Notes from the Belly

the other father

2008-07-02T18:18:00.000-07:00

from age 3 to 11, my nuclear family consisted of three muskateers: my mom, my younger brother and me. when i was a wee one, my mom caught my biological father cheating on her, made a tough decision to divorce the man and did the best she could to raise my brother and i. i was too young to remember the divorce. my brother and i were still babies. because my biological father was never really around during my formative years, i never felt like i missed out. i have fuzzy memories of weekend visits with him, but i don't remember him being present in the years before my mom met my 'dad'.

when i was 11, my mom started dating a wonderful man whom she married two years later. shortly after their wedding, my stepfather adopted my brother and i so as form a more cohesive family, all sharing a common last name. by the time of the adoption, my biological father had faded far away from my life. i later found out that he remarried and had another son and daughter.

just as i assume my biological father was building a home with his new family, i, too was growing up in a loving home with a really good guy who i came to know as my only father. i never felt like there was something missing in my life. my thoughts very rarely wandered to the man who had sired me. my folks had another daughter and son, who, although technically step-siblings, have never been anything but my beloved brother and sister, whom i have loved, tortured and protected in only the way a true sibling can.

two nights ago, i got a text message from my mom. "you're biological father called - he wants to talk to you. he wanted your number, but i took his instead." first emotion that rushed in was confusion. what does he want? ugh... i don't want to deal with this. so i put the phone down and forgot about the message until yesterday. i called my mom to get the scoop. "he and his son were in san diego and drove by the house (where i grew up) and i think he probably just wants to touch base. i didn't get any weird vibes." huh. i still felt pretty unsettled about the whole thing, but pushed it off once again in favor of hemming a dress i'd been working on.

this morning i woke up with terrible, flu-like symptoms and have been feeling like shit all day. i finally managed to drag myself out of the house to go grocery shopping and when i got home, i immediately retreated back to refuge of my bed. soon after flopping down, i realized that i was psychotically thinking about the ginger ale i just bought. i wasn't hungry or thirsty and my stomach didn't feel bad, but i really really wanted to have some of that ginger ale. as soon as i realized that my longing for the ginger ale wasn't driven by thirst, i tried to just be in that moment of 'need', to quietly sit with my emotions and try to recognize what was under the 'need to feed'. my thoughts immediately drifted to the text message from my mom. but i thought i was done with this? i don't even know this guy. i don't even really care to know him. how would i address him if i did call him? i thought i was totally fine with having no relationship with my biological father. so why is this bothering me?

i wanted to call my brother to get his take, but the pressure in my ears and my aching back muscles impeded my want. so i just laid there in the twilight. then the tears came. soft, quiet tears that bubbled up from someplace inside of me that i couldn't name. i didn't particularly feel grief or sadness. the tears didn't feel like they had anything to do with abandonment issue or loss of father. but they were present nonetheless. so i cried. just let the tears come out. no trying to explain them or justify them, just let them come. and when i was done crying i just laid there a little longer. i realized that i also wasn't psychotically obsessing over the ginger ale anymore.

i'm still kind of twisted inside about the whole incident, but a beautiful lesson came out of the whole thing. i allowed myself to be guided by awareness, and was rewarded with balance. i'm proud of recognizing my age-old avoidance method - stuffing instead of releasing - and consciously opting to change my patterns of self-medicating. perhaps the future holds a relationship between my biological father and i. perhaps not. more importantly, the future - and the present - hold a much more significant relationship: one with my healthy self. and that feels complete.

wii fit

2008-07-01T21:15:00.000-07:00

lagging woefully behind the early adopters, i recently read about how cool the wii fit is. a quick google search revealed some informative product information and user videos. lemme tell ya, it looks really really cool. but even if i were able to get one, would i be too fat for the disc? i fear i might break the damn thing, crushing the sad little balance board into veritable smithereens with a few swift blows from my thunderous elephant-like stomps.

has it really come to this? am i too fat for video games that target fat people??

wah.

reunion

2008-06-30T18:31:00.000-07:00

i went to my sister's graduation recently. it was a whirlwind weekend for not only my sister, but for my folks, too. my dad arrived on thursday, i flew in on friday and my mom showed up on saturday. and the main event on sunday. in addition to attending all things graduation, my sis and my folks were preparing her condo to sell - the weekend was full of pomp and circumstance, paint brushes and belt sanders. i had a delightful time and even got to spend some rare, quality time with just my dad and sister, kicking around lovely seattle.

in on friday, out on sunday. a special trip to tiffany's for a little something for dad's favorite daughters. a shopping spree in nordstroms. miles and miles of walking around downtown and capitol hill. and eating to the point of pain at every meal. despite all the great memories, the one that has lingered with uncomfortable clarity is that i completely overstuffed myself at every.single.meal. all weekend long. we stopped in a cute little divey indian restaurant the first night and i ate so much that i was still uncomfortable even after the movies the same night. the next day we went to the seattle space needle for a decadent brunch, where i repeated the stuffing cycle that left me feeling bloated, tired, and immobile even through the tiffany's visit and clothes shopping. later that evening, we had pizza and champagne while we celebrated my sister and freshened up her home. the next day, we rushed off to an early graduation and then to another brunch... where i gorged myself not only on the extravagant breakfast buffet, but also had a quarter of my sister's burger.

what the fuck was going on? i haven't eaten like this in months and months. the whole thing felt sick and out of control. something about being with my family brings this out of me... there was no animosity, no fighting, none of the usual, predictable behavior that usually ensues when two or more of my family members get together. so why the need to stuff? what was i worried about? what was i trying to smother inside of me? the worst part is that i noticed my dad eating way more than he usually does, too. since his heart surgery, he's lost thirty pounds, he eats healthy, he's walking 5 miles a day. he's in great shape. and yet, there was something odious about the whole weekend that was leading us to medicate ourselves in really bad ways.

i suspect that somewhere deep down, i know exactly why i was eating to the point of pain, but in my current state of consciousness, i'm uninterested in digging deeper. i feel flat lately... like i'm just... here. and yet i'm not fully here. what i do know, regardless of my current state of mental disinterest, is that i need to resolve the visit to seattle.

the fat girl's guide to flying

2008-06-28T14:53:00.000-07:00

i've been traveling a lot recently and as a woman of XXL proportions, airplane travel always make me a little nervous. fortunately, i have amazing girlfriends who know what the hell i'm talking about when i anxiously mention the dread of having to squeeze my voluptuous keister into an XL seat for three hours. one particular travel-savvy friend sent me the following advice, wrought from her own extensive traveling experiences:

The Fat Girls Guide to Flying

1) Airline seat sizes vary. Airplanes use a few different kinds of aircrafts. When you shop for flights, it will list the type of aircraft each flight uses. Check here to determine the width of the seat on that particular aircraft: www.seatguru.com You want the 18" width; it will be much better vs. the 17" width. Whenever possible I pick my flight times based on this.

2) Get in a loyalty program and fly that airline as much as possible. It is TOTALLY worth it. Get a credit card that gives you miles for that airline. This will let you get better seats (i.e. non middle!), board first, and upgrade to first with your miles.

3) Always aim for a window seat. It allows you to get into the row first (usually), get situated, and lean away from the middle seat. Because of carts and other traffic coming down the aisle, the aisle seat doesn't leave you with anywhere to lean.

4) Seat belt lengths vary. I tend to fly United where the seat belt is always roomy in coach, but strangely, not nearly as roomy in business class/first (even though the seat are.)

Here's how to handle a tight seat belt: immediately recline your seat, slide your ass back, and buckle the seat belt. Then un-recline. In crappier seats you may have to reach back and grab the side of the seat and yank it forward as you depress the button to move the seat back into the upright position. Do the whole recline thing really quickly and no one will notice, they're too busy getting situated themselves. In really small/older planes (i.e. europe), the seat belts are much shorter. Do not go through the drama of asking for an extender. Just bring a jacket with you and put it on your lap. Place the unbuckled seatbelt under the jacket. Put your headphones on and zone out. No one will notice. Flight attendants just want to get the plane off the ground, they are not looking to see if your seat belt is buckled.

eggsactly

2008-06-26T19:13:00.000-07:00

this morning, my company treated its employees to a catered breakfast in honor of all the hard work we did last week. i queued up with other coworkers and patiently waited my turn to grab some eggs and bacon and fruit. i found myself across the buffet table from a temp who has been with the company for three or four months. the group around me was conversing about vegetarian preferences, the temp leading the banter.

"well what to do allow yourself to eat? all i see is carnivorous fare here," one of my coworkers said to the temp.
"well, i'll eat eggs, but definitely NO dairy... i'll eat fish and blah blah blah blah..." and she went on ad nauseum about her self imposed diet restrictions. when the temp got to the eggs, she took an abnormally small scoop and made some irritating remark about being starving.

"you know, i think scrambled eggs have milk in them," the guy next to her said. she paused, then very unceremoniously tilted her plate towards the egg pan and shook the offending fare back into the public domain. i think she started whimpering about never having anything to eat at "these" types of offerings...

it was at that point that i grabbed my juice and scurried away, trying to get as far away as possible from her incessant whining about food. frankly, although i found the whole exchange to be like nails on a chalkboard (seriously... HOW MANY TIMES DO WE NEED TO HEAR THE WOES OF THE VEGETARIAN?? KEEP IT TO YOURSELF, YOU FOOD MILITANTS!! yeah, yeah, yeah... you're so much better than the rest of us meat eaters... but you don't hear the rest of us preaching about how our lactose intolerance or our gluten issues or our plain old dieting problems should be cause for you to take alert, too!!) i digress... the thing i found interesting is that this was not the first time that i happened to be graced with the presence of this babbling veggie crusader.

i came across her a few weeks prior at an all-staff meeting. she was at the catering table, decrying the baseness of the pastries and muffins for their general unhealthiness and sugar content to anyone in line who would listen. (as a little bit of background, this gal is relatively young - maybe mid to late 20's, very thin, and very much a stereotypical l.a. hipster. in an office that demands business formal, she comes to work looking like she's wearing the same duds she went out in last night... lindsay-lohan-style leggings under an off the shoulder, ratty t-shirt and cowboy boots. god love l.a.) this girl already sticks out like a sore thumb in the office. what's worse is that she offends everyone around her with her holier-than-thou loud judgement of food at the catered meals.

this really bothered me at first. i chalked it up to her just being a loud, bitchy, attention-needing, angstful youth who was unaccustomed to a professional office environment. but after listening to her blather on about her herbivorous tendencies this morning, i realized that ohmygod, she's probably just as freaky about food as me! both times i've run into her, she's been milling around catered tables full of "inadequate fare". i imagine that a person with a normal relationship with food (whatever that is) would peek at the offerings, know instantly if there is anything appropriate for their diet and simply walk away if they don't see something that fits the bill... not get in line and very loudly bitch about the free food. that the temp falls in with the rest of the line and starts calling attention to her own eating habits screams "i have a problem with food. and if i talk loud enough and with enough judgement about what you're about to eat, you won't notice my issue with food."

