Its even harder to get a sense of what is changing when all you can think about is the body. I felt my stomach this morning and thought there was nothing in there, like there is nothing on my mind. Nevertheless, I had trouble sleeping and when I finally did, I had a nightmare. Writing is getting harder, too. I am feeling so weak and yet my mind is racing with things I have to get done. Its already January 2 and nothing seems to be fueling my fire. A friend told me that I would feel this way until the toxins are out of my system, but I'm still smoking...and a lot more as far as I can tell. I only want to go to bed. I don't know if I could this if I weren't on vacation. I am afraid of being thinner. Very afraid. It seems cliche to say that my wight protects me from things I don't want to do or see, but alas... it may be the case that I am afraid of looking "better." I've been pretty adament about my critcism of American culture and its latest obseesion with competing with computers. I have to produce, produce, produce. The quality of life here is brutal only by way of working yourself to an earl;y grave, all the while seeming like the most attractive and priviledge person in the world. How to even get to a real quality of life is impossible to figure out. Without complaining, I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Last night a few friends and I were discussing the humanities, film and literature. We agreed that somehow the humanities is dying a slow and painful death. We have to get used to a new global and technologically oriented environment. Its so removed from natural law, its hard to understand the virtues of this new era. When you consider the body, it seems more like detoxing is a technological project rather than a human health problem.
This second day seems longer than yesterday already. Writing about this new project seems like it will last a lifetime. Its only another 13 days, but seeing the changes already terrifies me. I got on the scale today and noted that I dropped a poound in one day. It should make me feel successful, but it sweeps me into a fanstastical place; a zone I am afraid to enter. Its easier if I just do this without thinking about it at all, but that would defeat the purpose of the whole project. I want to SEE the whole thing. What is happening to me as I change piece by piece and how much of that change is comfortable, reliable, or devastating. It would be nice to wake up in two weeks when this is all over and see a new body and a new attitude, but that is not what happens, so I want to chronicle failure. Something will succeed, but I am leary to think it will be the thing promised.
I am not aware of the here and now; I am constantly aware of the next hour, tomorrow, next week, and next year. Its already unhealthy.
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