Fit or fat; my mood this week.

It may come as no surprise to you, to me it's a revelation - a beautiful moment of clarity, a glimpse of understanding in an otherwise foggy mirror: I have trouble with moderation.  Moderation in all things, goes the old adage...  Easy to say, hard to do.  Realizing this about myself absolutely helps me through times like these past ten days.  I've nothing bad to report; Zaphod hasn't contracted worms or been abducted by aliens, neither car troubles (for me at least) nor strange symptoms.  But nevertheless I've been struggling.  Perhaps it's the approach of my 30th birthday.  Perhaps it's my hormones.  Maybe it's the shrugging off of old ways that no longer serve me.  Maybe it's the looming approach the end of days (at least according to the Mayans).  Or maybe this is just part of my personal cycle.  In truth I think it's all of those things.

I've been hating myself again, I admit it.  Don't get me wrong, I fucking love myself too.  But I've transitioned from a transcendent period of inspiration, drive and clarity into something decidedly less pure.  All I've wanted to do lately is drink red wine and eat ice cream, and part of me hates it.  Of course it's easy to love myself when I'm truly motivated to go to yoga or go hiking five times a week.  Loving myself when I'm eating healthily and I feel fit and beautiful and I'm creating things every day.  It's a lot harder to love myself when all I want to do is get drunk and read novels, and I can find five million excuses not to go to yoga.  But this is the way it goes.

That's the funny thing about this: this is the way it goes.  I've been here before.  I've even had this revelation before!  But every time it's like brand new territory.  In a way, I suppose,  it is new territory, because I'm not the same me I was when I last experienced this gnarliness.  But look what came out of that; the August of SpaceCat!  Many many times during which I paused to thank the Universe for that divine spark, because I knew it would come to this again.  And here we are.

So what's the point?  I don't know.  I guess the point is to accept myself in every phase, whether it's the fit or the fat phase.  The point is to say it out loud (in writing) so that I have to be accountable to it.  The point is self-recognition and awareness, so that when my mood my life my spirit circles back to this place again I recognize and remember it.  So that I can continue moving up and out, into the vasty realms of space and time.  The point is for you to tell me, "Hey, I do this too, you're not alone."  The point is for me to remember next time I feel the urge to give myself utterly something - be it drinking five bottles of wine in as many days or an all-consuming art project or an intoxicating new love - that the faster I give it out the faster I'll need to recharge.  Or maybe there's some point I can't even comprehend, but it's waiting for me around the next turn in the road.