yes. i know this one well... i know it well because i have been in that same boat... it was high school and college when i was so painfully aware of being seen having anything to do with food in public... i thought that all eyes were on me and the food i was about to eat. (which is really a very narcissistic thing if you think of it.) how painfully wrapped up with my own fragile self esteem and poor body image did i have to be to think that everyone would be waiting, watching to see what i ate, how i ate it, the technique i used to eat? seriously. thank you, therapy, for helping me pull my head out of my ass on that one. (i'm quite sure that my head is still very much securely lodged up my rear when it comes to a great many other things, but i don't fear eating in public anymore.)

i wish i could say that my negative feelings towards the trash talking temp have dissipated now that i've committed my thoughts to paper (or rather, the digital ether), but i'm not that noble. what i can say is that i do have a little more compassion for her now. it's gotta be tough to be young and impressionable in this whack-a-doodle town - where drug problems are completely acceptable and eating at all, especially in public, is frowned upon... i'm grateful that the suffocating pressure to be thin out here has not consumed my very being... ok, maybe just a little.

or i could be completely wrong about the temp... perhaps i am totally off base and she has a perfectly healthy relationship with food... in that case, her irritation factor stems from her constant and insipid whining about food... even better!

dayyyyyum, this thing is dusty

2008-06-26T19:07:00.000-07:00

thanks for all the comments and queries as to my whereabouts... i'm afraid my absence has been due to nothing glamorous or dramatic... just a lot of traveling, sewing and (finally) buying of the engagement ring.

oh how i've missed you, Blogger!

hyper vigilance vs. subtle awareness

2008-05-20T18:08:00.000-07:00

over the past couple of weeks, i haven't really been paying attention to the weight loss program - haven't been logging my food religiously, haven't been overzealous about getting out for an evening walk; nor have i been going overboard with junk food or lethargy. i've just kind of... been... fortunately i'm getting by on just 'being' without any weight loss/gain ramifications.

i decided that i need to get back on the weight loss bandwagon. full force. no messin' around this time... and so the plans began to formulate, my new routine started taking shape in my mind. i started preparing for a spartan week of eating and a rigorous exercise schedule. i was pumped up for the morning. rarin' to go again. and yesterday was good. i logged my food, got two great walks in, got to sleep early... success!... or is it?

this is my way with 'dieting'... i am a hyper vigilant dieter. i have to pump myself up to a near maniacal level of excitement. i commit myself to going full blown gung ho. there are no rose tinted glasses for me - no, for me there is diet "blood lust" and mania. i will do this! i can do this! BOOYAH!!

to date, this furious excitement hasn't worked. it's short lived. i put all my eggs in one basket then fling the basket at the nearest wall... i can't help it! somewhere down the road, this is how i learned to operate and it is built in at a very deep level. so today, i'm letting go of the ferocious attitude and aggressive approach. this is not to say that i don't cherish the food plan and exercise routine that i've planned for myself, i'm just going to let this week just... be. i've said it before and i'm sure i'll say it a gazillion times again, but where i feel best, where i feel calm and right is in an aware state. during my walk yesterday i took such delight in the act of walking, in noticing the plants, animals, people, weather, homes, sunlight. the temperature had cooled, the day was giving way to the evening, it's long, golden tendrils creeping through even longer shadows. i noticed lightly scented blossoms punctuating beautifully landscaped yards with playful color. flora and fauna exchanged gentle vows of love as the breeze tickled leaves, petals, stalks. my body felt harmonious with itself, strong, ready to step step step to health, to strength. it was an absolutely beautiful walk. the goodness of the walk stayed with me all evening and i have a sneaking suspicion that the lasting peacefulness had everything to do with awareness. i felt alive in noticing the smallest spider web. i felt buoyant walking past the pretty homes, drinking in the last kisses of a setting sun's rays. i was aware of so much on that walk.

i want more of that peaceful feeling. i want to translate my awareness on that walk to my awareness about food. i don't want to do battle with dieting anymore. i don't want to view food as an enemy i need to ready myself against. i want to be free of the fight inside of me. i want to be aware.

in the same way that a vampire will not come into your home unless you invite it, i imagine awareness operates in like kind. so here's my invitation to awareness. come on in! you're welcome here.

knock knock knock helloooo? anybody home??

2008-05-19T18:36:00.000-07:00

"i'm feeling guilty about neglecting my blog," i said to my guy last night.
"why?" he asked.
"because i haven't posted in, like, weeks."
"why not?"
"i don't know," i said, "i just haven't really had anything i've wanted to say. really, i just want to spend all my spare time sewing."
"then why don't you talk about how that makes you feel?"
i looked at him for a few beats, then muttered, "hmm."

two of my beloved girlfriends and i have a daily ritual whereby we maintain a sort of living gratitude journal. we email each other every day with five things that we're grateful for. the beauty of the journal, which we started about a year ago, is that we keep in very close contact with minimal effort. additionally, as the worst catholic ever, identifying everyday, 5 things in my life for which i'm grateful, feels like prayer. last week one of the gals replied to my 5 with a short, exasperated note, letting us know that there was no way she was coming up with 5 things for the day (in her defense, sometimes it really is hard to come up with 5 things to be grateful for...) i gently replied that these were precisely the days when it is most important to document the 5...

now i take my own advice. things in my life are humming along smoothly. i've found a craft that i'm in love with. my creative juices are flowing and i want to spend all of my spare time with my gingher dressmaker shears and the rustling of pattern paper. i have drifted so far away from blogging that i've also convinced myself that i don't have anything to say. i don't have any fodder for my blog, i tell myself. and that little voice inside of me murmurs, "now is precisely the time to write about..."

so i'll talk about my recent addiction... sewing.

the pants are finished. yes, they might be garish and devoid of style, but i'll be damned if i didn't do a bang up job with my straight lines and meticulous attention to detail. and even though i hemmed one of the pant legs on the wrong side, i had absolutely no problem ripping out every last seam. i fell a little behind the group while fixing my hem, but i was on a mission!

we're now well into our shirt construction. i got an email from the instructor today letting us know that class was canceled this week due to a scheduling conflict. i admit i was a little crestfallen... more more MORE!!! i devour each new, small lesson and want to take it home and put it into practice. i spent the ENTIRE weekend testing out my newfound skills. i made a very simple, elastic waistband skirt. granted, it's made out of slip material and too sheer to wear, but it looks great!! i created something! i also attempted to replicate this flowy, very feminine silk ralph lauren skirt... didn't work out so well. not only was it WAY too small, but it didn't hang in lovely, loose layers... i later found out why it didn't lay the way i intended it to. and still, i found great satisfaction in the attempt... and the subsequent lesson about "cutting on the bias".

i've found a very zen-like space in sewing. it feels good to work with my hands, to keep them busy and creating. i am learning the art of patience, of following the 'rules', of working through steps in the correct order. i find peace in the routine of exact measureing, of precise cutting, of focused stitching. sewing demands my full attention and i'm deliriously happy to give it. making a garment provides a deeply satisfying sense of instant gratification while also teaching me delayed gratification. careful cutting of a pattern yields to easier pinning which equals more accurate stitching. i love the sense of pride that comes with learning a new craft.

enough for now... i'm cutting into my sewing time:)

sew much fun

2008-05-07T18:54:00.000-07:00

i've been totally enthralled with the sewing classes. on monday, i signed up for an additional class on tuesday evenings. we're not quite finished with the babe-a-licious drawstring pants, but i've been having so much fun that i decided to pony up for the shirt making class. much to my delight, this class is substantially smaller - only five of us total. even after the horror of getting measured in front of the whole class, i was so tickled by the idea of tackling shirt construction that i was willing to go through the embarrassment once more - after all, i'd done it once. i knew what to expect. it would be fine! and i would be sewing a real, live, honest to gosh shirt!!

still riding the high from monday night's class, i was anxiously awaiting the delights of tuesday's class. since we were no longer beginners, i expected the instructor to hand out the patterns, measure us, and get right into it. ho no... this time we were going to use a pattern generated from a program and based on multiple measurements INCLUDING WEIGHT AND BRA SIZE!!! kill me now. thank god there were only four other gals in the class... somehow the agony of having to bear the agony of publicly announcing my weight and bra size was lessened by the fewer number of class participants. and once again, i was the absolutely biggest gal in the bunch. i could feel the tightness in my chest start as the instructor measured his first victim... i gotta say, the single measurement of the previous class was small potatoes compared to this round of measuring... the fullest part of our chests, our waist, between the legs from belly button to the top of our ass cracks, neck, and bicep. the first gal handled the measurements like a champ. i could tell she was very uncomfortable - lots of nervous laughter and self deprecating comments. i mean i don't really understand why since she had the whole room silently staring at her, listening to the measurements as the instructor read them aloud. while witnessing this whole horror-measurement scenario play out, i realized that it was likely that every single one of the gals in there was filled with the same dread that was rocking around in me. i made up my mind to just say fuck it and get over the nerves. when it came to my turn, i had a little fun with the instructor... i took the tape measure and pulled it back and forth between my legs while shimmying my pelvis. i think that was the pressure valve everyone was looking for because we all started laughing... and i started blushing... but sure enough, talk of stripper poles sparked light conversation in the room and the tense tone dissipated. i didn't even mind giving my honest to god real weight and bra size. of course, i was as discreet as i could be, but again, i figured fuck it. i'm going to make this godamned shirt and it will fit because i've provided accurate measurements.

before getting measured, i was acutely aware of how hot and bright the shame of my weight burned inside of me. horrible catastrophic fantasies began to take shape and i felt like i would be lost to my peers as me, belly, and known only as a number. i imagined that once they knew my measurements and my weight, i would be forever reduced to numbers, i would forever be known as '51 Inch Hips'. "hey, 51 Inch Hips, could you pass me the pinking shears?" "Please say 'present' when i call your name. Hips, 51 Inches?" yet, this time i refused to be transfixed by the bonfire of my insecurities. fuck it. yes, my hips do measure 51 inches. so fucking what? yay me for being able to provide current, exact weight and bra measurements. yay me for having the courage to playfully poke fun at the tense situation by doing a little stripper dance with the tape measure. after all, if i'm going to continue sewing for myself, i'm going to have to acknowledge the shape of my body!

by the time i got home i was so energized, so full of delight and productivity. i gave myself over to the process of being measured and in return, i received a hella good time. i can't wait for next week's classes.

the real beauty of taking these sewing classes lies not in the fact that i'm learning a craft, but in the fact that i'm learning about me. some of my most vulnerable sensibilities around body image are being challenged. and IT'S OK. i'm discovering that the truth of my weight, the size of my hips, my bust - it's simple fact. these numbers are not charged with emotional anthrax. they simply are. i simply am. i do not crumble when forced to reveal my weight. i choose not to lose myself in the inner whirlpool of anxiety and insecurity. i choose to sew, baby!

sweet home, los angeles??

