I Would Die to Have It

(I get to play catch-up because I like to bottle my feelings =D I've had these outlined for six months)

If I could ever make myself actually sit and write (raqther than mentally outline everything and type nothing) I might be getting closer to that book deal I'd hoped for. But not yet. My circumstances haven't chamged because I haven't motivated myself properly yet. Maybe I'm procrastinating so I'll never be able to fail at it. Can one really fail at publishing books now, though? I'd like to join the realm of celebrated mediocrity.

Speaking of mediocre news, I've been painfully constipated since I quit smoking for New Year's- even with a wonderful, magical coffee machine yards from my desk at my new office. There has been lots of fasting, so that may play a large part in it as well. Of course I've considered laxatives but they never work in a convenient place or time frame. I realize while figuring out the budget of my next semester (consisting of the one nightclass that isn't full & I can afford to attend) that times of hardship have always shifted me into Fasting Mode. "Gotta cut back" applied to me, too. But getting leaner- even by only a few pounds- makes me feel cold all over. I should watch my sugar intake for many reasons, but mostly because drinking mocha coffees at a sedentary job is a stupid way to get fat.

Late at night, a state trooper meeting quota pulled me over for speeding (because he flew up behind me going crazy fast, so, I sped up to get in the left lane so he could pass- then he turned his lights on- and the right lane was STILL full so when I finally got over I was SHOCKED that I was the one he wanted.) I forgot to say I left my license in my other purse/coat and simply recite my license number- and as soon as the officer takes it to look it up, I KNEW I wasn't ever getting it back. What I didn't know was if I would be taken into custody. I display feminine signals of surprise & distress when the officer says my license has been suspended (for a while) and that I'll have to get someone to pick me up; I genuinely think the only reason I wasn't taken to jail was due to the very late hour, and the only reason my car wasn't towed to City Impound for its unpaid parking tickets was due to my adorable dog peeking his head up from the backseat at the perfect moment.

What's the first thing I do, class? That's right. Tell my parental units.

My dad offers help (read: his own money and time, more precious than diamonds and pearls) first over text, which, I had to mute the text conversation just to process it. Then we met as agreed during my lunch hour, and he brought up my license renewal over lunch ("out the side of his mouth" is an old but fitting expression); his sidle-up-alongside style of help, in the moment, isn't as deeply appreciated as it should be for all of his genuine humility & parental sincerity. He truly wants to help in the most unobtrusive way while simultaneously demanding to be of service- so I feel robbed of any proper expression of gratitude. I can neither thank him or apologize for being needy, and he brushes away my words when I try. I feel my head bow over and over my sandwich to convey what I can't say.

I'm so very tempted to fade away into my thigh gap again, and shield myself with shoulder-blades. To show the self-neglect I can't verbalize. I remember ribs and vertebrae that stuck out and having breasts that didn't. When randos are superfocused on "How do you stay SO thin??" they haven't got time to ask anything else about me.