Under this tree, where light and shade
Speckle the grass like a Thrush’s breast,
Here, in this green and quiet place,
I give myself to peace and rest.
~ W. H. Davis ~
Obligations intrude into my search for serenity. But they are not really obligations; they are unwelcome expectations I have of myself. Expectations should be silenced by an empty openness; a willingness to leave everything for another time, another self.
Thirty-seven pounds. That is the difference between my weight this morning and my weight as of January 16 this year. Just yesterday, or the day before, I thought it was just 30 pounds; first, I misjudged, then I realized more of me has disappeared into the ether. If I were to keep up the same pace of shrinkage, I could reach my (personal) ideal weight in a tad less than a year. I am not quite sure what has caused the significant weight loss, though. While I have paid a little closer attention to my caloric intake than I might have done in the past, I cannot imagine that such a minor adjustment would have the impact it seems to have had. As I mull over my weight, I am thinking about how damn hungry I am right now; most of the foods that sound especially appealing to me at this moment are loaded with carbohydrates or sugars or both, which are off-limits at least until after this afternoon’s PET-scan.
Last night, we finished watching the five-season series (several years old), Six Feet Under. All in all, I was impressed. But I am ready to change into something completely different. I just do not know what. Today, I wait and wait and wait; anxiety has long fingernails and each passing minute is a chalkboard.
It’s no use. I cannot think clearly this morning. My neck aches. I want to sleep, but sleep requires a degree of relaxation that has remained unavailable to me since I wake.