2008-05-01T20:38:00.000-07:00

if i lose weight for no other reason than to fit into the godamned airline seats, that will be just fine with me. the flight to chicago was quite pleasant. fortune blessed me with an empty middle seat and plenty of slack on the seatbelt, but the flight home was not so lucky. not only was the plane completely full, but for some reason i had to seriously suck it in to get the belt buckled. humiliating. and uncomfortable... and to add insult to injury, my lovely full hips/thighs kept pushing the arm rest up... thank god the middle seat occupant was a scrawny hipster who was passed out for the whole flight:)

it was nice to see friends. the movie went well. but i'm glad to be home. i think the next time i go back, i'm going to book myself into a hotel. my folks were kind enough to put me and my guy up for a few nights, but the accommodations were woefully gross and uncomfortable. i probably sound like a spoiled wretch for critiquing the generosity of my hosts, but seriously. i'd bet my eye teeth that crack dens are arguably cleaner than my parent's homes. the problem is that my folks are getting old. in addition to failing energy levels and eyesight, they are in the midst of selling one home and moving it's contents to their vacation/pseudo permanent home. their cleaning lady quit a couple of months ago b/c no one was around and the house was so empty. and my dad is still very much recovering from his heart surgery.

i get it. they have a lot going on. still...

the first nite i got in, my mom picked me up. "where's dad?" i asked. "we're fighting" she said. great. my folks exist in some state of argument 50% of their time... so this was no curve ball. i know how it goes down in their house(s) when they are fighting. internally, i braced myself for all of the shit that i worked so hard to unlearn in therapy, then immediately changed the subject. when we got back to the lake house, i was hungry and tired. i went to the spare bedroom and found some sheets on the bed... i suspected that they weren't clean and my suspicions were confirmed when i pulled the covers back to reveal - brace yourselves - scabs and a few dried blood spots. yeah. that's right. i said scabs. so. fucking. gross. it took everything i had not to keel over in a fit of trauma-induced seizures. clearly, this is where my dad has been sleeping during his recovery. i changed the sheets but still couldn't bring myself to sleep in the bed. i wandered into the office and set up camp on the couch. "why aren't you sleeping in the bed?" my mom asked. "scabs" i said. "god. that's fucking disgusting" she said. "then you better check the couch for scabs, too - he's been sleeping in here, as well."

i did have a nice time with my mom that first night. we reconnected while chatting and laughing. despite the good time, i was acutely aware of the role that food played in our discourse. when she first picked me up she said, "you're losing weight!! you look great." bullshit. and i'm not being an argumentative ass, but seriously. i have not lost substantial weight since the last time she saw me... she just knows i've been following weight watchers and she's somewhat of a sycophant. on the ride from the airport she asked if i was still doing weight watchers and i admitted that i was. when we got to the lake house, she asked if i was hungry and i said that i would forage for something. then she made these super unhealthy little pizza pockets (sabotage!) for us. then pulled out a bag of lindt's dark chocolate truffles and laura scudder's natural peanut butter. "have you mixed these two before?" she said, slathering the gooey peanut butter onto the truffle. "no" i replied, "i have enough bad habits already."

here's the unsettling part for me: why on earth would my mom serve up a gatrillion calorie meal (and by meal i mean 14lbs of enriched flour and 27lbs of refined sugar) late at nite AFTER i'd already told her that i was trying to stick to weight watchers?? perhaps i'm being sensitive, but it all felt a little too much like her trying to sabotage me. for the record, i did not have any of those p.b. and chocolate concoctions. i did, however, indulge in the crappy microwave pizza pieces. perhaps her food choices didn't have anything to do with me. all i know is that the food element didn't feel nourishing and healthy... it felt cloistering and heavy and guilt-laden.

the next day, we did a little shopping on our way back to their other house. it was nice to see my dad up and about. he looks great for an old guy who, just four short weeks ago, had his chest cracked open. we had a good conversation despite my mom slamming shit around us, making loud, angry noises. she refused to acknowledge my father and made it clear that she wasn't happy with us chatting. fortunately, i had dinner plans with my girls and had to pick up my guy from the airport later that evening so i got out of the house pretty quickly.

when my guy and i got back from the airport, we slogged our luggage upstairs to one of the empty, spare bedrooms and set up futons and sheets on the carpet. talk about skeeze city! there were remnants of dead bugs all over the place. the futons looked like they were pulled out of a dumpster and the "clean" sheets that we laid down had a few scabs stuck to them... fucking disgusting.
on sunday evening, i dropped my guy off with his bandmate and left him to a week long recording session. i drove back to my folks place and started packing. that's when i noticed an ant on my makeshift futon bed. further inspection revealed a couple of small, black roly poly looking things wriggling around. i picked up my shit and moved down to the living room and made a little bungalow on the floor. "what are you doing?" my mom asked. "bugs" i said. she grimaced. "yuck. i'm so sorry about the sleeping arrangements. do you want me to kick dad out of your sister's bed so you can sleep there?" ??? what kind of a person would kick a recovering heart patient out of their bed and displace them to the couch?? WTF!? "uh, no. this'll be fine. i have to get up at 5am anyway to get ready for my flight." "are you going to be ok to get up that early?" my mom asked. "yeah, i'll be fine. i'm going to hit the hay soon," i replied, all the while thinking that not even death could keep me from getting on that plane in the morning.

as soon as i left to get ready for bed, i heard my folks start arguing in the living room. SERIOUSLY??? did we not just talk about how we had to get up super early to get to the airport? mom, did you not just express concern about having to get up in 6 short hours? what the fuck are you doing picking a fight at 11:30 at night OVER MY BED!? i didn't know what to do. i was so uncomfortable. there's no where in the house that i could go to escape their fighting. i headed down to the basement and sat on the stairs and called my guy for a sanity check. fortunately, the fight broke up around midnight and i meekly padded in to the living room, carefully checking for land mines or any other remnants from the war, before hunkering down in my bungalow.
anyway, i can't tell you what relief it is to be home... and by myself (my guy opted to stay in chi-town for a week to record another album). i've been kind of floating around in this weird haze. my thoughts are disjointed. i get lost in the dichotomy of the truly great time with my friends and the bizarro world of my folks.

having made three or four trips back to chicago in the recent past has given me new perspective on my current situation. this last visit confirmed some sneaking suspicions in my mind. i realize that i've been glorifying and idealizing "chicago" and my memory of it. it's been tough adapting to a new life, but i gotta say, right now, my chicago life - the streets, the shops, the weather that just won't quit, the city vibe - it all feels very much part of my past. for as much as i resisted settling into los angeles, calling it home, i gotta say it never felt so comfortable as when i got off that plane at LAX and drove back through hellacious traffic on the 405. when did all this change happen?

in praise of lists

2008-04-23T19:27:00.000-07:00

i'm heading back to chicago tomorrow for the screening of my guy's movie on saturday. i'm all atwitter with nerves and excitement. i'm kind of starting to freak about about leaving my little furry babies in the capable care of strangers. i'm starting to freak out about my weight (like these peeps care - they know me at this weight!!). i'm starting to freak out about seeing my mom - she and my sis had a particularly bad blow out about two weeks ago and now she's fighting with my dad... who wants to visit that hot mess? i'm freaking out about what to wear on saturday. i've been freaking out about work and have been fighting towards deadlines like crazy this week.

but the coolest part is that all the freak out is more of a mellow hum than full blown frenetic energy. i've been taking calculated, measured steps to get myself ready for this trip all week. i made extensive lists to keep me sane and guide me at home and at work. i'm sure my kitties and pup-eroni will be just fine - they always are. and knowing that i'll only be gone for four days makes any mom-stuff seem totally tolerable. and i get to see my favorite favorite girlfriends.

chi-town, here i come!!

when the best thing ever gets sullied by the worst thing ever... in front of 11 strangers

2008-04-21T21:21:00.000-07:00

tonite i had my first sewing class. i've been looking forward to this class for months... i've tried to sign up for it twice and twice it was full. i thoroughly researched this place and even though it was a bit more expensive, i just knew it was the right place for me.

i moved my whole day around so i could get to this class on time... got up extra early so i could leave work early, planned an outfit that would have enough comfort and longevity to get me through a full work day and a three-hour class, ate a large, late lunch so i wouldn't be hungry during the class...

and when i finally got there, it proved to be awesome. only 12 students so the instructor can spend lots of one-on-one attention with each student. the instructor is a fabulous old queen with more sass in his little finger than one would find in a cranky kindergarten class. and the other students were all gals... of various shapes and style sensibilities.

we started off with a bang. a few jokes about being the next project runway contestants and introductions on sewing 101 how to.

things were going great until we took a short break around 7:30. i went to the restroom only to come back to the instructor talking about how important 'fit' was. "forget size! have you seen what banana republic is calling a 12 these days? GEN-ER-OUS." shee-it. things started to go downhill from there... words from his introduction a few short hours ago were ringing in my head, "i can tell every single one of you what your measurements are - trust me. i've been doing this for that long." i wear a size 22. what the fuck do you think was going through my head after he basically just declared 12's to be ginormous?!

it was at that point that i became acutely aware of trying to not shift in my seat... the least amount of attention i could bring to myself the better... don't let the chair squeak, don't sip from your water, don't look up... just smile... smile... don't betray that anything else is going on.... i was SO uncomfortable. it seemed as soon as the size vs. fit diatribe started, an unmercifully hot, bright spotlight focused on me. i was so paralyzed that i couldn't even look around the room to confirm my suspicions that i had become the center of intense, boring gazes.

the instructor went on to evidence his 'fit matters most' bit by giving a couple of examples of famous women ... who are larger... who always look meticulous. "i've met queen latifah in person and believe me, she ain't a petite gal... but she always looks like a million bucks!!" true, but why use her as an example? why not talk about how bad kirsten dunst looks when she wears rags that hang off her tiny frame?

just when i thought i couldn't take another moment, it got worse. we were handed patterns and told that we were going to be measured for the patterns... right then and there.

WHA????

