Queasy

Dearest Rachel –

I don’t know what’s been going on the last few days, honey, but every so often – at least, when I bother to think about it – there’s been this nagging sense of unease in the pit of my stomach going on. Now, it’s entirely possible that it’s simply due to another weekend attempt at intermittent fasting – way too much of the past week, as you’ve heard, has been spent on the wrong side of the two-fifteen line – which barely managed to last more than twenty-four hours (and certainly couldn’t be endured for the entirety of any one given day; by last afternoon yesterday, I fixed myself several slices of toast, for lack of anything more substantial). But I think it goes deeper than that, and the fact that it does only makes it that much worse.

For starters, you’d think that it would subside if, as happened this morning, I found myself waking up at least reasonably below that critical line for the first time in several days, after little more than a lengthy sleep and not having had breakfast yet. Even without a chance to get to the gym before Kris arrives to clean the place up, I’m in a better place, weight-wise, than I’ve been in a week. Assuming this is the source of whatever gastric distress currently troubling me, whatever remains at this point ought to be settled by merely consuming some actual substance, as opposed to a few pieces of toast. And maybe it will yet; I should go test that theory and get back to you about it, once I fully emerge from this fog into wakefulness.

The thing is – and I don’t know why, but it’s a conviction that’s hard to shake off in the moment – I’m convinced that there’s something more to it than just a lack of sustenance, or concern over my weight that led to deliberately depriving myself of such. It’s sufficiently nebulous that its real source can’t be easily pinned down, but even as a mere feeling, it’s strong enough as to be undeniable.

It may be that it’s just one of those unfocused bouts with a random sense of futility. Certainly the fact that I’ve mentioned this to you in the past (and, for that matter, that someone else, someone quite famous in his day, came up with the thought) suggests that it’s a common enough phenomenon, not just personally, but throughout humanity. Some people deal with it more often than others, and there are certain circumstances that are more likely to bring it on, and others that are likely to stave it off. For now, I happen to be in that former group of people these days. It makes sense that it would happen every so often; even the fact that I’m hungry might remind me why that is – that I’m still trying to lose weight – and go further into the question of why I’m doing that, as it’s not a question of making myself healthy, after all.

You see, it may be strange to think about it, but – and I think I’ve mentioned it before since your departure – it took less than four years for us to go from “hello” to “I do.” Had I met ‘Megumi’ in the aftermath of your departure – even six months into it all (at which point, she would have seen me in my worst moments, and it could only get better for the both of us from there) – we might well be on our way to, if not “forever together,” at least toward “’til death do us part,” which seems to be all one can ask for these days. And while there were moments when I thought I recognized her in all this time, I don’t think she’s any closer than when the doctor told us that there was nothing that could be done for you (and she was the last thing on my mind in that moment). You can see why this would put a sour knot in one’s stomach; one puts in all this effort, and for what? It’s more than enough to make one sick, and not just from lack of nourishment.

Then again, when I start to ponder stuff like this, it doesn’t take long before such thinking leads to over-thinking. It may well be that trying to put pieces together where no puzzle actually exists is anxiety-inducing in its own right. Best to not dwell so much on these sorts of issues, and just get on with the tasks of the day – be they assigned or self-imposed – and as one’s mind is distracted, both from the concerns themselves and the supposed effect such concerns have on my digestive tract face from notice.

Besides, one of those tasks is to get breakfast together – including clearing the fridge of certain leftovers – and it may be that the problem solves itself, in several different ways. At the very least, I can’t deny that it’s diminished.

Anyway, for now, all I can ask is that you keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me luck. Regardless of the cause, I’m still going to need it.