Purging: not just for bulimics

The headache finally left the building today, and I'm left feeling unusually relaxed. I like listening to your stories when this mood strikes, so please, talk all night while I lie back and close my eyes. Anything other than dream summaries is acceptable.

Today I had a vivid image in my head of the anxiety I often carry around with me. It's like if I found a dirty napkin on the ground, and lovingly, gently, dampened it with my tongue and then methodically balled it up into a perfect sphere. Then over a long period of time collected my earwax which I painstakingly and perfectly smoothed over the entire ball. And then over an even longer period of time I collected small samples from piles of cat and dog vomit, before the animals had a chance to re-eat what their stomachs had just refused, but only a small amount from each purge since too much would not dry properly on the ball. Each layer spread as thin as possible and then allowed to dry for a minimum of 2 days before the next layer is applied. At least 50 layers applied in this manner, perfectly, slowly, lovingly. And so on throughout the years, using whatever unloved refuse I happen to find on the ground or in the garbage or from a body, each layer a representation of my obsession and fear, disgusting but perfect in application. This grotesque ball that I carry deep in the pocket of a heavy canvas trench coat, walking around with my shoulders misaligned from the uneven load, occasionally showing it to horrified strangers, as if it were a precious jewel.

We had korean bbq and soju last night for James' birthday. Then Meredith bought a bottle of Moet & Chandon (which reminded me I drink too much Lindauer). James told more stories about his strange family. We talked about the US elections. Tonight will be very similar - yakitori and sake, drunken conversations with Peter about US politics. Peter is a fun ball of light to be around these days, so I'm really looking forward to it. Consistently happy people are great, but I find the extreme recovery exhibited by Peter way more awesome. I remember when Marc in college bounced back from severe depression and for about 2 weeks I was totally in love with him. The waves of euphoria coming off him were like nothing I'd ever seen outside of certain extreme artificial (and temporary) circumstances. We quickly figured out our severe romantic incompatibility, but I'll probably never forget our conversation in the MIT coffeehaus, when he instantly conveyed that the world was indeed awesome, and I remembered that reality existed beyond the stressful MIT environment.

And that's the story of the first time I fell in love, kids! Until next time, when we discuss the moment I lost God in a tree house. Come with me on my memory magic carpet (holds more than a memory stick, but less than a memory bank)!