(re)store

The older I get, the less I like the heat. Oh no! I'm discussing the weather again! And what I said wasn't even entirely true. I like the heat. Maybe not 100 degree heat, but I prefer it over being cold. THE THING IS I am not super fond of summertime anymore. Summer used to be a welcome relief, long days filled with running through sprinklers and eating so many Otter Pops that your mouth turns blue. Oh, and night games. Fun fact: My first email account was NGmeg@aol.com. The "NG" stood for, yes, night games. I loved loved loved night games. I guarantee my friends and I were the most obnoxious kids on the block. We must've been doing something right. Summer now, though? Summer now is full of way way way too many Little League games, way way way way way way way too many fireworks (idea: outlaw all fireworks), carnivals that ruin my pretty park, sticky kids terrorizing the streets, and Old Navy flag t-shirts. Summer is an introvert's worst nightmare.

Paragraph on weather out of the way. Now on to my paragraph about my ex. Kidding. But I will say that I try to cut him out of my life for sanity's sake, which basically just means I block him on all social media accounts. I cannot, however, protect myself from mutual friends posting things about him. After a long day of doing nothing but obsessively reading another Auster novel and avoiding sticky kids, I "relax" by looking through my Instagram feed. Lo and behold, a mutual pal posts a picture of my ex's apartment which he lives in with his gal pal. Pals. Pals everywhere. It shouldn't matter and it doesn't, but for some reason it bothered me at that moment. I will just throw the blanket over the whole situation and say that "it's complicated." I will also say that I am not jealous, I am not sad, I do not ever ever ever wish to date him ever ever ever again -- I think the petty side of me just goes, "Huh. Why does he get to be happy and seemingly successful when I am a) smarter and b) not a bad person?" I told you -- that's my petty side. He is smart, he is not a terrible human (but he did make pretty bad choices in the past! where oh where are you, karma?), and he can have whatever life he wants. I only need to be concerned with the choices I make. I have to stop comparing my life with the lives of 7,400,000,000 people. It'll get me nowhere except the loony bin.

Last paragraph, thank Buddha. Let's see, I can discuss politics or the weather again or the struggles of a slightly apathetic Millennial OR... My eating disorder! It's been a minute since I've done that. Deep breath. I won't get dramatic I won't get uncomfortably honest I won't cause you worry. <--- "I won't cause you worry" is a typical statement with someone with an eating disorder. We don't want to disturb anything or anyone, so we hide and keep quiet and put on the cloak of perfection. Everything's fine! I'm fine! You're fine! It'll all be fine fine fine! So first order of business: Speak up, show your emotions. Well, the first order of business should be to eat something. And eat often. And continue to eat. Recovery is such a delicate, tricky business -- an ED sufferer obviously needs therapy in order to recover, but they can't think clearly or function properly without adequate nutrition. So you have to restore your weight before any real progress can be made in therapy, yet you need therapy in order to eat without completely freaking out. It's a puzzle and seems nearly impossible. Nearly. But not totally. Recovery can happen and has happened to thousands of people. So why can't it happen to me? It can, don't you worry... I mean, worry. I mean, worry but also don't worry? I guess you should do whatever. And so should I. And maybe we can discuss all of this sometime over a nice, hot, entirely satisfying meal. We deserve it.