flagrant disregard

my entire day was spent at the ucla medical center listening to resident doctor #4 repeat the phrase "weight restoration." how many hours does one hour of psychotherapy take? thanks for the parking ticket-- there's a two hour time limit per parking meter in westwood, you know.

if not arrogant, it's a completely ridiculous idea, but i sensed resident doctor #4 had a light schedule and was required to endure the floor. sure that's it, the chief resident of a significant clinic decided to keep me around to fill time. now, finally home after fighting friday 405 traffic in the sepulveda pass, those words regarding refeeding and future puff are still pinging around in my head.

restore my body weight to what level? why? i have been sneaking around this current size for over half of my life. what could "weight restoration" possibly mean in my case? does resident doctor #4 want to return my body to whatever i weighed back before learning how to drive? what purpose would it serve? i don't know. i didn't ask. any weight gain after restricted living is only apt to put additional and unneeded stress on my cardiovascular system.

my doctor's attempt at approaching the idea of "weight restoration" was huge-- and not merely a suggestion. he occasionally states the bizarre: "i have no problem if you were to gain weight", and "you are entitled to unlimited calories." the problem is that right now, i am not in a state of mind where any type of positive implication in regard to weight or food can unfold. "weight restoration" remains obscene. it is worse than illegal. i can only hold the conversation if joking and in an attempt to turn off my blended disaster which stirs under the surface. this "weight restoration" as a topic or task is neither going to work out for him nor me.

consider: how this underweight physical size masks my age, and therefore, how easy it is for people to forget how old i am. i am not in high school, but appear to be.

"you are dangerously underweight," he talked down to me.
"i am not," spoke a voice from the floor.

"we need to do this now," he continued, concerned, but not paternal.
"but i'm not interested," i said to the ceiling.

"are you going to help me with a food plan? do you want to do it here?"
"this is not what i come here for," he heard me say.

no, i'll never sit in either of his new chairs.
what if i don't fit right?
by comparison, what if a chair refuses to make my body look small?
god forbid, what if even my low weight makes the chair squeak?


saint exupery's drawing number two--
the little prince's boa constrictor/hat

"what are we going to do," he asked.
"well, certainly not a boa constrictor impression," i smiled.

[confusion, obviously he missed the imagery of gluttony.]

"i don't have your omnipotence," he replied.
"why not?"
flatly, he said, "see, i wonder about that, too."

in the background, the snap of thumb and forefinger constantly touched and clicked over my bicep. it's a nervous habit, which functions to calm the anxieties i have with my body. this sound could be frightening over annoying, i guess.

fact: i heard the greatest phrases in the world today.
consider: this (again) should be the best day of my life.

[it wasn't.]

after posting the above, my gmail account was supplied with the following gem, but first, please tell me upon reading it that the world emitted a collective groan:

>> e-mail: what were the great phrases you heard?

hold on. if this went over the reader's head, he certainly never caught on to the reasoning behind why i have been sitting on resident doctor #4's office floor instead of his chair. even though he did not ask, this would be the only thing i care to clarify. refusing to sit in his chair it has been an attempt to keep the voice of anorexia at bay and render the office a safe place. to further translate, if i feel required to sit in that chair (which may possibly squeak, thus remind me of how i own a weight) i may obsess over having to lose weight on a weekly basis just to go to the doctor. anorexia doesn't need any more ammunition. sitting on the floor keeps a portion of the problem away. the reader must simply be writing off this action of 'sitting on my psychiatrist's office floor' as nuts rather understanding this action must function as a positive experience and/or extremely healthy alternative.

i was under the (mistaken) impression that regular readers of this blog showed an increased blood flow in the anterior cingulate, right middle temporal, and right premotor cortices. imagine a person who only harbors the ability to reduce the curve. imagine only reading one blog entry from a web blog filled with thousands upon thousands of words before firing off an e-mail into the great unknown. imagine a person who only reads the words on the surface rather than translating a metaphor or simply reading the sentiment.

what is the answer? the great phrases i heard today were "dangerously underweight", "we need to do this now", and "i don't have your omnipotence." these are all sentences that my anorexia has aspired to hear. is there nothing better than having a personal suffering validated? yes, when it is confirmed from a physician and followed up with statements of urgency.

there are no secrets on these pages.
i only write in very "visible" code.

