My Show

I know I’m supposed to work on self-acceptance no matter how bad this self sucks. Particularly compared to the one Evie would like me to be, the one I am, really, is kind of boring, unambitious, plump, and unlovable. For Evie, I’m unbearably on the curve. Evie would like me to be an outlier, a go-getter, and much much thinner. I would like her to stop beating me up while I’m just trying to breathe, and plant some winter squash already. I ate two bananas yesterday. One in the morning, which I usually do, while wondering if it’s too much sugar and I should be eating a spoonful of peanut butter or two egg whites or wheatgrass or something instead. And one I ate at 2 in the morning last night as I was up getting riled up about stuff. I ate the banana, plus a mug of warm milk, and I wrote a kind of rant about something that was vexing me, or more accurately vexing Evie.

Evie’s a demanding little piece of work and truly never satisfied. She’s scared that if she doesn’t keep squawking I’ll end up alone, homeless, and fat, or worse. I’m not really that scared of those things. I mean, if those things happen I’ll deal with it then. I feel like I’d actually notice if that were where things were headed somewhere in the middle of the process and maybe steer the vessel away from the rocks as best I can then.

But right now there are no rocks around. I don’t have any reason to feel imminent running aground even though Evie squawks her song, continually. All I see, when I really look, is wide blue deep open sea. Clear sailing.

It’s okay. I’m okay. After the 2am banana and milk I went back to bed and felt the warm sheets and fluffy pillow and felt grateful. I slept again, and woke up again, and the sun was rising again.

it’s okay to be me, how I am, and feel simply neutral to good about that and move from there. Evie’s gonna sing her song, but it’s my freaking show.

I’m gonna keep going.