Changing

Paris did exactly what it was supposed to. It calmed me, collected me, and provided me with all the fabulous espressos and Dijon mustard I wanted. I'm back up to 157, but I don't care. It's food weight from the amount of Carambars I consumed yesterday on the journey home. Plus, I hop on a plane tomorrow to LA, and I am getting my ass in gear. My regime there, I have decided, will consist of lots of fresh produce, vegan health foods, green tea, protein shakes and Fiber-One cereal - along with a shit ton of exercise, and daily sweats in the sauna. It'll clear me out, and that's what I need. I need to be cleared out until all the poisonous chaos inside my head is finally swept along with a broom, never to be seen or heard from again.

Alfie texted me today. I didn't respond. I haven't heard from him in over a month, and the things I discovered about him through mutual friends (ones that have my best interests at heart) are hardly tasteful. Caro says I should leave it altogether, and I'm inclined to agree with her. I haven't been treated well, and while in the past there was a definite time and a place for self-destructive, toxic codependency, currently, I'd rather surround myself with people who actually give a damn about my emotional wellbeing. Following that, I am no longer in love with him as I used to be. And so I see very little reason to give him the satisfaction of responding to a complaining, narcissistic, whiny message about how neglected his ego feels.

I'm feeling strong, and like I can grasp the next month with all my strength. I am reading tons, and it's giving me a great distraction from my body. But in Los Angeles I will become whole, at one with myself, and build some armour for my looming late-summer departure. I might... dare I say it,... be changing.