Whisper this quietly, in case the Bastards of Fate can hear you, but it looks like I'm coming to the end of a time of utterly mad busyness (and yet frustratingly pointless production). What that means, if we're lucky, is time to think, time to write (cos damn, I miss that), time to focus more thoroughly on Disappearing, hopefully without reverting to scale-watching, insane, paranoid whipped-through-the-world nerosis.
Today has mainly, once again, been about sitting on my ass, writing stuff for other people, to which I have no particular connection but which has to be gotten out of the way. Annnd now it is. So - it's almost like I've had a week or more actually off from this whole Disappearing lark. But now it's time to knuckle down and really kick this thing - feels like I've been swanning around back and forth in the shallows of 3.5 stone for too damn long now - it's time to get 4 stone out of the weigh (see what I did there), and start pushing on.
Haven't biked or walked properly since last Monday, so it's time to get back on the damn thing and remind my legs what the Hell they're for.
"Can we say 6.30?" d begged over breakfast.
"What?"
"Tomorrow. You're gonna walk, can we say 6.30? Cos I gotta tellya, you're killing me here..."
She's right of course. This blog is very often all about me, me, me, but let's not gloss over the facts here - as hard as being a Disappearing Person can be sometimes, being married to a Disappearing Person...pretty much sucks ass, I'd imagine. Let's not forget, before I even got on this kick, d herself had Disappeared to the tune of 3.5 stone, so I'm jussst about creeping up on her now. And she did hers with no song and dance, no 'everybody-pay-attention-to-me' self-revolution, no dramatic, woe-is-me "God, this is so haaaaard" whinging, and no 180 degree life-change that put everybody else second, and demanded every tiny victory be a ticker-tape parade.
That's not why being married to a Disappearing Person is hard of course - that's just why being married to Disappearing Me is. Being married to any Disappearing Person though does change the rules - signs of affection, signs of congratulation, long-established routines, long-established moments of communion and understanding and shared enjoyment - all of that tends to go through a paradigm shift, and it can leave you feeling like you don't know the person who's emerging from underneath the fat-blanket. I don't want to overdramatise this, but just be aware, fellow Disappearers, or partners of my fellow Disappearers - it's not easy for the partners either.
For every mile I ride the bike, it's about six minutes when technically I'm with d, but most of the time, I'm zoned off into my own little musical world. For every morning I get up at Christ o'clock to walk, it's a morning she wakes up at that time too, and can't get back to sleep. For every evening I try and add some walking into my daily routine, it's another hour added into my already-tenuous relationship to time and geogrpahy and travel, another hour d's probably waiting somewhere, because of my decision.
The point, I guess, is that this whole palaver is actually for the partners, as much as the Disappearers. The idea is that you make us want to live longer, and be able to do more with the time we have. That's more often than not why we want to Disappear in the first place. And we trust that you know that, and will tell us if and when we're putting you unnecessarily second.
"Six-thirty. Sure," I said, having pretty much run through all this in the space of a handful of nanoseconds in my brain.
"No problem baby."
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