now don't make me slam my head on the desk again.
it makes the room a bit wonky and i have places to go.

it's not thunder, rather, i've been practicing five-step running lunges in mid-heeled shoes while dreaming up excuses to flake out of a celebrity charity bowling event. after some time (and what appears to be iliotibial band syndrome) it was determined that i am goofy enough to get away with doing freaky knee bends in a public lounge.

my only saving grace: not being one of the fashionable c-listers.
problem: one c-lister i used to sleep with will be in attendance.

consider: looking goofy came before worrying about size?!
consider: social anxiety trumped anorexia nervosa?!

the card hidden up my sleeve says that iv fluids (dextrose, glucose) are corn based and therefore my allergies cannot tolerate them. shucks resident doctor #4, i mean scooter, even when tied up, gagged, and blind i can still win the inpatient argument.

bad = good, he insists he has learned an awful lot from me.

consider: hospitalization jumped the table from consideration to threat.
consider: drinking tap water at home for free?
consider: drinking tap water in a motorized bed for $$$$ a day?
consider: becoming one of those idiots hospitalized for exhaustion.

out of the last fourteen days, twelve of them found me stuck in a work-related airplane seat en route to boring "meet and greet" dinner receptions.

the previous post worked like a charm to get random web surfers to immediately back out of the site.
unfortunately, that post can't stay on top forever, can it?

goddamnitihavetowriteaboutsigningacontractwith
aforeigncorporationandsuccessfullyimplementing
negotiatingskillsresultinginmychoiceofoneoftwo
mansionstyleapartmentsinthetokyometropolis.

whichareneithertrulydinkynormansionmansionsandareinfactverynice.

allisaidinroundaboutjapanesewasimgoingtoneedsomeplacetostay.
read:ionlymeantahotelsuggestionoracreditcardfromajapanesebank.

wordonthestreetwasanapartmentwouldbepurchasedforme
butcmonitsobviouslyrentedforthedurationofmyservice.

thatwordservicesumsmeup. peoplesaystopsayingthat. no.
contractedsoundssickandcorporaterelationshipsoundssilly.

nopewrongonrentingasinowownatokyoapartmentbutcantowntheland.

GREEDpokedmeandsinceihavetwostandingpsychiatrist
appointmentsaweeknowisthetimetotryoutnewsituations.
afterisaidandmaybeacariscratchedmyselfhardontheback.

youknowmeandwhatdoicareabouthave? takeishardbutaskviatellworkedout.
whentheysaidsilverorwhiteikindofpassedoutandfeltseriouslyill.

havingoptedforthesmallerofthetwoapartmentswhichincludeda
privaterooftopterraceandshouldhavecertainlybeentheleast
expensiveiamwonderingwhyitwasthepriciestwhenreallyhowmuch
canaview[whichcannotbeseenfromwhereiliveincalifornia]cost?

didyousaygym? noididandnotatamimatflooringeitherexceptinthewashitsu[japanesestyleroomwithshoji(funnybambooframedricepaperslidingdoors)].
sheeshithinkbecausemygymhereisbasicallyanellipticalandtheoutdoors.

rule:whencorporatelyembracedonecanexpectperks.
note:bigperks.
consider:jealousy.
consider:wellthenproveyourselftobeavaluableassettoyourcompanyeh?

theypaywaterelectricitygasinternetandtheyearly
communityfeeforthedurationofthedatedpaperwork
andmyrepsaidhahayoullmakeafortunerentingitout.

solastweekiwassickalotanddonteverbuymeacarcuzitendtovomitaboutit.
allgoodyouknowresultedinasickinpailstypeofdeadlinessatmyhouse.

why does resident doctor #4 routinely consider hospitalization on days so far away from dysfunction or disaster? I ACTUALLY PACKED a bag this morning before leaving for my appointment, having agreed that today was the day.

nope, no mention of it.

big thrills though as i sat next to his desk on the floor rather than standing frozen for the hour next to the window. [well, last time *i did* think i was to pass out from only standing there... not a good idea. see, i can adapt when it counts!] i took a bottle of thai-labeled water out of my messenger bag and set it next to my foot as to symbolize a new openness with him but he caught it immediately and abused the situation to detail maladjusted food rituals. i told him about this and how i did that and... oh boy. this is going to hurt later today, isn't it?