NOOOOoooooooooo!!!

the instructor started going around the room measuring each gal's hips. he was quick. he gave each woman's number to her under his breath. very polite. very sensitive. when he got to me, he had trouble reaching around me... so it was taking longer than everyone else. and then, when he finally gave me my number (51.5 in a VERY hushed tone) i didn't know what else to do but say out loud, "28?! how lovely!!!" get this... EVERYONE laughed. even the folks on the other side of the room. was everyone waiting to hear my gargantuan waist size?

i was dying from the mortification. i think at that point he was talking more about how to read the panel on the pattern packet... i have no idea what was told to us because i was busy falling down an inner spiral of shame. the fun didn't stop there, though... once he told us how much fabric we needed i realized i was a full inch and a half bigger than the biggest XXL measurement on the package. holy christ. now i have to ask what to do in my situation??

i summoned all the courage i had left and waited till the end of class and asked the instructor. again, he was completely nonplussed by the question and said something about 'wear ease' and how i would be just fine.

i have never bolted from a place so fast. thank god that's over. i'm actually kind of glad i didn't know that there was measurements-taking in store at our first class... i think i would have psyched myself out of it had i known that we would actually have to be measured... out loud... in front of strangers.

despite the utter humiliation, i'm glad i went. i'm glad i didn't lose composure when faced with a surprise measuring... there were definitely unsavory elements about this evening. but i refuse to let it tarnish my long standing excitement about learning to sew.

unsolicted weight loss advice

2008-04-16T18:54:00.000-07:00

i recently received a couple of emails from my aunt, with whom i established a lovely relationship when my dad was in the hospital. i've never really had a realtionship with Auntie M before, but spent a lovely evening chatting about this and that and catch-up when i was back in chicago. we exchanged email addresses and promised to keep in touch at the end of the visit.

two days ago, she sent me a short email greeting. the weird part, though, is that she also included images of a couple of wedding dresses she'd found on the internet... sweet gesture (i guess) considering that i briefly mentioned that my guy and i had wedding plans on the near horizon, but a little odd, too... sure, i mentioned that after 5.5 years together, we wanted to tie the knot soon so as to A.) get my folks of our backs about living in sin; and B.) to avoid reproducing bastard children, but this information was shared in passing, just one bit of conversation lost in the mix of a variety of 'catching up' tidbits. funny thing is that both wedding dress images were of plus sized models in CHEESY dresses. she informed me that she would also forward images from her friend's wedding because her friend's dress was a thing of beauty. she closed with a directive, "get excited about your wedding."

huh?

frankly, i think i'm probably the only woman on the planet who isn't head over heels about planning my wedding (it's been nearly six years, for crissakes! the thrill is gone... although i couldn't love my guy more, but make no mistake...i am not the picture of blushing virginal bride). so the directive to "get excited" seemed strange... as strange as the wedding dress images, because i don't recall talking about dress buying with her. i didn't take her email to heart, though. i figured that she was probably trying to build on the connection we made in chicago - reaching out to me via something she thought i was interested in. i sent a short note back thanking her for thinking of me and letting her know that i was glad to hear from her. and that was that...

...until the next email came. this one had a link to an extravagant wedding dress manufacturer (vastly different from the initial images) and the note said "this is the dress that my friend wore... although she's not a size 0 like the models... she has a full and beautiful figure." *blink*blink* what the hell does that mean? again, i thanked her and noted how lovely the gowns were.

the third email came last night... she had forwarded some information about a technique called "tapping" which she said may help with my weight loss (again, i don't remember talking specifically about my weight loss journey to her... maybe i said something about weight watchers in passing at another point in the visit?? i certainly didn't go into detail about it.) my weight loss?? she went on to say that she thought i was beautiful as i am, however, if i wanted to lose weight, it was my prerogative. WTF??

i'm SURE i'm just being sensitive. from the weekend i spent in my aunt's company, i got to know a little bit about her life... and she's lonely. she doesn't have close girlfriends. she doesn't even have family that she can rely on. so i choose to take her recent emails as simply reaching out to another compassionate soul in the universe. after all, she also said on numerous occasions over the weekend that she was so delighted to feel part of a family.

still... i was a little... hmm, i don't know how to describe the feeling... taken aback?.. by the content of my aunt's emails. she is not overweight... she's not underweight... she's perfect the way she is (and who am i to judge this?) so i thought it was kind of weird that she would dwell on MY weight in every single email. it kind of felt presumptuous on her part that she would be able to inform my personal journey with weight loss. this is a very personal thing to me. i feel a certain level of vulnerability around my weight and my choice to lose weight. i certainly did not invite her in to comment on my journey. so why was she doing so IN EVERY SINGLE EMAIL???

perhaps i really am being a ninny... after all, via blogging, i'm opening up some of my most personal and private feelings around this whole weight loss/body acceptance journey to perfect strangers... what's so wrong about sharing with my auntie?

what's so wrong is that it's not on my terms... that's why it feels a little uncomfortable. the enlightened part of me sees this interaction with my Auntie M as a means of getting to know a brilliant member of my family (after all, she's a harvard phd and does huge humanitarian efforts in africa!!!how cool is that??). if my weight serves as a catalyst to a fruitful and deep relationship with another amazing female who is FAMILY, then who cares?

but then there's the smaller, more sensitive part of me that feels like, "HEY! i did NOT invite you into my room! GET OUT!!"

for now i guess i'll be satisfied with the middle ground and be grateful that

my feeling really weren't hurt by her emails
how cool is it to develop an adult relationship with an amazing lady who lives her life more outside of herself than most peeps i know??
how cool am i for not being sucked into the she's-taking-liberties-with-my-person-that-she-has-no-business-taking

still, it feels better to get it all out...

well ain't that a sonuvabitch...

2008-04-14T19:00:00.000-07:00

saturday morning i awoke to the sound of dripping water... and lots of it. a flurry of kitchen sink activity from the upstairs neighbors bubbled up through our sink due to a clog somewhere down the line. my guy and i are not early risers. our neighbors are. by the time we woke up, there was an inch of water covering the kitchen floor, and the counters were completely drenched.

needless to say it wasn't the best way to start the weekend. i admit that i was a little shellshocked from waking so abruptly. and from the aegean sea which manifested itself on my kitchen floor. but i was also undone by the size of the task at hand. call a plumber? call the landlord? turn the water off? where? for the building? talk to the neighbor? how do we even clean up this much water?? is this a hepatitis breeding ground??

fortunately, the overflow ceased shortly after our discovery. not only was there water EVERYWHERE, but since it was sink water, there were little bits of food and sink mung covering everything, too. SO FREAKING GROSS. i was paralyzed by the situation. i had all these questions and what-ifs crowding my mind. my guy only added to the swirling confusion in my head with his own questions, "should we go buy a mop? should we throw towels on this? does our lease cover this situation?" i was overwhelmed. the clean up task looked insurmountable.

i waded out of the kitchen and walked back to the office. i sat in front of the computer and just stared. my guy followed me in and asked what was going on. it was bad enough that the flood gates had released themselves in my kitchen, but now my internal river of emotions surged forth. i started whining about all my worries, all the questions that the kitchen situation brought forth. my voice sounded like a worried little kid as the concerns tumbled out of me. but here's the thing - as soon as they were out of me, as soon as i had released all the worry, i felt totally fine. describing the cloud of question and worry in my head seemed to deflate it. it dissipated and sanity started shining through.

i headed back to the kitchen to survey the situation. "you go get the mop. i'll stay here in case the sink starts overflowing again," i directed my guy. we took turns wading across the river to empty off the counter tops. we also cleared out the cupboard under the sink. once my guy left to find reinforcements, i tackled the standing water. i crafted a tool out of a 1 liter plastic bottle to help me bail the water out of the kitchen. it was slow going. scooping and dumping, scooping and dumping. as i sat there, in the middle of the drowned kitchen floor, something unexpected happened to me. i was overcome with peacefulness. i started thinking about how bailing out a flooded kitchen was an appropriate analogy to my weight loss journey. discovering the situation was just horrifying. in november of last year, when i finally hopped on the scale after so many years, i was dreading the little digital number. and yes, the reality was jarring. but once i committed myself to a newfound relationship with my body and weight loss, the situation didn't seem insurmountable. i recognized that there was a lot of hard, often 'yucky' work ahead of me, but it needed to happen. if for no other reason than for longevity of life and health reasons, it needed to happen. so here i am, in the midst of this weight loss journey, riding the highs and holding on through the lows. just bailing myself out. and for as much heartache as it can cause sometimes, i find that i am truly happy with the distance i've come thus far. i'm getting to know me. in the same way that i had to pull the fridge and the stove away from the wall to clean up the standing water (and the wet under-fridge-chud), i've had to pull metaphysical obstacles out of the path of my heart and mind. my first emotion this floody morning was shock, followed by dread. somewhere along the way i encountered grateful. i was actually grateful for an opportunity to so thoroughly clean my kitchen. i am grateful that i have an opportunity to clean out my body and mind.

by the time my guy got back with the mop, i not only scooped all the water off the kitchen floor, but i scrubbed down the bathroom, too... i was a woman on a mission! despite the day starting out in the shitter, it ended up quite nice.

it's nice to know that others are also appreciating similar journies, too.

shelves are for books... not for butts

2008-04-11T18:10:00.000-07:00

i'm having one of those yucky days where i don't quite feel like my clothes are fitting. i've been uncomfortably tugging and pulling and trying to cover myself up all day. i was 45 min late to work because i couldn't find a suitable outfit combination that felt good (even my weekly pre-determined options weren't working for me).

i waffled unnecessarily and extraordinarily long about whether or not i should get up and go to subway. my stomach got the better of me and when i finally got to the parking lot, i pulled into a spot, got a little overwhelmed and PULLED OUT TO LEAVE, then pulled back in again... i was so consumed with this idea that i looked SO bad today, that i nearly talked myself out of going into subway for five minutes to get lunch. cuckoo! fortunately, a shinning moment of crystal clear sanity broke through the dense fog of my poor self esteem. confidence! exude confidence and that's all they'll see! besides, seriously? unless you've sprouted a third arm, you look FINE.

after i got back to the office and finished lunch, my neurosis got worse. only now all of my attention was focused on my butt. there is a full length mirror in the ladies room and everytime i went in there, my eyes immediately dropped to the silhouette of my derriere. i carry most of my weight in my ass and stomach and depending on the clothes i'm wearing, sometimes it looks like i have a pseudo shelf-butt. from a side angle, it looks like theres a little pooch that sticks out past the round fullness of my hip/lower back/butt. i cannot stop thinking about my shelf butt. about who's gonna notice my shelf butt. about how all the kids are going to make fun of me and play pranks like set a vase or a gramaphone on my shelf butt when i'm not looking! behold the mysteries of the human body! behold the shelf butt! AHHH!!!

you know that film that my guy did the soundtrack for? it was accepted as part of this local film festival. tonite we are attending a viewing. i'm freaking out, people! FREAKING OUT! what if my shelf butt destroys the place? what if it doesn't fit into the seat? what if someone at the reception mistakes my shelf butt for a side table and tries to place their drink on it?? what if it tries to TAKE OVER THE WORLD??

breathing... breathing... serenity now.

for all my hysterics, i actually feel a lot better having written down all of these feelings... like i just vented all the 'insane' out the cargo doors, leaving the calm to reclaim me. i won't have much time to get ready when i get home, but i've got a plan... just a quick change of blouses, a jacket and some accessories and i'm sure i'll walk out the door feeling 100% better than i do right now...

button bliss

2008-04-09T18:46:00.000-07:00

today i was able to fasten a button that i haven't been able to close in a long time.

funny how the simple act of buttoning a button can color the whole day with magic, wonder, and delight.

i've also found that there is magic in these wise words over at fat as hell.

are you losing weight?

