Watering: Legendary, Chicken and Spinach

Watering entries are personal diaries, alluding to this post's conclusion. They are a potpourri of recent thoughts and experiences (one might even call them a blog, if one were to be so common), published when I have no other projects to work on, in order to ensure I've written something for the day.

Damn, I'd meant to write this all damn day and now it's tomorrow.

First off: The book was finally closed on Annie. An arduous Band-Aid to pull, but the pain is lessening fairly quickly. Was quivering following our final, typically vitriolic conversation. All I can do is hope that I hurt her. My desperate to do so was probably obvious. She was passive aggressively vindictive and all I can do now is hope that the pain of those last two conversations eventually dulls to the point that I can masturbate to her again without the sadness becoming prohibitive.

I immediately started crushing on Sarah even harder, when it was done. That's the cycle. Enormous suffering transposed into infatuation, yielding enormous suffering, and so on. What must it be like to live unhindered by women? I remember wishing for saltpeter when I was young and desperately making sense of my sex drive. Now I wish I could keep my sex drive compartmentalized by pornography and stop looking for love.

I want my heart castrated.

Sarah is so charmingly gregarious and approachably sexy. I feel uncharacteristically capable of winning her affections if I could just find the opportunity.

About that. I think I'm - well, let's not say confident. Let's say my mind is projecting itself into the future. I am thinking from that perspective. No longer staring at the light at the end of the tunnel of weight loss. I am mentally inhabiting the light, ahead of my body. I began at 330. I aim at 180. I am nearly 230. I am two-thirds there.

Maybe that is it. Or, maybe the news that I've slipped under Paul is what did it. I knew I was no longer the fattest person I know, on account of Jeremy. Now, I'm no longer the fattest person I've met. And he's a couple of inches shorter. That makes the loss real. That makes it transcend fantasy. It is the change of one's number on the roster that is the bona fides of progress.

Two eggs and a tablespoon of heavy cream. No flip, which allowed a nicely formed circumference. The bottom did not burn before the top had cooked. No rawness.

Becoming standard. I am no longer embarrassed by the spinach's luster, having had it affirmed by friends in prior images. This is a good dinner. The salad could go.

Watering: Pressures, Scene of the Crime

Watering entries are personal diaries, alluding to this post's conclusion. They are a potpourri of recent thoughts and experiences (one might even call them a blog, if one were to be so common), published when I have no other projects to work on, in order to ensure I've written something for the day.


You know, talking about the banality of social media is extremely tired. Despite having never partaken in it until this month, I never found stand-up comedy jokes about the uselessness of "twittering" very funny or relatable. What is fertile ground: the utter anxiety of it. Wondering if you're saying too much, too frequently. Trying to glean the best way to acknowledge another person without feeling like an encumbrance on their feed. Reconnoitering the appropriate etiquette is made all the more difficult by those people who probably feel similarly cavalier when it comes to actual socialization, who insist that there's nothing to worry about.

Yeah, that'll keep Sarah from thinking I'm a big ol' goof.

Head is clearer today than yesterday, in which it was clearer than the day before. Weight stalled, teased lower. Dinner plans have changed for tonight. Could improvise portion adjustment? Dinner past two nights has been good: chicken coated reasonably well and a complete meal.

The spinach has made a commendable comeback in taste. And while it will never truly bedizen my plate, it doesn't necessarily look disgusting.

Dreamed last night of confirmation that CM Punk is a Republican. It's probably moot at this point. Whether he is or isn't, he's good friends with a devout one. Speaks ill of his character either way. And it's not like he was as admirable as I ever wished him to be in the first place.

In boarding school, we had an English assignment to write a week's journal entries for a fictional character. I attempted to write a man who had committed a murder. A really insightful take on the criminal mind, I'd intended. It was garbage, and I had to go with something else, but I remember one entry. It read, probably exclusively: "Don't return to the scene of the crime. Don't return to the scene of the crime. Don't return to the scene of the crime."

Follow by the next day's "I returned to the scene of the crime."

I remember when Jon's website was discovered, because he'd tweeted a Dragon Ball Z reference. He said he understood criminals now, how they make the mistakes they make, how maybe they want to get caught.

I don't want to get caught, but I also want to write down that I recently had a conversation turn sexual in slow motion. I should have stopped it, but I didn't, and it was a mistake. That's the funny thing about trying to actually do that thing people are supposed to do, ceasing flirtation. It's really difficult, not only on account of one's libido, but also just out of care for the partner. You don't want to hurt them by doing the right thing. He or she must have felt the same way too. It is so sensitive that I can't even use the person's alias. A lot of fears are hovering. It would be silly to expect that this will remain forever a secret. How wonderful it is to be such a weak-willed toy of consanguineous lust.

I must update this blog tomorrow in order to push this entry from prime viewing.

Funny how getting involved in a terrible situation like this makes the sexual aspects of the media I watch seem so much more empathetic. Maybe this is how everyone feels, and why people don't mind them as much as I do. The last Mad Men was just something else. It makes me think of that one episode of Sopranos I watched in bed in college, which will someday be recounted in Life in Song.

Wardrox was helpful in correspondence regarding The Player Character, which I am currently neglecting. News is going to get harder the longer I put it off. I'll go check my feeds now.