note: he didn't give me a food plan, either.
i'm gonna accidentally kill myself, you know.
anorexia: "duh, no food plan obviously means to water fast this week."
yeah, i hear you.

fine day for an iv, i think.

had we not been stuck in the corner of a sporting goods store (without a polite escape, forcing a hold time to wither all anxiety) i figure my ocd would have kicked in to allow an early departure.

only socially trapped, we listened to a opinionated cyclist spout off endless comments relating to why one should choose a metal air pump over pricey carbon fiber or 'inferior' plastic. seeing as the store was nearing its close, chuck and i decided the only way to exit loudmouthed scorn was to vocally agree to research products at a different store. that did the trick and the man went about his business. after he settled his bill at the check out register and headed toward the door, chuck grabbed the supposedly plastic bicycle pump from the display, tossed it into the cart, and we went about our life. well crafted or not, chuck blows through bicycle equipment too fast to care about a five dollar difference in quality.

a young woman looked at me. no big deal. i have an interesting appearance, was possibly the tallest female in the area, and even weirder-- i require a nuclear jacket during atomic summers. very old fashioned (and never any fun they say!), a tank top belongs in the car and not on the sidewalk or in the shop. even though i had the only legal arms on the street, the extended covering that sleeves offered was essential.

chuck (who on average picks up 50 thorns a week) was in the market for two inexpensive mountain bike tires and replacement slime tubes. it was clear that weekend shoppers had attacked the store as the only remaining options which hung from the racks started at $50 each. i squinted toward the clearance section and noticed two women were watching at me. they immediately looked away as i sighed and looked back at down the shelves.

... and chuck and i shopped
... and people look at each other
... it's alright
... that's what people do
... but it isn't okay because this isn't nowheresville
... and people aren't all "hi-how-are-you have-a-great-day"
... look, there's another double take.
... and stop mmph-ing gawking at me!
... eye contact is reserved for mad dogging here
... or strange human flirtation rituals
... and i don't dance with girls, you know?

consider:
long term anorexia -->
severely restricted diet + fat loss -->
i look like a 13 year old boy
= teenaged boy syndrome

consider: (strange other option i somewhat believe)
perhaps these people are familiar with a product i represent.

consider: (strange third option i never believe)
i own 'physical dents' to end all dents.
many visible portions of my body are strikingly sculpted.

:

until
he
of
most
monday
mornings
spoon
feeds
me
splendid
tortures
of
course.

:

two other people turned and stared as they continued walking through the store. 'this would be a good time for a panic attack,' i thought. if not for having to cross over the long check out queue to exit the building, escape would have been a possibility. [there would be the nervous issue of can't-help-it mumbling to myself during the several blocks of 'daylight walking' back out to the car, the big deal of having to amble across at least two nerve racking four-lane traffic crosswalks with hordes of sunday shoppers, 104'F weather equals waiting for chuck in the 118'F car interior, more sweat, potentially imbalanced thirst, etc...]

"everybody in here is looking at me," i said.

'no they're not,' chuck was supposed to reply, but instead laughed, and glanced at me sideways.

"mmmmm... yes.. they.. are," he smiled.

well, crap.

a dri-fit jersey
bicycle pump
two reluctant knobby tires
vanilla sport nutrition powder
the store is closing
let's go!

cashier tries, "a few people mentioned that you are a local athlete?"

??
???
??

!!
!!!
?!

oozing with shiny personality (though i thought it to be that liquid form of anxiety known as perspiration) the capacity for super-duper stardom must gleam out from my chin's allergic blueberry reaction. after a strange cut-throat week, i gather i remain blind to the confidence in my step.

slid a youth-sized bracelet over my elbow
just in case
... and rearranged my v-neck shirt.
an arrogant winner, i am.

