Ramble

I've lost almost 30 lbs--eating less, drinking more, moving: all the things you always knew it would take but somehow couldn't do. It's ironic how the more weight you lose, the fatter you feel. This, I take it, is the consequence of awareness. It's also the seed of a whole host of eating disorders. You get how it could happen.

I'm stuck in this whirlpool of allusive anxieties. I can't even grab one of them and nail it down, and dissect it. This happens sometimes. There are plenty of things to be anxious about--real things--but normally I toss them in the air and keep them up there, and keep moving, batting them back up whenever they get close to the ground. I wonder what it would be like, though, not to even have them. It always reduces to money, too: paying bills, or health insurance, or the car breaking down. A pathetic item to lose sleep over--the thing that most reduces human beings. And yet, money's real. "Keep peddling and keep smiling," my Uncle Liam says--one of the greatest men I know. Peddling and smiling. I'm trying. It's actually pretty good advice.

I'm starting a new business, hammering my way through a business plan (an item I've never created before), and pretending to myself that this will really happen, though it's a long way and a lot of money from here to there. People do this: they get money, they start things. Sometimes it works. I'm pulling with all my might away from the "what if it doesn't?" nag. Have to get myself an attorney, I think. Enough winging it; winging it can only work for so long.

A kid in Maisie's class got lice, and all the parents called around to each other surreptitiously last night gossiping about which kid it might be. Makes me so angry; Maisie had lice when she was 3--got them at daycare--and it was a hellacious experience. None of the OTC stuff worked on her: I had to pour this toxic bug killer that gardeners use onto my kid's head and watch as it burned her scalp. Killed the little fuckers in her hair, but at what a cost. Now I hear that somebody's got it and I simultaneously want to cut Maisie's hair off as a preventetive measure and call the parent and offer my support. One of those gossips might end up calling the parent, whoever it is. That'll really help. So much.

Liam went to a sample karate class last night. If he likes it, I'll sign him up. (Another $330/quarter. POW--up into the clouds.) The club foot's an issue; he had trouble jumping with both feet over the instructor's sweeping arm. But man, you can see the thrill when the heel connects with something up high. In the car, going home, he starts to cry. "But those other kids will be black belts before me." They've been at it a whole month longer than him, see? Hard to explain about non-competitive sports; humans are wired to compete. We'll see.

Sorry your boys didn't get there, STB, but look how far they got. Hats off.

If Karl Rove slips out of this noose, I give up.