Woah, it's been a while since I updated here. Where to start? Feeling blah and bloated from an excess of desserts. When I feel bloated it invades my entire existence. I feel like a heavy water balloon waiting to hit something sharp and spew my contents everywhere. It's very irritating.

Anyway. I'm a sugar addict. That term may or may not be scientifically accurate but I don't care at this moment. I eat way to much damn sugar and it makes me way more moody than my already moody self needs to be. I always, always feel calmer and happier and healthier when I avoid the stuff, but it's so hard! I crave it. It's more addicting to me than smoking. I can smoke loads for a week, quit and not want another cigar for weeks and weeks on end. When I return to it, it's usually for the taste. Sugar, on the other hand has become my crutch. And I know it's slowly wreaking havoc on me but it's hard to stop. But, I will keep devising new ways to transcend it.

I exercised a little bit today. Did some push ups, planks, squats, and what not. It was way to hot to run. I hate the idea of running. I hate getting ready to run. But, once I start running I feel really powerful and charged and in control of myself. If I do it everyday, the psychological benefits are very noticeable. It's just a matter of getting into the habit of doing it most days. I need a butt kicking.

On a positive note, I meditated for twenty minutes or so today and it was quite nice. Some beautiful and inspiring images blossomed inside of me and I felt like I should transcribe them on paper with paint or pencil. I started at my sketch pad and soon became disenchanted with my rusty drawing skills. I can go without writing for months and dive back in at a moment's notice. Not so much with drawing and painting. I used to be quite artistic in my teenage years. I've sort of neglected that side of myself as I gravitated toward literature and the orgiastic nuances of the written word. I still much prefer writing but it would be nice to be able to whip up a painting when inspiration strikes. Oh well. Can't have everything. Big deal, right?

I'm reading a book on depression by a severely depressed psychologist. The writing is decent. Not mind blowing, but good. What is stringing me along is how well I can relate to her descriptions of how she is feeling. Of course I don't feel like that anymore, for the most part, thank god. I'm plugging along waiting to see how the author (the book is a memoir) fares in the end. The book is supposed to end on an "uplifting note." We'll see.

I need a good old fashioned hike in the woods. I need to fill my lungs with cool, clean autumn air. I need to feel resistance against my legs along with the requisite soreness. I need to wake at sunrise and smell leaves and dirt and campfire smoke mingling with quiet and solitude. Sounds lovely.