[skip ahead: five dinners in three countries.]

it's one of those days where i feel indebted to don a paper sack and make it work, except corn/maltodextrin allergy or similar myoplex intolerant tics seem to be keeping me home. it's hot. the damn gardener is taking forever. first he insisted on using the annoying leaf blower long enough to inspire a hypertension and now, for whatever reason, he is promoting the hell by raking the cement paving stones.

upon entering the vitamin shoppe yesterday, the cashier tossed one of those oh look, it's our local celebrity which gave the three puffy bodybuilder types at the register permission to look at me over-- and doesn't that just suck? it's going to be a frustrating challenge to carry an appropriate personality around wherever i go. one saving grace? my cephalic veins were flaunted, yet carried around an ephedrine free blue shopping basket. not surprisingly, those bloated men (who were supposedly invested in health) did finger the thermogenics and appeared inexperienced in buying extra repetitions.

to do list: pick up some cat food, have color matching done for hair extensions, return boxed up online shopping experiences to brick and mortar banana republic and hayden harnett locations for instant credit, max out a credit card by filling up the car with premium liquid gold gasoline. go here! drive there! buy this! recycle that! and that too! or not. the car needs a good washing first but it's cheaper if one waits for the wednesday special.

i feel shy.
i feel swedish.
i t'ank i stay home.

it will be impossible to stay in. it is impossible to avoid life while maintaining a public profile-- which is why i have to sign on the line. a two and a half day trip to asia lurks in a future nearer than far. i will hold and pen and nod in time to the cadence of the japanese language.

"sign here, here, here, here, HERE, initial here, and sign here."

"this back-breaking, three-ring binder contains your contract."

"the key card to your new apartment has already been programmed."

"we have purchased a car for you and its registration has been secured."

"no, no, don't worry your furry little head, you only signed this life away!"

mou oshimai da, hopeless. shinpai da, worried about it all, and i'm too shy to bend my lips while trying to speak the language of confidence today.

man, that blaring leaf blower is starting up again.

a round trip airline ticket from london gatwick to sydney australia for £94?

[gasp! booked in first class!]

when the confirmation code appeared for the eticket, i ignored the fact that i scan flyertalk six times a day and just concluded that everything about my life (or the way it plays out) is nuts. no arguments anymore. i am happy to enjoy every loopy turn.

yay. now i have something else to do this fall.

[later:]
If you're a First or Business Class passenger, you'll be able to enjoy a complimentary chauffeur-driven service. A chauffeur will collect you from your home or office and when you touch down at your destination, a chauffeur will take you to your desired location. There is no mileage limit in the UK for First Class passengers.

it will be interesting to see if emirates honors this fare, which has since been pulled and reloaded at a £3500 return.

i spent the morning wearing layers of enormous clothing, somewhat curled up on the floor in the corner of resident doctor #4's new office. we talked about dust and praised the new window as i killed a spider with my shoe.

reluctantly, i allowed the potential victim to escape. the scent in the air wafted wrong in the night and suggested refusing the inner serial killer. if not for the excusable stars or the air, blame his release on my lack of owning a human-sized lockable box.

nothing interesting came out of the situation of the caged driver. i was excited thinking i could play actress for at least fifteen minutes, but the numb man was virtually unresponsive-- even the chimerical ideas wouldn't have been any fun. for example, when requested that he animate himself for useful blog fodder, this was misinterpreted as a language other than english.

the entire world is on drugs, but unfortunately the wrong kind.

how much trouble can i get into for trapping a person and their automobile on my property? what if i were to drive home to find some dumbfuck sitting in a car, basically blocking the gate to my driveway? what if i honked in an attempt to get him to leave but it stirred no reaction? what if i were to get out of my car, approach the foreign car, and the dumbfuck actually started to argue that he was indeed waiting to enter the correct gate? what if he swore at me while insisting he was right? what if i got back into my car, opened the gate with the remote, and he pulled inside? what if the gate closed behind him? what if, after figuring out he was in the wrong location, i invalidated his complaint with one finger and a creepy psycho voice that said, "THIS is where you inSIST you WANT to be." what if i have a low enough insurance deductible as to not give a fuck what happens next?

[impossible: anxiety]

fuck with me?
i fuck harder.
welcome to my reincarnation.

[yeah, i wish.]

anxiety over the possibility of a broken gate if dumbfuck gets pissed and tries to break it down with his inferior nissan z, worried that he may not be THAT stoned to forget where he got trapped, and there is the fear over the probability of enormous friends. do note that there is no concern of a police car showing up. "the oscar for best performance in a ludicrous situation goes to..." god, i'd hope the cops do appear so i can practice choking back gasps of disbelief.

if i were craftier than nerves, and am not but might supplicate, i would offer this bastard several gallons of alcohol before pointing him in the wrong direction. how other people handle inane instances, i imagine is by not provoking them, but now how boring is that?!

how badly is my rep going to berate me if i show up to his fussy dinner later wearing obnoxious attire consisting of a hard rock cafe kuala lumpur t-shirt and a pair of huge j.crew chino trousers?

i s'pose if i choose the right shoes...

you could try: flagrant, what the fuck are you talking about?
or even: huh, what?! i was fine up until the part when you...

in a round-about way, i was offered a high paying job yesterday.
people accepted for me, prior to even asking if i was interested.

