just curled up in a blanket writing, and I’m still just uncomfortably aware of the lumps of fat hanging off my pectoral muscles.
For the past two weeks, I’ve barely given my physical form a thought, unless I’ve been engaged in flirting with an attractive lady. Today, it’s THERE, present, forcing itself into my awareness, demanding attention, demanding resolution, taunting me with wrongness.
It’s weird. I don’t know what to make of it. What do you make of it?