2008-04-08T18:29:00.000-07:00

is it just me or is this one of those questions that sends shockwaves of fear through others, as well?

one of my coworkers approached me recently and said, "are you losing weight?" the rational part of my mind knows that her tone was innocent enough, that she was likely proffering a compliment, but here's what the irrational, and in-control part of me (at the time) saw and heard:

i was minding my own business, happily humming a peppy little tune, waiting for the copier to churn out all 5 trillion color copies of my latest project, when one of my coworkers approached, stopped mid-stride, turned to me. she scanned me up and down like a cylon assessing whether to blast my human ass away or identify me as similar to her: a non-threatening run of the mill cog. noting her pause in my peripheral vision and sensing possible danger, i abruptly stopped humming and slowly reached for my trusty side arm, a terrifyingly swift stapler.

suddenly the skies darkened, the roof violently flew off the fourth floor of the office building. thick red clouds started churning overhead. i looked over at my coworker who was morphing into a fearsomely, huge demon with an evil, knowing smile slowly spreading over menacing, yellowed teeth.

she pointed a long, gnarled, accusatory talon at me. "ARE YOU LOSING WEIGHT?" she boomed. i could feel myself shrinking, wilting in the face of this horrifying accusation. i could do nothing but tremble before the creature, mouth agape in sheer horror.

"ARE YOU LOSING WEIGHT?!" the beast screeched again, louder than the din of the surrounding hellfire.

"i... i... i... "i quietly stuttered.

the loathsome beast just glared down at me with piercing, red eyes.

"well i guess i've lost a little weight... ab-b-b-bout eight pounds or so..." no response. i was snared in her all consuming judgment-filled gaze. "i've b-b-b-been doing weight watchers for a few months," i stammered on, trying to fill the silent void. "i mean i know it's been a few months, and if i were really following the program the right way, i would probably be down a little more... but it's been good so far... i mean i have so much more to go... but you know, it works for a lazy-ass like me..."

my self deprecating spiral was suddenly halted by Joe Poke, another coworker. instantly the roof returned to the building and my coworker magically resumed her original shape.

"um, excuse me - are you almost done with the copy machine?" Pokey, Office Shlub interrupted.

"uh... yeah - almost done here." i said, still reeling from the terrifying exchange moments ago.

Pokey wandered off, leaving me with my shape-shifting coworker. without skipping a beat, she said, "well, whatever you're doing, you look good. i can totally see it in your face." then she walked away.

what the hay? what was that? was i just complimented or slighted? and by who? did i just totally insult myself for like five minutes??

i'm pretty sure (rational me here) that my coworker was only passing on a nice compliment. i don't think that she was saying wow. your face used to be so fat before that we had an office pool going as to whether you were smuggling puppies or lawn furniture in your neck folds... btw, deck chairs won.

i realize that i also need to subscribe to the less is more camp... not only with portion control, but with diarrhea of the mouth. a simple "i have" would have been a perfectly acceptable response to 'are you losing weight.' i need to remember that i don't have to defend myself for my diet. i don't have to disparage my successes or my body. nor do i have to go into extended detail about how i got a few pounds down. (besides, who really wants to hear that tedious crap, anyway?) finally, i need not forget about my trusty stapler, which, in a pinch could really help me 'zip it'... or, er... staple it?? (the mouth... not the stomach... you know, just to be clear.)

home again home again jiggity jig

2008-04-06T17:07:00.000-07:00

i got home mid-week last week. i was exhausted and newly sick, but utterly delighted that my dad was well into recovery and even walking around by the time i left. as a matter of fact, he was doing so well that the hospital released him on wednesday. it boggles the mind to think that 4 days prior to his release, he was on an operating table with his thoracic cavity completely exposed and his heart unable to function on its own.

i spent the entire plane ride to chicago steeling myself against the potential bullshit factor that i just knew was waiting for me. my mom picked me up at the airport, gave me a quick hug, then shoved a large cookie at me. "here we go" i thought as i turned down the baked goods. i couldn't have been more wrong in my assumptions, though. the visit was surprisingly really really good. all but one of my siblings returned home. my younger brother and sister stayed for nearly a week longer than i did, but i'm really glad that i went back even if it was for just a long weekend. my mom was the epitome of graciousness - which completely took me by surprise. and my sibs were supportive and generous with their compassion and helpfulness. there was no weird undercurrent of animosity or agenda. it was just really pleasant.

one morning, before visiting hours, i ducked into a salon for a much needed cut and color. about an hour into my highlighting, my mom called the salon. since there was no one else in the shop, we could clearly hear the desk clerk talking about me. she was telling someone that i was in the middle of my appointment. i said some snide comment to my stylist about how it was probably my mother and how it would be her drama queen style to call the salon instead of my cell phone to relay information on my dad's status. turns out she called to give her credit card number to pay for my visit. wow. i sheepishly joked about putting my foot in my mouth to the stylist and sat there for the rest of the dye job feeling like a total louse.

the exchange at the salon got me thinking though. i was surprised at how quick i was to disparage my mother. as soon as i heard that she was on the phone, i immediately went into blame mode. how shitty of me. my knee jerk reaction at the salon also caused me to reflect on my interaction with my mom when she first relayed the news about my dad... perhaps it was i who was the drama queen? maybe it was me who was overreacting to the news? me who was getting all spun up? after all, i am my mother's daughter...

my dad's sister flew out from the east coast, too. she is another crazy broad with her own set of issues. my mom and my aunt have never really gotten along and in recent years, their relationship has escalated to all out war. my aunt booked a ticket and rented a car, but made no lodging accommodations. i was delightfully surprised at how my mom handled the situation. she attempted to clear the air with my aunt before the rest of us got to chicago and even offered an apology to my aunt. she also extended her home and included my aunt in all the family activities. (of course, my mom bitched to me about how my aunt didn't offer an apology or responsibility for any of the bad blood between the two of them, but that my mom was able to shelf that shit for the duration of the visit? well bravo, mama. bravo.)

anyway, it feels good to be home... dare i say... i was actually looking forward to returning to los angeles? my, how the tide has turned...

i'm sending a prayer of thanks out to the universe - i'm grateful to have an extensive community of support both online and in person. i'm grateful that my father is making an amazing recovery. i'm grateful for my family. i'm grateful for change, and surprises, and for the ability to admit when i'm wrong. and i'm grateful to be home.

the 4-1-1

2008-03-28T18:08:00.000-07:00

blargh.

that about sums up my mood right now. this morning i woke up to five text messages from my mom. the last one said "here's my credit card number to book a flight home." let the drama begin!

after a rough nite, my dad is stable. he had double bypass surgery last night. there was an episode of internal bleeding that the docs couldn't stop for a little while. it was likely due to all the blood thinners that my dad has been on since the stents were put in a few months ago. now he is in a drug-induced coma while the docs do a risk assessment - how much do they thicken his blood to help the healing and how thin do they have to keep it to avoid deep vein thrombosis or clotting. they're going to take him out of the coma this evening.

i ended up calling my little brother on the way to work. he lives on the east coast and i figured that he was in a later time zone than me, he had probably received the run down already that morning. he's not one to get very excitable and so i figured that he was a safe bet to get some straight up factual info from. it was nice to talk to him, but i could hear the weariness and fear in his voice.

when i finally did talk to my mom i asked how she was doing and she said, "well. i'm glad i'm by myself right now. i don't think i would be able to handle anyone stirring up drama or being hysterical right now." i am not kidding. those were her exact words. and yet, here she is sending cryptic text messages about coming home and complications with my dad's surgery. sending us camera pics of his unconscious body tangled up with tubes and gauze and monitoring machines. spinning all the rest of us up.

i decided to go home. i'm going to try to find a flight this evening and stay for the weekend. i keep waffling back and forth between should i go? maybe i shouldn't go? i keep trying to figure out what the right thing to do is. my guy said "follow your heart". i can't tell the difference between what my head is telling me and what my heart is feeling. i want to retreat. retreat! retreat!! i want to go to sleep through this whole ordeal. i don't want to deal with it. i don't want to be around my dad in his current condition and the rest of my family because i know i'll want to cry, but i don't want to be vulnerable in front of them. i'm scared that they'll ridicule and make light of my feelings, that they'll turn my tears into a jokey punchline. none of my family knows how to respect grief. none of my family knows how to just sit and listen. none of my family knows how to be gentle and careful with tender emotions.

last night when i was ready to break, i thought i wanted to be alone. i didn't even want my guy around to see me all weepy and teary about this. i realize that what i wanted was to be able to cry openly, to be free to be scared, to have whatever emotions that were coming up and out of me just BE. i realize that i shied away from my guy because i didn't want to be offered a solution or encouragement. i didn't want to have to talk about it. i didn't want my emotional turmoil to be the center of attention. i just wanted to BE. i wasn't able to ask him to just be there with me. i didn't know that's what i needed. this is going to be the hardest part about going home - the inability to just be, whatever that may look like. i feel like i'll have to guard myself against the sideways jabs and funny barbs that my family tends to exchange in the face of grief. i'm worried that i'll have to compartmentalize and box up my feelings. i've worked really hard this past year to break those habits, to let it out before i eat it down.

what better way to try out my new coping skills than to go into the belly of the beast, though, eh?

scared

2008-03-27T21:54:00.000-07:00

my mom called me first thing this morning. she said that my dad called 911 last night and went to the hospital due to heart issues. about two months ago he had angioplasty and 5 stents put into two arteries. he's been in cardio rehab since. my folks own a home in chicago and a little summer/holiday place on lake michigan an hour away. my mom happened to be at the lake house that night so my dad was all alone when it happened. she gave me the news this morning as she was driving back in a blizzard to be with my dad. she said he was fine, no heart trauma, they'll do another angiogram later in the morning to see if more angioplasty is needed. i cried quietly on the phone so she couldn't hear my tears. i didn't want anyone at work to know i was crying either. i called my dad immediately after getting off the phone with my mom. he sounded weak but brave. he sounded a little unsure and a little scared. when i hung up i started to eat. there were some mixed nuts in my drawer and a few chocolate truffles. i ate all the truffles and was putting away the nuts at an impressive pace. i felt numb. i was scared. i was too ashamed to let my fearful tears be seen or heard by my folks or by my coworkers.

soon after i got home from work my mom called to say there was a problem with one of the stents and that there was too much trauma to my dad's heart from the angioplasty. they have to do bypass surgery tonight. i wanted to break down. i want to sob. i want my dad to be safe and healthy. but my mom was being such a fucking drama queen. i'm angry with her. i don't feel safe when i talk to her. i feel like she's been spinning the situation out of control just so she can make me cry and then try to soothe me. i didn't give her the satisfaction of making me cry. soon after i got off the phone with her, my guy came home. i told him what was going on, but i still didn't cry.

an hour or so ago my mom called again and conferenced called my siblings in. she was pulling the same dramatics. i happened to make a salad right before she called so i put the phone on speaker and shoveled the salad in while she talked.

i feel a tightness in my chest that needs release. i want to stuff it down with food and drink. i want to be numb right now. i'm pissed that my mom can't behave like a normal, caring mother. i'm angry that i can't feel grief over my father's mortality. the tightness in my chest is causing pain. it's swelling. why do i feel like i can't let it out? why is it so goddamn hard to just let it erupt? i don't even want to let my guy see me cry right now.