!!!!! MOTHER OF CHRIST, THIS PISSES ME OFF !!!!!

they said: we thought, 'why would anyone decline?'
they said: we just automatically told them you would do it.
they said: it's not like it's really any work.
they said: you can do [it] at the same time you do [something else].

note: have yet to tell anyone how much this annoys me.
having no voice = a main building block of [my] anorexia

in preparation for the upcoming foreclosure market*, the plan is to put two los angeles county properties on the market within the next week, and not stress out over any paperwork or human interaction. at this very second, sanity seems possible. fearing the phone? yeah, isn't it a little fishy that telephone anxiety is absent when the person calling is willing to overpay for what i have or can do?

at least 95% of me will take issue with the (easy! technically unearned!) financial return from the sales, and this will be compounded when GREED considers slapping a "don't laugh, it's paid for" license plate frame on a 2006 mercedes SL65 roadster. mm-hmm, my well concealed 5% is deadly and... grinding.

in the daydream, i stand in a grocery store and wait for some form of manager to write out a rain check for cat litter. he's in a bad mood of course, simply due to the fact he works at von's, but he avoids this complacency by grumbling about suppliers and jackass employees. this manager, hunched well over and putting nose to paper, mumbles something about people who drive $90,000 cars but only shop when using a double coupon IF the item is on sale. after sighing a bit, for a grand finale he finishes with a flippant signature. i take the slip of paper and wryly say, "one HUNDRED ninety thousand."

oh, it would never happen. you know me, i'd either beat him senseless or go home and throw up, forever avoiding that store. the amg roadster daydream isn't even fiction here. as witnessed last night in a local parking lot, it actually appears essential for people keeping up with next door.

what was i writing about?

can i cash in on the southern california real estate market without losing my head to behaviors or GREED? never known to blow the wad, when will it sink in that gluttony can never adequately tease me and this is a worthless worry?

invalid friend just called. four out of four clients of his who are realtors have listed their homes for sale within the last week. three of the homes have sold, and all of those clients have secured their families in rental properties. "blah blah blah gearing up for the foreclosure market," he said. fine. this is all i need to hear and will stop looking for the anxiety to interfere with a very good decision.
-----

*gearing up in preparation for the foreclosure market= as interest rates rise and the fixed rate portion of adjustable loans come to an end, millions of overspent individuals are going face sharply increased payments and lose their homes. cashing in on the real estate market (by selling and having cash on hand for a few future down payments) is a way to prepare and be available to take advantage of the upcoming foreclosures. (i write this, but can't actually picture myself buying during a superstitious market- but who knows? either way, i want out while it's good at the top rather than possibly dealing with regret).

my family moved across the country a few months ago, says an old e-mail i recently opened, to a southern form of nowheresville. emotions were avoided by finding their new location appropriate, but i couldn't remain blind when presented with this disconnected calendar of scenery. funny, i was certain my wake up call was to involve a hospital bill.

betraying endurance, refusing to bear the suspense or continue on to decipher the theater of misery, i ransacked the pocket of resignation and found a slip of paper:

now: worse
then: better
prognosis: either

after fighting with the prolonged weekend, tweaking a tedious entry about an alarm clock and wake up calls, the scrap paper stirred a suppressed passion. the interaction of arrogance, loathing, imagination, and possibly a busted limbic system, seemed to make a different perspective irresistible.

appalled by simplicity and struggling to turn off the perpetual seething, i'll return to the old way of putting people at the bottom of the barrel to work for me. taking a cue from robert sternberg, i'll call them technicians, knowing they may actually misinterpret the gleam of a title and never feel properly insulted.

why would anyone who has routinely returned to the melodrama listed here think the previous entry referred to anything other than initiating radical changes in my life?

i have to start over.

how many holidays do we have to celebrate?

asking how i am causes insurmountable problems.