the dentist

I don't want to write today.

Back when it was just me. 2006

I want to go to bed.
If I don't write - the narrating will occur while I'm trying to sleep.
Then I'll have to get in the bath and try to reconcile with my naked body...so I may as well just get it out right now.
____________________________________
I have too many zits on my face.
That's what I was thinking as Andrew caressed my face.
We laid in bed, naked.  Which is rare for us, and that is what I was thinking.
I didn't keep that thought.  I let it ride up and over my forehead like a wave.  I can even picture a little body surfer on top.  That's how absurd such a thought is.
Then I came back to the moment.
Looked at him.  Saw him.  Remembered.

Tomorrow I have to take Pepper to the dentist.
They will put her under anesthesia and fill her cavities.
She is 2 years old, and she already has 3 cavities.
I am nervous.  I want to be ready.  I want someone else to take her.
Not really though, because she will want me.
It is never-ending, this process of filling the needs of my children.
I get very little time to realize much for myself.  I'm sure I am missing huge chunks of my own life because I am at the grocery store.  I spend hours putting things back in their places.  It's ridiculous,  how many tiny clothes I fold, and sort, and give away, and receive.

me now.  trying to get some perspective. Pepper trying to get some toothpaste.

I believe an eating disorder is selfishness, self-loathing, self-deception, and gross amounts of fear.  How do I have time for all this self-centeredness? If anything, I have no time for myself.
I have often wondered about this, and never found an answer.
My grandmother was also bulimic, and she had 9 kids, or 13 or some outrageous number.

A 4 minute shower is a luxury, and that is where I pray. 
I read Buddhist literature and marvel at the time available to other people - to sit.
I don't have that time.  I can't imagine it.  I remember when there was only me, another life ago.
But I can't wait until I have more time.  I have to claim it now, or the road back will be too long.
I may just plop down in the dirt and stop walking altogether.

So, I write.  Because it is less messy than painting.