Saturday, March 19, 2016


Happy Saturday! More like Crappy Crapurday. Let me explain, but please let me explain in very little detail. I feel kinda, uh, crappy today. Not emotionally, nah. I feel crappy as in "oh man I shouldn't have had all of those raw vegetables and kombucha yesterday" crappy. ED, man! The recovery process is all sorts of crappy, but I have to believe that these various bumps in the road and intimidating hurdles are worth it in the long run.

Learning how to eat again is trickier than it sounds. It is fun, for sure, but for the most part it is frightening and full of doubt. It feels rebellious, which may be the "fun" part, but at the same time it feels like giving up and growing weak. HILARIOUS THING IS, however, is that it's quite the opposite. Eating and taking care of myself is giving myself a chance. It is giving up in the sense that it is me giving up the need to be in control, giving up the subservient attitude I have towards a highly destructive illness. And in no way am I growing weak. I think anyone with half a brain can understand that health does not equal weakness. That wouldn't even make sense.

My serious posts are so serious, as they should be. And then my monkey mind posts are almost unreadable, as I jump from branch to branch, thought to thought. This is turning out to be one of those serious posts. Let me switch gears! Let me continue to write about how I will be the hippiest President since Teddy Roosevelt! Teddy was kind of a hippie, actually. Super into nature and was all, like, "Look at me! I'm going on an ill-prepared journey down an unexplored tributary of the Amazon!" Something only a total hippie pot head would do. (Note: I do not have sound evidence of Roosevelt ever being a stoner, but I would bet money I do not have that he was.)

Holy Mother of Roosevelt, I am tired! It just hit me. Maybe later today I will hit the hammock and hit the hay in the hit upon hammock for a few minutes. A few hours? Hell, why not a few weeks! I'll sleep and sleep and sleep until awoken by a kiss from a prince and/or the ghost of a former hippie President. A former President, mind you, not a former hippie. Once a hippie always a hippie. You can't wash that shit off.

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