Icarus

I created a new page for this site, so that I could better seperate my personal blog entries from those related to dieting. This is just a brief snippet from the lot (chosen for no particular reason):

 

In a Fog
July 23, 2012
I’ve referred to being ‘in a fog’ many times, but I’m not sure that I’ve ever actually defined what it’s like to be in a fog. As I am currently in a fog, I’m going to make a meager stride to interpret it… which is no simple task, because the fog is rather overwhelming, and I’d just as soon lie on the floor contemplating the ceiling’s looming lack of tiles.
I’ve been sleeping on and off for a while now, in between shamefully large meals. I’m sure that there’s a lot of psychology behind eating the ‘large meals,’ since I’m normally very particular and obsessive about my diet, but it’s a passing phase and I don’t care enough to dissect it.
Because my family is celebrating Mother’s Day tomorrow, I had to leave my house in order to purchase some compensation for my birth (which really ought to have been a sympathy card). I took a bath before leaving, and then stared at my face for a very long time, wondering whether or not it was appropriate enough to carry on outside.

When things feel heavy, I tend to look at the mirror longer than I can make sense of. One of the most prominent aspects of the ‘fog’ is a state of confusion. My reflection confuses me more than anything, since I’m unable to make a tangible connection between myself and it. I just stare at it in disbelief, wondering whether or not I should take it seriously.

Driving in the fog is dangerous. Everything’s on autopilot, and yet I have this overwhelming sense of apathy which is completely irrational. I begin to ponder certain dangers on the road (explosions, crashes, drive-by’s), and conclude that they may as well happen, since I don’t care either way. If a train flew off of its tracks and sailed in my direction, I’d just watch it, and think, 'Oh, well.'The fog leaves no room for adrenaline. There isn’t happiness in the fog, nor is there hope… nor is there a particular hopelessness, because everything is just very, very dull. I’m able to catch some parts of melancholia within such a state, but it is generally a mental prison.
I’m going to end this blog, because I can’t find any more strength to write it. I’d be eating another ginormous meal right now, if I hadn’t already made a ball out of my moderately-cooked brownie mix, and thrown it over the fence, in an attempt to end my bizarre lack of structured eating.

Icarus

Weight: 114 113 112 111 110 109 108 107 106105 104 103 102 101 100 99 98 97 96 95

Height: 5'4"