I had a dream last night that I started bingeing. All I remember about it is that it involved two ice cream sandwiches, or maybe – quite probably -- it was my inability to decide between the two kinds that kicked off the binge. One looked like a homemade ice cream sandwich with flat all-chocolate biscuits (not my favorite) and ice cream flecked with something, possibly even mint (not a fan) and the other was the kind you can buy anywhere – I think vanilla between chocolate chip cookies. I don't remember anything else except the frustration, the exhaustion, the crushing disappointment of having to start all over again, too full.
And then I woke up.
This morning I caught sight of myself in the mirror and thought: I'm starting to feel more like myself. And then I thought: What does myself feel like? When you feel like yourself, what does that feel like?
Forgive me – it's 1 am and I'm tired and I had a disappointing not-quite date with Mr. Disappointment, who I have not seen since we first went out at the beginning of May. It's left me... well... a bit mixed up. Disappointed. Embarrassed. Sad. Maybe I'll pick it further apart tomorrow. Maybe I won't. Is this really who's left in the pool? Don't even tell me I just have to hang on a few more years for the refugees from divorces. Sigh.
Also today (or really, yesterday), I ran a mile today. My first since April and this bout with plantar fasciitis. I ran it slowly (10:26), not-too-painfully, continually scanning for any pain in my foot – and wondering how on earth I used to run multiples of these like it was no big deal.
Day 12.
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