"The Bitch is Back"

And then, quite suddenly, she leaped from her seat and stepped into the bathroom.  Heels, balls, toes hit carpet, linoleum, carpet.  The light flickered eerily when she flipped the switch.  Palms on the edge of the sink, skin changing colors with the pressure against the fake porcelain:  red, white, pink, purple.  She glares at herself, but she sees someone else looking back.  A hand, like her own, reaches into her makeup bag, comes back holding a pot of pure black.  The cap lands on the counter, tap, tap, tap, tap, and then swivels and settles on its back.  Fingertips smear the blackness on her eyelids, above and below, the whites of her eyes stark against.  Her jaw is set.  Her hand comes down.  Lights out.  It's time.

I don't understand it

Why.  Why are we so damn conditioned to worry?  To worry about life, things, stuff, work, our looks, our words, our bodies, everything!  Why does one contemplate what clothes to wear?  Does it matter?  Is that guy sitting over there really going to care that you wore flip-flops with those jeans and that sweater?  How dare you! ...Seriously people?...  I'm not saying just don't give a shit about anything, but just ease the fuck up.  Everything in this world is temporary.  Everything!  In a matter of years, which is absolutely NOTHING in comparison to the entire existence of this universe, everything will be gone, everything will be dust.  Everything changes.  Nothing stays.  So why?  Why??  Why worry?  Do what you love!  Do what you feel you must do!  Do it!  And do it with all of your heart!  Love people!  Breathe the air!  Taste flavors!  Touch skin!  LIVE!!!

"embrace me, surround me..."

I have a strange relationship with food.  There, I said it.
It seems like all my life I've had this ongoing battle with it.  I remember when I was a kid, I would sneak food, all the time.  I would grab a snack and hide behind the couch and eat it really fast.  I would go get ice cream after dinner and eat a bunch of it, then put some in my bowl, and bring it into the living room.  I would bring extra food up into my room.  I would refill my bowl or plate two or three times, and just eat and eat until I was disgustingly full.  Why?  Was I not well-provided for?  Quite the opposite in fact.  The fridge was generally always full, we were fed full range meals.  So what was my problem?  Honestly?  I have no idea.  To this day I still don't know.  Literally, just now, I reached into the trash can at work and almost grabbed some french fries that a customer had thrown away.  I picked up the bag, opened it, and actually contemplated it.  It kind of shocked myself that I would do that.  ...And now my stomach's growling...
I regret food.  A lot.  Food is sort of this strange bane of my existence.  I know that doesn't really technically make sense, but it is a mental bane, let's say.  I sit and contemplate food.  A lot.  I'll tell myself, 'You really shouldn't eat this.  Don't eat this.  You're going to regret it.'  If I'm good, I'll stop myself, and not do it.  Generally though, I cave and eat it.  Then I regret it.  Like always.  Urgh!  Stupid food!
I've more or less "dieted" off and on since I was about 16, and it sucks.  For a while there, I got into the mindset of 'Eh I'll just eat whatever and take things in moderation.'  Yeah, that's when I actually started noticing the weight coming back on.  Oops.  My problem is, I don't MOVE enough.  Working three jobs has helped, because it seems like all I do is go, go, go when I'm at work.  I need to dance more though.  A lot more.  I will be dancing more and more over these next couple months, but I need want to dance, like, a RIDICULOUS amount more.  I would really, really love to full out, hardcore, sweat-dripping dance for 2-3 hours per day.  That would be amazing.  Yeah.  Dancer OUT!