Once again, that deep ache has solidified my ribcage. It's the ache of impossibility, I think. By that I mean I keep wanting the course of my life to shift to something it can't be. I want it to shift to loving families and exciting work and a healthy body. How is it that I can't get there? It's this Alice-y feeling of frustration - just barely catching a glimpse of the right path and not getting my feet on it in time.

To clarify; the ache isn't merely that I don't have satisfying work, it's that I don't have the courage to find it. It's not that my body isn't functional, it's that I have one more layer added to the nonfunctionality of my already messy body. It's not that it's my brother's 30th birthday tomorrow and I can't be there, it's that he doesn't want me there.

I feel my ribs hardening and cracking and resisting the expansion of my lungs. I can't make any of it right. I can't write a script for my life that anyone else will read out with me. "Just do this, stand here, and say the following," I want to say. It never, ever works that way.

Resolute.

I shall not do my roommates' dishes anymore. I will stick to this, even if I begin to twitch and cry and they find me rocking myself on the kitchen floor when they come home.

I shall not plan trips to Le Victoir that span longer than 72 hours.

I shall write to the people whom I love in this world, and, when I have time, to the people I like and admire. (Luckily, the two categories overlap quite a bit.)

I shall cook with zeal, not only because I can't afford ready-made meals, but because food is fun.

I shall divorce myself from Starbucks. And soon.