(bleep)

I'm trying to type around ChaCha right now, which is proving awkward. Letting her "do laundry" is important. The dash is important. I just learned about that today. Donna forwarded out one of those feel-good emails that make you want to change your whole life, like the one about the woman who was finally wearing the dress she kept saving and saving to wear to something special - and in the end, it's her funeral and someone is dressing her in it. This one was about a eulogy, about how the dates in the beginning and the end really weren't of much consequence, other than the obvious. What really mattered was the dash, the in-between, the life that made up the space from date to date. And the rest was all about living well and respecting yourself and others and what you were doing with your dash - so in honor of that, instead of pushing the litte love away to write (type), I'll just have to go around her.

When she does laundry this fervently, it gets pretty funny. She starts going in slow motion after a while, very methodically, and sometimes she starts to drool. Not big nasty drool, but when she leaves, there's a tiny little wet spot where her mouth was mashed into me. I love her.

I was talking on the phone with Erin this morning about body image and I brought up the scene with the woman drawing flowers on herself in the bathtub in "What the bleep do we know?" and how before that, things were getting to this distorted carnival-mirror image everywhere she looked. Erin moved away and has no point of reference, it's just her looking at herself, letting in the new people she meets as much or as little as she wants. Subsequently, without those familiar daily references, she's slid a little towards carnival mirror instead of a little more bathtub. I say this after catching a glimpse of myself last night and noticing that my stomach was actually kind of flat, and most of what makes up my jeans size is the fact that I have hips - not because I'm obese. And Erin, who's about 5'1", is like, "Well, my boss, who's heavy, I mean, heavier than me-" at which point I cut her off sharply. She's got some muscle to her, don't get me wrong, but "heavy" is not the word I'd even consider. "Barely able to be called thick in a small girl not fat but a little muscular in a really good way" is more accurate. She's healthy and in shape. She runs. She watches what she eats. And she gets carnival mirror just like I do.

That, a good iced latte, and clean sheets about sums up my morning. I'm leaving to walk to work in about ten or fifteen minutes. I slept late again today - which is where part of that conversation came from, about how when we're really, really on top of accurately paying attention to things, that we can put the pieces together like I did yesterday. Otherwise it's like, "Maybe I'm tired?" and our sponsors and therapists go, "Um, well, sometimes, but right now you're hiding / self destructing / avoiding" etc., whatever the issue du jour is. I mean, don't get me wrong. Sometimes it's just about taking a nap. But sometimes it's about checking out - and usually it's pretty clear which is which. Generally I'll sleep in either case and just ride it out, but the way things are now - I'm capable of getting up, and I should be. Gee, maybe all this stuff, and my mom going in for chemo again Monday, and moving in with Raf, and all these changes - maybe they're affecting me! Wow! What an epiphany! But all kidding aside, the fact that all of that gets tied together in days and not months is amazing. Really. I guess regular people just kind of get that, but it's had to be beaten into me.

I'm thick in more ways than one, I suppose. But it's the good kind.

So, off for my last training session, and one or two more next week - and my first full real shift is next Saturday morning. Delish.

The last thing I have to add is that I'm starting to feel like I don't have a lot to write about - which means the space is clearing out. I can't mix that up with having nothing to say, because it's just not the same.

V.

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