** Trigger Warning: This post will discuss eating habits, feelings about food, weight, bodies, society and who knows what else. If that type discussion is uncomfortable for you, please skip it or do whatever you need to do to take care of yourself.

Now here’s an ocean picture before we start.

I did a wonderful job of shifting my relationship with food for a while, maybe a month or 6 weeks. It was lovely. I felt better physically, I felt better mentally. I lost weight. You might think that would lead to lasting success.

Nope.

Now I’m back in that pattern where I wake up in the morning, promise myself I’m going to do better today, eat well most of the day, and start over-eating after dinner. Just thinking about it makes me want some Ritz crackers (wheat crackers) dipped in chocolate hummus. Or a pear dipped in chocolate hummus – that’s not bad, right? Then the Ritz crackers after the pear. Ice cream. Cookies. Maybe something salty – popcorn? What else can I eat?

That’s what it’s like, starting about 8 p.m. So I graze until 10 or 10:30, and go to bed. At that point, I still don’t care. So I ate more than I planned. So what?

About 2 a.m., I wake up to pee. I think about the hummus and crackers, the pear, the ice cream and all of it. What was I thinking? I shouldn’t have eaten all that crap.

Sigh.

Then I remind myself, it’s done, I can’t go back and undo it. No point in beating yourself up. Tomorrow’s another day, you can do better then. I fall back asleep.

Over and over, day after day.

So I thought I’d try the Existential Kink process. Even though I haven’t finished the book.

According to that approach, there is something about this pattern that I love. Wait – is the pattern, is the thing I love, really about food? Cause I do this pattern with other things too. Overdo something, regret it, promise myself to do better, feel better… do it over again. I’ve done it with alcohol – not lots of alcohol, but 2 or 3 glasses of wine, more than I wanted or needed. I’m essentially not drinking alcohol now, which may be why I’m eating more.

Anyhow. EK would say there’s something about this that I love. Something I enjoy. Something I get off on. Is it the rebellious push against health rules? The strangely soothing cycle of acting out, scolding myself, then reassuring – without ever having to change anything? Is it like teenage-Olivia, trying to carve her own path against natural consequences. (See – I can wait til the last minute to do this assignment, see – I can hitchhike and not end up dead – smoking cigarettes, drinking coffee – it’s all ok for me. Rebel without a clue.)

Now for a complete sidetrack, here are some pictures I found on pexels that remind me of my youth, in a fairly idealized way.

Anyhow. Here I am, 66 years old and still longing for unfettered freedom (even thought that was never really a thing), acting like rules don’t apply to me. Eat healthy? I scoff at your whole food diets, clean food, keto, weight watchers, noom – no, thanks!

That’s the joy part of it, right? Doing whatever I want.

And, of course, there’s the whole numbing myself part of it. I can’t even think about the war in Ukraine. MP is driving me crazy. Climate change is going to kill us all. Why shouldn’t I eat, drink, and be merry? I deserve it!

And we won’t even talk about work or marketing my work. That’s a whole other ball of wax, can of worms, and basic hot mess.

Finally, let’s talk about real kink and fantasies. I read this post: Flogging Session (Erotica) It’s beautifully written and not fantasy. It made me think – well, first it made me happy. It brought up some really good memories and made me smile, and I feel super happy for the person who’s having this experience. That came first.

But then I was thinking about the things I write these days. I had a conversation with an old friend recently who confessed that she liked a previous blog persona of mine more than she liked Olivia. (Did I already tell y’all this? Sorry if I did.) Anyhow, I think I liked the older blog more than I like Olivia too. So much of it was real. My friend said it was more “delicate,” and she’s right.

Now, I write the first part of some fantasy and I’ll have some destination in mind, but I can’t get back to it.

I don’t think I can really remember what it feels like. Real floggings. What it’s really like to submit. Maybe the memories are just too distant now…