i'm scared. i'm angry. i feel helpless. i'm sure everything with my dad will be fine. bypass surgery these days is fairly routine with great odds of success and recovery. he's at one of the best hospitals in the country. he's in good health (besides the heart). he's relatively young. he'll be fine. but what if he dies? what if he doesn't make it? what if i never get to see him again?

i'm feeling a ton of animosity towards my mother right now, too. i know she's sad. i know she's hurting and scared but i fucking HATE how she goes about her emotional crises. every time i've talked to her today i feel like she's baiting me with an overly dramatic doom and gloom picture. when we were conference calling with my sibs she directed us, "now go have a good cry. then eat. or do whatever you need to do." DON'T FUCKING TELL ME HOW TO FEEL. DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO. christ i'm pissed. i wish she could have just calmly doled out the facts, asked us if we had any questions, asked us how we felt and told us that she was scared and sad herself. instead i got a bunch of theatrics and 'you're probably feeling like this and that... it's ok. but your dad looks exactly the way my dad did before he died of heart failure.' seriously? no. i don't need the dramatic punctuation. instead of acting like the glue that binds us together, instead of soothing us with her own come from, she's spinning us all up like fucking whirling dervishes - trying to see how much dirt she can kick up, trying to see just how frenetic she can get us.

the tears are coming now. hot, moody tears of release. now i'm worried that my guy will wander into the office while i'm sitting here, furiously typing and quietly crying. i don't want him to see me like this. it feels too vulnerable. i feel like this is too raw... like i have to mete out my emotions in front of him on this one. this sucks. i'm not ready to deal with the death of a parent. i'm sure my dad will be just fine. but still... i'm unaccustomed to letting the grief in. i'm not comfortable with letting it have time and space in my heart and head. i'm comfortable with finding my way to the bottom of an oreo bag.

whew.

i feel quite a bit better for having gotten all of this out. i feel exhausted now and my eyes are swollen and heavy from crying. my chest feels a little less tight. i don't feel the psychotic compulsion to sneak attack the kitchen cupboards. i think i'm going to wander off to bed and maybe cry into my pillows a little more...

a change of clothes

2008-03-26T18:19:00.000-07:00

my sister just left after a week of staying with me. we had a delightful time but after so many days in hostess mode, i'm spent! my whole life was on hold the entire time she was here and now it's time to get back on track.

i was anxiously awaiting her arrival. i always have a good time with my sister. ours is a tight bond, forged in poop jokes and silly repetitive word play and lots and lots of laughter. i planned a lot of activities for us and we had fun, but i couldn't help but feel pangs of something 'missing' for the entire duration of her stay.

yesterday, we woke before the crack of dawn and got her on her merry way back to school. once she was gone i was left to bob in the wake of an emotional sea churned up by her presence.

when i finally got home last night, i was struck by the onslaught of pensive thought that wedged itself between me and an early bedtime. i mulled over the slightly 'off' feeling that punctuated the visit with my sister. it wasn't negative or resentful - i didn't have a bad time with her. it was more... sadness... or grief... or perhaps just a somber flatness. i don't really know how to label this feeling... it was different... but not new, either.

this same feeling occurred the last time i went back to chicago for a quick visit. i was so excited to see my girlfriends, to spend an evening bearing witness to each other's stories, to reconnect, to just bask in the warmhearted goodness between good friends. the night fell short of my concocted fantasy even though it was full of goodwill and merriment, but it was definitely... different. there was a palpable change that had taken place between all of us and i wasn't prepared for it. the intimacy that comes with being in physical proximity was gone. the inside jokes and banter about the minutiae of jobs and partners and daily life was foreign to me. i had missed much being away for 7 months.

so when my sister's visit brought up the same feelings inside of me, i was thrown. i mean, this is MY SISTER. there is no changing here! this is sacred space. this is familiar space. this is the root of me. how can our relationship feel different?

at first i thought it might have been all on her. i mean she is in the midst of some major life changing stuff. she's graduating from her undergraduate studies in june and immediately shuffling off to grad school. she hasn't decided which offer to accept yet for her higher learning. she's preparing to sell her condo upon graduating this summer, move to a new city, start anew. i know the turmoil that all of these things can cause so my first instinct was to project my own troubled feelings onto her. maybe she did bring her baggage on vacation with her, but i know better than to pass the buck for my feelings. i'm feeling the way i am because something is going on inside of me... not because something may or may not be going on with my sis.

then i thought it might have to do with the living arrangements while she was here... in our small place...which is good enough for two but too small for three. i am a creature of habit. and boundaries. the environment in which i grew up knew no boundaries and many of my family members (e.g. my loveable sissy sister) still operate wtihout boundaries. maybe this was the cause of my discontent... my sister camped out on the couch, being ever present in my space. my lack of privacy, quiet time, me time. hmmm. no. this isn't it, either.

perhaps my lingering flatness was due to my tendancies to resort to old/unhealty patterns when i'm around my family? not only did i excuse myself from eating healthy, but i kind of went tits up in the other direction. we subsisted on a steady stream of cheesy poofs, peanut m&ms, and dining out while my sister was here. by the end of her visit, i had perpetual sour stomach and my sugar crash felt something akin to heroin withdrawl. my poor body was wrecked and crying out for leafy greens. i couldn't wait to get back to my routine, to the mandatory, plain fare of cottage cheese and carrot sticks. maybe the lost feeling could be attributed to my lack of willpower and my giving over to the dark side, having a food free-for-all for the past few days. this might be it, but still... just doesn't feel like the right answer.

one afternoon we wandered over to melrose ave where we toured a flea market and walked up and down the never-ending stretch of bohemian vendors and vintage clothing stores. the first time i visited los angeles was an exciting one. without ever having been, at some point in my life i developed a fairly negative bias towards the town. imagine my surprise to find that not only was my unwarranted opinion wrong, but i delighted in los angeles once i got a taste of it. i drank in the weather, the energetic buzz of the city, the amazing, kitschy shopping. in one weekend i fell in love with the artsyness, the hunger, the boldness of this town and just KNEW that i had to live here. that was four years ago. until my sis came for a visit, i hadn't really retraced the steps i took those short years ago. so when the opportunity arose, i was giddy with the prospect of revisiting melrose, wistfully remembering the treasures i found there, eager to show my sister how cool the area was. once we started walking around though, i was numb with the realization that none of it - not the colorful store fronts, not the wacky styles, not the incense-scented air - NONE OF IT was appealing to me anymore. we wandered into a hip little used clothes joint where so many years ago i found a veronique branquinho dress for less than $20, a loop guitar-shaped shoulder bag, and sparkly slippers - treasures of immeasurable happiness! instead of feeling the thrill of the hunt rush through me in undulating waves of exquisite shopping excitement, i felt grodytothemax as i dodged rows of used shoes and shimmied past size 00 club wear. i turned to my guy moments after walking in the door. "i think i've outgrown this place," i said with a twinge of sadness. he gave a slow, knowing nod while looking around the store, "yep. we really have. the thought of wearing any of this shit kind of gives me the creeps." i was crestfallen. crushed. instead of celebrating my adulthood, i grieved for lost adolescence. i padded back to the car feeling stunned. when did i get old? shit! is this midlife crisis?

surely this epiphany must be the source of my discontent? and yet... no.

then what is the cause of this weird, unsettled feeling? and what exactly is the feeling?

after having my space and routine back, and after kicking the question around for a day, i think i know what's going on. and it is new for me. it is different and foreign and therefore unsettling. i am coming into adulthood and i am coming into self. instead of seeking self definition from external stimulus that comes from a full social calendar full of dates with friends and family, i am now looking inward. i am looking inside myself to define myself. i am in process. i am feeling this adulthood/womanhood/self love thing out. i am trying it on, seeing how it fits. this phase i'm in is a new article of clothing - something i know i want, but that i've never seen before. i have an idea of how i'm supposed to wear it, but i'm still pulling it on over my head, figuring out where my arms can stretch through it, letting it settle naturally on my curves.

as i gaze inward, i see things coming into focus. i recognize that the past few months of engaging my body in a loving way is the result of quiet reflection and internal work. because i don't have all of the social dates and family gatherings and other 'stuff' that required my attention in chicago, i've been able to spend quality time with my self. alone time. belly time. this revelation frees me from feeling resentful towards los angeles and my temporary life here. this realization allows me to feel grateful for this time in my life. it eases the pain of missing my girlfriends and my family. i kind of feel like celebrating now! this IS an exciting time in my life. but it is quiet excitement, peaceful celebration. no fanfare necessary. just simple knowing feels good.

the visit with my sister helped me pull up and out and take a look from a different angle. thank you, sissy sister. thank you for holding a mirror up to me. i think i like what i see. it's definitely different, but it feels... right.

to kiss off or not to kiss off

2008-03-20T14:03:00.000-07:00

i've been thinking about breaking up with weight watchers lately... mostly because i found that sparkpeople.com offers the same thing... for free...

a couple of posts ago, i wrote about how distraught i was with my slow weight loss pace. i made light of my loss and wrote it off as not being a REAL, serious weight reduction, but the normal weight fluctuation that every body experiences. how could i be so cruel to myself? self, i'm so sorry to deny you all of your efforts and hard work. as you well know, i can be... a little testy... sometimes...

so imagine my delighted surprise when i discovered a feature on w.w. online that i haven't previously played around with - the weight tracker graph. my interaction with weight watchers online is extremely limited. i log my food, my exercise and my weight. that's it. i don't dig around in the recipes, i don't care what the w.w. bloggers have to say. i don't tool around in the other features of the site. i don't feel any connection to the company or to the community - i just want a place to log my food, a place to be accountable for every single thing i eat - and this online offering seems to be palatable enough for me to keep up with.

i happened to come upon this additional feature when i was logging in my weekly weight . i noticed an option to view my weight loss in a graph... what to my wondering eyes did appear, but a distinct downward trending line signifying less rear!! from my start weight to my current weight, it was undeniable... this here was scientific proof that my loss is real. it's taken a goddamn long ass time to get 8 pounds down, but it's a real loss!

after such a lovely revelation, maybe i should rethink the idea of giving weight watchers the old heave ho... maybe i'll stick with it a little longer... after all, it's cheap ($17/mo), it's non-intrusive, it allows me to keep my pace, i'm familiar with it... and yet, after joining sparkpeople.com, i realized that they offer all of the things i liked about w.w... but in a slightly different presentation. sparkpeeps suggest a daily calorie plan, not the hokey "points" artifice invented by some corporate shill in the corner office at w.w. i found that after a couple of days logging my food at spark, looking at caloric intake makes the weight loss process a little more 'real' in my mind. tracking my activity throughout the week by minutes worked out or miles moved is way more satisfying than knowing i worked towards 2 or 3 lame ass points.

