I fear that I am getting lazy. My body, a constantly moving, shifting thing… is far more delicate than I like to admit, or acknowledge. As of late, as I transition from the title of graduate student to that of Master of Arts non-student–forced to play adult; repay educational loans; get a job… again; find work in a place where no work exists; await graduate school; not regularly write or complete course work; read my own books; without routine–I find myself stammering for routine and within that quest, a desire to simply… BE. Yes, to be. That is, without the desire to project forward or to look backward.
To look forward, or backward, become tasks in and of themselves that encourage me to, act–and this act of acting is something that I find myself pulling away from. In one way, I see myself as becoming lazy because of this abrupt pause in scholastic projection (i.e. no due dates). In another way, my body is finding reason to finally rest. After 2.5 years of constant work, my body slows to a halt so that it can regroup–and perhaps this is where I am–a locus of catch up and rejuvenation. And this is, for the record, how I see it, with bouts of laziness seeping in from time to time. The problem is knowing when I am being lazy and when my body needs/desires some rest and pause.
In my attempt to negotiate this, though, I lose sight of listening to me and my body. As an example, I am currently sick. This is not an everyday/month/regular occurrence. Two days ago, upon arriving back from San Francisco and NCA, I awoke with a sour throat. It was minor, but I knew that it was real and coming my way. After all, my thesis is complete, NCA is out of the way, and I have no course work remaining. My body has found a window to force me down. And here I am. Slowed quite a bit.
Last night, I was with Aaron. I fear that I may pass it on to him. Whatever this is. Or that he gave it to me. Or that we become stuck in that cycle of passing bugs back and forth. Tonight, Chicken Soup for the Queer Soul.
I digress. As I formulate and conceptualize my standing in life as of now, I find myself resisting the urge to awake. To simply work out. I fear running like this, of making sickness worst. Of continuing to ignore the signs that I need to rest. And I think I do. So, I rest. However, I do not want my rest to result in my cutting corners, of slipping back into old ways. Just the other day, I desired a cigarette in a painful and realistic way. Indeed, I contemplated actually purchasing a pack and smoking one. I was worried. I am not working out much. I feel fatter. I fear getting fat again. It has become the mantra of old: tomorrow. I will start back tomorrow. I fear I won’t. I need to focus on this problem and regroup. I need to rest and to keep focus on me and my body, as one and the same in need of full attention and love.
I am learning to love myself. I am learning that I am not all bad. This has been a large part of my journey through bodily remanifestation. As I work to release more weight, to let it go and be, I find myself wanting it back when I am my most vulnerable–to push people away. And yes, I want Aaron so much closer. To me. With me.
I never thought myself possible of love. Of the desiring stare of another. Of another who could also love me outside of my immediate family. I do not want to become lazy. While I trust Aaron wouldn’t leave me should I gain weight back, I fear I would leave him if I gained weight out of shame of my own body and my own inability to control my self, my impulses to eat, to sit, to be.
In the meantime, I must sleep and rest. I need to work out. I will start tomorrow.