This one's for Bill Murray...

So now it is the end of the day.
The day I passed out in the shower.
A couple of people called me and asked,
"Are you okay?  I read your blog this morning."
I tell them all the things I know:
I have always had low blood pressure.
I usually get head rushes when I pray in the shower.
I have been eating.  In fact, I've been less restrictive with my food than I have in a long time. 
Blah...blah...blah

But I am more interested in what I don't know:
I don't know why I passed out today and I never have before.
I don't know if I will ever settle into a place where my food is not in question.
I don't know if I am still dillusional about my own body.
I don't know if I would be okay to allow food in my stomach if I were 15 pounds heavier.
I have no idea how much Thanksgiving dinner I ate today.
I don't know if it was enough or too little or just right.

I avoided piling a up a whole plate.
I could feel my waistband loose and I wanted to keep it that way.
I didn't have a whole slice of pie.
I shared one with Beckam.
I ate slowly. 
I didn't want to check out into a pile of mashed potatoes.
Because the older I get, the more heart-breaking my family becomes.
The sun is setting and it has grown grey like dusk when the details are lost.
I remember the colors from Thanksgiving when I was 8.
We had a red and yellow highchair which doubled as a desk if you flipped it over.
Grandma's tablecloth wore wide, warm yellow flowers.
Outside was a coral pink geranium plant 14 feet high.  I can still smell it.
I never grew bored with picking them and rushing inside to ask Grandma for a vase.
The wooden deck had faded like coffee when you add milk.
The trampoline was stretched over a giant pit which we crawled down into when a little kid would loose a toy. I can still smell the musky, half-wet gravel.  It was almost moldy.  I hear the discarded Big Gulp cups crunch as I step on them.  We all hated going down there.
Back then, I lived in a one-dimensional cartoon.  Each character played a single role, and it all made sense.
Now when I see my family, each member has so 6 different faces.
Nothing is as it appears.
I see their suffering.  I know their stories.  They are whole people all smashed into one house.  Somehow smiles sparkling into each other's faces, even though we live worlds apart.
Even though most of them barely know me, and I only know them as the role they once played in my childhood movie.

I still feel driven to separate myself from them.
They are so vast and threaten to swallow me.
But I know I don't have to be scared.
I just have to go slow, breath and pray.
I don't have to get lost.

Bob (Bill Murrray) and Charlotte (Scarlett Johannson) after a night of Karaoke in Japan
Lost In Translation

Charlotte: I just don't know what I'm supposed to be.
Bob: You'll figure that out. The more you know who you are, and what you want, the less you let things upset you.