so why do i stay with w.w.? nothing about weight watchers makes me feel warm and fuzzy. the company feels canned, pandering, a tiny bit... malevolent. i have no real facts to base this bias on other than my limited experience with them a few years ago. they're pretty harmless. the online option is a great way to forgo the bullshit that i imagine i would encounter at the meetings. and yet, i truly dislike weight watchers. the company is like that off-putting chemical-tinged aftertaste that comes from one of their low points novelty ice creams... there's something that's just a bit... off... about weight watchers. (slightly off topic, but is it just me or is it totally humiliating to purchase their packaged food? i hate that all of their products are smothered in large point, large font branding that screams THIS IS A WEIGHT WATCHERS ITEM. which is really code for THIS IS A FATTY BUYING FAKE JUNK FOOD BECAUSE FATTY IS WATCHING HER WEIGHT.)

i don't know. maybe i'll leave 'em in the dust. maybe i won't. i must admit that for all my attitude towards them, they have brought me further in my weight loss journey than any other diet or plan before... they keep me accountable. they show me how much progress i've made in nifty little charts. they offer a variety of low point delectables that, although probably full of plastic and carcinogens, satisfy sugar cravings (if you eat like 30 of them:).

hmmm... after rereading that last paragraph i realize that i give w.w. too much credit... they haven't brought me this far, they don't keep me accountable... I've been doing all the work here... weight watchers online has merely been the vehicle to help me get to where i am.

perhaps it is time to trade in that old vehicle for a new one... so long as i stay on the road to weight loss and a healthy relationship with food. i think i'm ready to take my training wheels off, to quit disguising my calories as 'points'. i think i'm ready for change.

hurts so good

2008-03-17T19:32:00.000-07:00

i've walked through this day with pain pulsing in my bod from head to toe - and i've been loving every minute of it! not because i'm a sick bastard (well, maybe just a little) but because the pain is a direct result of necessary care of my self.

the head pain is relegated to my tooth and gums. i finally went to the dentist. last week i showed up, knees knocking and brave face firmly in place. scared not so much of the dentist or of her medieval array of sharp metal torture devices, but more so by the fact that i might be too fat for the chair. all of my previous nightmares instantly dissipated once i sat down on the big, sturdy, industrial chair. the instruments and lights didn't clatter or shake with my every movement. i had plenty of room in the chair and didn't feel at all like my hips and husks were oozing out over the sides. i was so comfortable, in fact, that i completely forgot about my neurosis once the dentist started cleaning my teeth. piece of cake!

today i went back for round two. i knew that this session was going to be a little more intense, but i wasn't carrying the burden of fear that escorted me to my first session. yes, my gums feel like they were taken into the alley and beat to a pulp, but the long term effects of the work done far outweigh the temporary pain of today.

the toe pain manifested itself in the shape of a huge blister resulting from an ass-kicking three mile walk yesterday. the walk nearly killed my poor pup-peroni and left me hobbling around the house all evening, but DAYUM did it feel good! i'm proud of my blister! it screams, "hell yeah i'm a power walker! a THREE MILE power walker!" ...of course it also screams with pain... but i choose to revel in the excitement and lasting high of accomplishing something really good for my body, rather than whimper about my blister (of which i also took loving care).

so i'm feeling really good today. i can't wait to get back outside for another walk! i can't wait for next weekend to add another mile to my half marathon training! i'm excited and full of hope... and loving every throbbing moment!

my body is a temple, or, i ain't no mobile home

2008-03-12T18:01:00.000-07:00

it was only recently that i felt like we have FINALLY settled into our 'new' apartment. there are no more visible cardboard boxes signifying our transitory status. there is organization and order in all the rooms. images and art are hung instead of heaped against an out-of-the-way wall waiting to be displayed. it took a little more than a year, but i finally feel completely moved in.

the funny thing is that everything in los angeles still feels so new... or maybe it feels more like impermanence?? yes, that's it. there exists this pervasive temporary feeling that still nags the back of my mind, even after a year. at first i thought the feeling stemmed from knowledge of an impending home purchase in the near future. there are no firm plans right this moment, but buying a house and getting out of apartment life is one of those big goals on the horizon. but this ephemeral sense is rooted deeper: my guy and i don't plan stay in los angeles forever. but when we left the comfort of chicago, we didn't think further than 'hey! let's move to l.a.!'

...and then what?

this seems to be the question that keeps me calling my apartment new, that allows me to consider myself as having 'just' moved here, that makes me feel nonplussed about this town and its inhabitants. signing the lease for another year is probably a good indication that i should probably drop the 'new'.

i've been thinking about how i live with 'temporary', how it feels to view my life as 'temporary', how it feels to know that my current job isn't permanent, that my apartment is not truly my space, that this town does not engender a sense of belonging within me. temporary does not feel like mine.

when i think of my home in chicago, i am overwhelmed with nostalgia, with a fondness for a city rich with culture, intellect, savvy. i think of the beauty of the seasons: bitter and unforgiving in the winter, delicate and innocent in the spring. i think of the home i owned for a decade, the modifications and renovations that i did with my own hands. i think of my truly amazing girlfriends, who inspire me, who challenge me, who accept me as i am. i think of my dysfunctional, lovable family. my heart swells with pride when i think about 'home'.

pride.

i recently read that the body usually fluctuates between three and five pounds from its normal weight. what an unexpected, harsh slap in my face this bit of trivia was. three to five pounds is what i have been dancing around with for the past three months, fooling myself that "it's" working! i am down 2 lbs! up 1:( down 1.5lbs!! up 4lbs.

what the fuck am i doing?? i'm not committed to dieting. i'm not sticking to the plan. i've been foo-fahing around with weight watchers online, dancing around a nice, neat structured system and telling myself, genuinely SELLING myself on the idea that i'm doing this! i'm really in it to win it!! i'm full of shit. i'm starting to think that a smart slap is exactly what i need to help me snap out of it.

as i examine the myriad of excuses, of broken systems that i live by, as i poke around my inner workings, i am drawn to this idea of permanence and sense of pride. i realize that right now, right this very moment, my relationship with my body feels temporary. one day my body and mind are buddy-ole-pals and the next day, my mind is leaving my body in the dust. for a week or two, i feel centered, whole. i am conscious of how my body feels, if it's hungry, if it wants exercise and i lovingly attend to its needs. in one afternoon, this groovy symbiosis is dashed on the jagged rocks of too many drinks and late nite greasy food. my relationship with my body feels temporary. my body does not feel like mine and therefore, i am excused from taking care of it.

i need this to change. i need to feel like my mind and body are engaged in a permanent and exclusive relationship. i need to know with every fiber of my being that my body is my temple. i need to know that regardless of the impermanent state of external forces in my life, my relationship with my body is constant. i need to feel proud of my body. i need to feel like i belong to my body, like it's my beloved home.

so here's what i've come up with so far:
change is good
change is necessary
my constant, my permanent lies within me
my body is permanent
my relationship with my body is permanent
i can endure change because i can always rely on my body

...and then what?

i'm not really sure. i don't know what comes next.
hard work? ok. but what does that work look like?
self love? yeah. that sounds great. how do i do it?
awareness? mindfulness? self respect? yes. yes. and yes. sign me up!
what? no instruction manual?!?

Body, i guess it's you and me, kid. we're gonna have to figure this out together. are you in this with me? are we in this to win this?

yes.

back in the saddle again

2008-03-10T18:17:00.000-07:00

the temperature on the dash read 77 as i made my way home this evening. i rolled down the windows and enjoyed the breeze playing on my skin and in my hair. i kicked my shoes off and drove barefoot. the sun was low in the sky, causing me to squint for the entirety of the drive, but i thoroughly enjoyed the daylight.

i can feel a perceptible shift in myself. back to normal. the last bout of pms or post-ms was a doozy. my face is still recovering from the recent hormonal havoc - i have to make a conscious effort not to pick the shit out of welts that sprouted, red and irritated, in the past couple of weeks. i often think about whether or not such severe emotional tree-swinging is normal. it reminds me of my mom and her bi-polar-esque switching from maniacal happiness to ferocious anger. i fear becoming my mother... and yet i take solace in the fact that she's always been batshitcrazy... all the while i was growing up, all during my young adulthood, and before, during and after menopause.

my food situation was also completely tore up the last couple of weeks. i was primarily craving meat, fat and salt... i'd like to excuse the cravings with some scientific bit about my body building stores before it shed iron or other minerals, but i know i the truth... the truth is, i just gave up. i didn't bust out the willpower when i needed to. i let the "it's too hard" excuse drive me. i'm not going to beat myself up about it. the scale is 1.5 pounds up, but i am myself again. i'm quiet enough to hear my body and level-headed enough to respond with what it needs. tonight it needs leafy greens... a nice big, fresh salad with chickpeas and feta and a few black olives.... and then a nice long walk. this is what my body is asking for this evening and this is what i will give to it.

it feels good to be back in the saddle. i think i've got about six more days of this mellow, even-keeled mentality before the pms crazies kick in again... hey, i'll take whatever i can get!

week 5 goal check in

2008-03-10T18:13:00.000-07:00

week 5 goal: log 3 miles this past weekend. goal accomplished... and it felt really effing good! managed to get out for two 2 mile walks - one on saturday and one on sunday. the weather was fantastic and the pupperoni loved the walks. all of the recent outdoor activity is doing all of us good - my pooch is now down 6 pounds and back to a normal weight... now if only i can do that for myself:)

week 6 goal: log 4 miles

it's enough

2008-03-04T18:00:00.000-08:00

today has been a busy day - one of those days that swallow you up and carry you along and before you know it, lunchtime is nearly over, and you know that if you don't break now, the remaining abysmal amount of work will lose you in its depths for all eternity or the rest of the day, whichever comes first. these are the days i'm grateful that i keep a cache of nuts, cereal bars, healthy-but-tasteless soups in cups in an office drawer.

i wandered down to the kitchen with a change purse full of promise and that boring old cup of soup. i was looking to the vending machines for salvation from the day, from the never-ending needs of my co-workers, from the daunting task list that loomed large and ever-present at my desk. i stood hopeful in front of the food dispenser, leering at the imprisoned junk food, clanking the change in my cupped fist, delighting in those moments of want before the want is sated. my sights landed on the doritos. crisp, red bag, full of radioactive-orange crunchy yumminess...

i deposited a quarter. CLANK. it defiantly popped out of the change return. i tried again, with more determination. CLANK. no luck. the machine was broken.

fucker!FUCK-ERRRRRR!

this soup just simply will NOT be enough!!

i returned to my lair, defeated and uninspired by my meager afternoon sustenance. back at my desk and in just as foul a mood as ever, i burned my tongue on the first bite and could feel my disappointment and anger surface.

i got lost in the tappa-tappa-tappa of sending veryimportantemails while waiting for the soup to cool... a bite here, a bite there... soon the soup was gone, my midday respite over, and i needed to open my office door and let the demanding world back in.

but herein lies the beauty of the afternoon: that small, not as tasteless as i thought, 150 calorie cupofsoup was enough. i was no longer hungry and i no longer needed a hit of junk food. it was enough.

i know there's a lesson somewhere in here for me, but truth be told, i'm too wiped out to seek it out. for now, i'll just appreciate the bounty of one small, seemingly insignificant cup of soup.

