I leave for my trip in T minus 4 days.
My mind is in shambles. I’m laying here in bed – so unbelievably fucking comfortable you have no idea. I’m warm, I’m fed, I’m loved, my life is grand and wonderful these days; I’ve even spoken with my lawyer today about the lawsuit and he says the whole case is stupid. Literally, he called it stupid.
Him – “It’s a straight forward simple case. You did nothing wrong and there was no way to prevent any of it from happening. If I were you, I wouldn’t worry too much about it. You’ll be fine.”
I’ve never had a lawyer before and I’m sure they all say things like “it’ll be just fine” or “don’t worry about it” to their clients but in my case, it rings true. There were literally no precautions or warning signs that I missed or could’ve foreshadowed. It was all a roll of the dice. Shit luck.
This was the first time he told me not to worry though. Thanks buddy, you could’ve told me that sooner. Before my mental breakdown and going through the 5 stages of grief hundreds of times over.
Anyhow, I’m truly loving my bed right now. Oh God I love it. I love Netflix. I love doing nothing and this time of night (11pm) is the time I can get away with doing nothing. I have a big plate of nothing all to myself.
So why’s my mind in shambles?
I had a long-ass summer. It ended with me having to house sit two dogs and a cat for 10 days. I just got home, when was it? Yesterday? I don’t know. But during those 10 days I was up at the ass crack of dawn letting those dogs out to pee. And at night, they had to sleep with me. They taken up the whole bed to where I was sleeping horizontal on the mattress. I’d wake up in the morning cranky as hell. They’d wake me up with a paw to the face.
Both dogs like to lick. They lick your face, your pants, your eyeballs, inside your mouth….etc. One day as I was exiting the shower, I walked over to the bed where my clothes lay spewed out everywhere and there were the dogs on the bed with my clothes. Both of them, at the same time, decided to lick my naked nipples. Each of my nipples had a dog attached to it.
I felt so grossed out, I felt violated. I just wanted to get dressed. That’s all that I wanted. But instead, there I was cold, wet, and had two dogs sucking at my teats.
I love home. I love it so freaking much. I want to stay here and hunker down for a while. I want to be alone in a bunker. But this can’t be, it’s not in the stars. I leave in 4 days to go someplace opposite of being home, comfortable, well fed and feeling stunningly fantastic. I’m going on a 35 day torture hike across Spain to lose weight. To lose weight! So I’m not one of the first to go during the zombie apocalypse. I’d be able to run goddammit.
Whoever says it’s fun is full of shit.
I think I need to see a therapist. I have a few friends who see therapists, so why shouldn’t I? The major issue’s I want to address is my laziness and my lack of caring what people think of me.
Now, most people would say that that’s wonderful – it’s great and liberating to not care what others think but they’re wrong. So way off the mark wrong.
Firstly, I don’t engage with people anymore. I don’t care enough to engage with them. I don’t care enough to, well, care about them. Why? Because I was a huge engager in the past and everyday the more I engaged, the more people expected it. At the end of the day, none of it mattered. No matter what I did, it was never permanently good enough and when it was good enough, the next day I had to be even better.
I went the other way. It’s not that I don’t care exactly, it’s more like I stopped trying. I don’t try with people anymore. My office manager pointed this out to me last night over a few pints. I pointed it out to myself about a month or so ago.
As far as the laziness goes…..”how the hell can you be lazy and walk across Spain then?” Is what you’re thinking. The thing with that is, laziness is a privilege. Laziness is not just about laying around, it’s a mind-set. It’s a mind-set of complete and utter ease. No worries. No responsibilities. Just freedom of all problems.
My type of laziness, the kind I’m talking about, it’s my personal drug of choice. And it’s addicting as hell. It’s better than anything else out there on the market. Not even beer can hold a candle to it.
Basically, I can’t be both fat and lazy. They cancel each other out. I won’t feel completely at ease again until I lose at least 25 pounds. Hence, the Camino and why I have to walk it (again).
If everyone experienced the same type of laziness that I experience, everyone in the world would be their own boss, have a clean conscience and stay healthy. Having a clean conscience also affects how well I can rest and relax. All vexes must be aired out and all foibles on my part must be atoned for.
Delicious laziness to extreem. Extreem power resting. Angelic homeostasis. Until I start trying with people and it all goes to shit when it’s never enough. Best to stay under the radar.
I’d tell these things to my shrink but what good will it do?
Does everyone experience the same type of lazy bliss? The same natural habitat of my resting mind? It’s my home base. The place I can always return to once all else is settled. To take my bra off and let the pups lick my nips….no. That’s disgusting.
But you know what I mean? A place where I can’t be hurt. Not by myself nor by any others.
I don’t think people grasp it the same way I do. They either don’t get it or decided to live a lie – a lie they reason with as being their only viable option.
I downloaded 18 audiobooks for my 500 mile journey. If the actual walk doesn’t change me, I’m sure one of those books will. My goal is to want to try again with people. But this time, I’ll make it enough for me and not care if it’s not enough for them. That’ll be my emotional goal this time around but my main focus is losing 25 pounds.
I don’t need a therapist, just give me a pen and paper.