madermouse's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 4/4/02 Living in Portland, there isn�t much light except for the grey kind. By November, the light doesn�t really change throughout the course of the day anymore. Rather it stays a constant tone, a single hue of shady gray that never brightens, but only dims as the night falls. At 12 noon, you can hold your hand in front of your face in your living room - and only barely make out the line of your fingers its so dark. This is the same for early morning, and late afternoon, and the only way you�d know time is passing is from the tick tock sound coming from your watch, or the turning of the date on your computer. The rain comes down in a soft, misty drizzle lending a haze to this greyness. And it goes on and on and on like this for weeks, for months. In the winter here, most of my plants die from lack of light. I move all of them close to the window, in hopes that the fading cloud-covered rays of sunlight will somehow find their way and feed my malnourished plants. Some of them die early, abandoned to their graves on the back porch by mid-December. Others push on. I watch as their leaves turn dull and brown, their stalks turn spindly, and they start to resemble an anorexic - bare bones. Some of them finally give into the darkness, despite their best effort. (and mine) And when I come home from work, and find they�ve released all of their leaves forming a circle on the floor, and they�ve draped themselves over their pot in a final, weary exclamation, I know its over for them. I retire them to the back porch to die in a cold, desolate space under the staircase with the others. By late February, the hearty plants have started to shrug in disgust from the lack of sun. They pull their energy towards the roots, the stalks, like a true conservationist. They buck up & hold out - exhibiting a will to live at all costs. These are the plants that stick it through, year after year, winter after long winter. These are the ones that never know how close they came to meeting their maker on the back porch. When spring finally does come, you should see how dramatic their recovery is! Its amazing. In a single afternoon, they�ll bend towards the sunshine, soaking in every drop . They immediately stand taller, they start drinking more water, they sprout new shoots and their leaves brighten into a shiny, emerald green. They flourish. I move them back to their former location in the house. They become full and beautiful and no hint of their former state remains. The intensity of the transformation leaves me astounded, every year. And as I tend to them, watering and re-potting, I secretly hope I get to spend another long winter with each of them - the strong ones. I am them. We are the same. Each of us surviving a long, dark winter of conservation we ache for the light of Spring. We await the moment when we can come alive again, when we can thrive with new life. Today is that day. I woke up today bathed in sunshine, filled with hope. I feel so healthy and strong and good today. I�ve done really well this past week too. I�ve stayed off the scale for 4 days, and plan on staying off until next Monday. It feels good to get away from that damn thing, and rely on my guts to know that I�m doing what I should be doing, that I�m doing fine. I�ve changed a few things too. I�ve dropped my food journal for 8 days so far, and its been a blessing. Instead of counting every calorie, I�ve been using portion control which feels incredibly freeing! I�ve succeeded in adding two fruits to my diet everyday (which is replacing some of the other sugary-crap I was eating) I�ve started eating more whole foods, more fiber, and more vegetables. This is the �back to the basics� approach, and its what I was doing when I started so long ago. I�ve really tried to listen to my body, and recognize when I�m truly physically hunger vs. when I�m emotionally hungry. And I�ve said NO to myself more often this week. I�ve quit eating such large meals at night -spacing my calories more evenly throughout the day. And, although this isn�t perfect, I�ve succeeded in NOT eating in the middle of the night 4 out of 7 times....a f*ing miracle I by normal standards. I feel change coming. I smell it on the winds, see it in the blossom of daffodils and feel it in the sunshine on my back when I�m walking. I know that the upcoming months mean growth for me, but I can�t say exactly what that growth will be. All I know is that I feel very hopeful and happy, and ready to take on whatever�s headed my direction. I�m ready to be full, and vibrant, and beautiful again. 2:04 p.m. - 4/4/02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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