mean

2008-03-03T19:41:00.000-08:00

once again i find myself lost at sea, violently tossed about in the maelstrom of my own hormones. i am impish and mischievous. i am delicate and fragile. i am full of rage and malevolence. my breasts are gigantic tender fun bags that cause my back to ache. my face is a map of the stars. differing moods whips through me, ravaging my emotional sensibility. i have no tolerance for anyone, even myself. i am quick to take offense and tears come as easily and as involuntary as breath into my lungs.

i have no patience. i unceremoniously jerk my clothes on, jab at my face with make-up sponges. my words are cruel and slash forth in a venomous spray of spittle. my body strains at the seams of clothes that normally fit. it makes me angry and i want to rip them to shreds. even my own skin feels like its straining at the expanse of my innards. i am uncomfortable. i am mean. i am angry. i am scary.

gimme a minute... just one... i can feel the tears starting to prick at my eyes. the next mood will be here soon... and all this mean talk will be gone just as soon as it washed in.

week 4 goal check in

2008-03-03T19:08:00.000-08:00

week 1: record all food intake. result: not so good. at all.

week 2: stay withing point limit. result: i have no clue b/c my food log went out the window
week 3: make dentist appt and optometrist appt. result: optometrist not only booked, but the appt is behind me! woo hoo! dentist appt finally booked!!
week 4: research (and possibly commit to) half marathon. result: found a plan that would have me in half marathon shape in 17 weeks - that's WELL before the end of the year. woo hoooo!

week 5 goal: log 3 miles this coming weekend

i am totally off the bandwagon right now. i've fallen right smack dab into a thick, clingy puddle of i-just-don't-give-a-shit. i know it will pass. but for right now, i'm not going to deny it - there is a very big part of me that is just tired of all the stick-to-it-uveness. i'm feeling a little overwhelmed and put upon by myself!! i suspect that most of this defeatist attitude is due to a hellacious bout of the hormonal bitch slap... maybe one of my next goals can be to look into big game tranquilizers for myself... you know, just to get me through those particularly rough pre/post/menstrual days.:)

the beverly hillbillies

2008-02-26T18:18:00.000-08:00

i had a really fun weekend. my aunt and uncle and her three boys came out for a quick visit. fortunately for me, my auntie and crew stayed with their friends, giving me respite in the evenings.

we decided to go out to dinner on saturday night. my other aunt and her husband came up from the o.c. to join us. we were a boisterous party of nine with healthy appetites. no sooner had i walked in the door, ready for pre-dinner merry making, did i turn right back around, rushed out the door with everyone else to make our reservation. my aunt directed me towards their rental car, a huge white mini-van, and said that i would be carpooling with them. i climbed over a week's worth of 11 yr old boy road trip remnants and packed into the furthest row back with my two cousins. we were laughing and horsing around until one of the boys unearthed an empty drink cup. "EWWWWWW!!!" one of them shreiked while the other taunted him with this seemingly harmless empty cup. "what are you screaming about? it's an empty cup!" i asked the little hellion with the lungs. "jack PEEEED in that cup on way down here!!" he cried. good christ. "OK, JACK! put the cup down and stop freaking your brother out," i said. what was really going through my head though was, "please, baby jesus. please make that spawn of your archnemesis put that muthafucking piss cup down before any remaining, stray drops strike me in the face, neck, shoulders, legs, arms or torso." lets just say i was feeling every inch of the piercing shriek that my other cuz was emitting just moments ago.

jack finally turned his attention to taunting my aunt while she strapped the littlest one into the car seat, saving us all from a golden sprinkle. after securing the baby, my auntie started commandeering seating arrangements for everyone and to my horror, that included ALL NINE OF US in this mini-van. now, i'm not a real fussy gal, but i gotta say my idea of a good time does not include packing into someone else's dirty, stinky, road trippy car funk like a bunch of hatian refugees.

where is the common sense here? of the six adults among us has no one but me thought of just taking two cars?? my thought was interrupted by a painful blow to the shoulder. one of my relatives from the middle row was violently trying to find a suitable grasp while they precariously perched from half a butt cheek. finally we were off with the promise of a very brief ride to the restaurant.

no sooner did we get on to the main road before the two hellcats beside me started giggling again. almost instantaneously i was overwhelmed by the noxious fumes of 11 year old flatulence. normally i find farts to be... well... rather funny. but this putrid stink... this was from a gateway of hell that i have not known before... this was the stuff that melts faces and burns the ass out of underpants. this was literally making me gag. the toxic green cloud crept its way to the front seats amid revolted cries for mercy and the boys' peels of laughter. the windows finally went down, providing much needed relief to our shriveling alveoli and soon we arrived at the restaurant.

dinner was delightful and the boys were wonderfully wild 11 and 13 year old boys. when we got back to the house i hung with everyone for another hour or so. finally i bid adieu and made it back to the warmth and cleanliness of my own home.

friday and sunday held more of the same, boisterous, big-family good times. although its nice to have these jubilant breaks from the earnestness headiness of my thoughts, i'm grateful to get back to the grind, to sprawl out in my big comfy bed, in the quiet of my own home, with my own furry babies. i'll take a wet-nose nuzzle over singed lungs and flying pee cups any day!

week 3 goal check in

2008-02-26T18:02:00.000-08:00

week 1 goal: record all food intake. good all work week; not so great on the weekend.
week 2 goal: stay within daily points allotment. almost.
week 3 goal: make a dentist appt and an optometrist appt. no dentist appt. optometrist appt made.
1 pound lost.

seemed yo do really good at staying on track during the week, but this weekend kind of got derailed with non-stop plans that included a bunch of funloving out-of-town family.

week 4 goal: DENTIST APPT. and research a good half marathon to aim for by year end. eek! did i really just put that down as my goal?? if i was REALLY brave, i would just commit to the dang thing... maybe i'll save that for week 5.

you've come a long way, baby

2008-02-20T21:11:00.000-08:00

one year ago my guy and i and our furry brood rolled in to los angeles to start anew. we sold our comfortable home in chicago, left all our friends, our families, our jobs, our familiar streets - all in favor of my guy's job and the lure of 70 degrees in the middle of february.

after three days trapped in the confines of a small car with two drugged-out, unhappy cats and a nervous dog, we were beyond relieved to pull up to our new digs around 10:30pm. happy to be finally be free, the dog sniffed around and the kitties cautiously explored each darkened, bare room while my guy and i quietly snooped the building for the circuit breakers. moments after we got the electricity on, a neighbor came down and banged on the front door. a gruff middle-aged play-boy type barked at my guy, "are you going to use your ceiling fans?" my guy, completely perplexed by not only the brusque demeanor of our new neighbor, but also by the bizarro question, answered, "hi, you must be one of our neighbors? this is belly and i'm her guy. nice to meet you." i guess the ceiling fans rattle when on full speed - and the folks who rented our place before us were engaged in a full fledged pissing contest with this mannerless l.a. type and his clan. the welcoming committee muttered a few more demands regarding our use of our ceiling fans, then turned on his heel, leaving a cloying cloud of testosterone in his wake. i can only assume his brash welcome was an attempt to piss all over us, like a tomcat marking his territory. nice. welcome to fucking l.a. please, god, don't let the stereotypes out here be true!

we were anxious after the run in with the new neighbor. we were also dirty, tired and road weary and ready for the day to be over. i lugged the air mattress out of the car while my guy got the rest of the bags. i began to inflate it but was so nervous about the buzz-saw sound coming from the air mattress inflater that i didn't quite fill it to capacity for fear that someone else would come banging on the door.

all i wanted in the world was to get clean and pass out. i padded into the bare bedroom, fresh from the shower and ready for snuggling. my guy was already passing out on his side of the half-inflated, makeshift bed. forgetting the laws of physics, i jumped onto my side of the air mattress and, much to my horror, sent my guy soaring out of bed. the uneven dispersal of weight served as a springboard, and projected my unsuspecting guy in a perfect arch right out of the safety and comfort of the bed and smack dab onto the hardwood floor. "WHAT THE FUCK?!" my guy shrieked. i started laughing. i was horrified. my big, fat butt just catapulted my man out of his bed. i was laughing too hard to be embarrassed... and thankfully, soon my guy was in hysterics, too. a perfect end to that day.

the next morning we peeled ourselves off of each other (the half-filled mattress was steadily losing air during the evening, sending us both towards the lowest point of gravity - the middle of the mattress), shook off the soreness of sleeping on a crap bed and went out to the car, ready for a day full of errands. we were greeted with a terse note on our windshield from a peeved neighbor (a different one) who let us know that it was NOT ok for us to be parked in his spot... funny thing was that when we pulled in the nite before, we parked in the only space open. each unit in our building is assigned one designated spot. since someone was parked in ours, we assumed that the management company gave us the wrong info and figured that the only open one must be ours. (i later discovered that it was the note-leaver's roommate who was parked in our spot that nite - which pissed me off even more that he left a note knowing someone from his household was in our parking place. again - welcome to fucking l.a.)

later that afternoon we went on a wild goose chase to get duplicate keys made. we thought our run of shit luck had taken a turn for the better when we found a prime parking spot outside of the third place we were referred to. i waited in the car, chatting on the phone, when lo and behold, L.A.P.D. comes right up behind me and starts writing a ticket... WHILE I WAS SITTING IN THE CAR. "what's up, officer?" i asked. "you're in a no parking zone from 4pm to 7pm." i looked at the clock on the dash: 4:01pm. "but i'm from out of town! i didn't know! it's only 4 right now. can't i move it?" i pleaded. he just kept writing the ticket. the fucker didn't even have the decency to reply - he just finished writing the ticket, put it on the windshield and walked away. that stupid little hard-to-find mailbox key ended up costing us $75. welcome to fucking l.a.

at the end of another sucky day, we took solace in the fact that we were able to at least properly fill the air mattress, preventing any more unexpected human launches and providing a sound sleep. except one of the kitties punctured the friggin' mattress that evening. in the middle of the night, i woke up nearly suffocating in thick plastic polymer - the mattress lost so much air that my ass was on the floor while my limbs and neck were awkwardly propped up by the last bit of air. i maneuvered myself out of my plastic quicksand tomb and started making a bungalow at the foot of the bed. i managed a sad little nest, built from almost-dry towels, my winter coat and some clean socks and underwear. the movers were still two days away and i was doomed to this abysmal sleeping accommodation for another evening. all i could do was cry myself to sleep.

i felt so defeated, so lonely and upset. i had no one but my guy to fall back on - no group of girlfriends to commiserate with over drinks, no family to cry to over a home-cooked meal. no familiarity. los angeles was shaping up to be a great big fuck you and i was not prepared for it. when we left our home, i was full of hope, excitement, and the spirit of adventure. it took exactly two days in l.a. to crush all of the good feelings i brought with me. for two whole days, i wallowed in self pity and lonliness in an empty apartment without a car. even the idea of a simple walk around the neighborhood terrified me. i don't even really remember what i did most of those two days before the movers arrived - i just remember fear. too scared to check out the many nearby shops, boutiques, or grocery store. too scared to do walk up to rodeo drive and window shop. too scared to even take my dog for a potty walk!! i was consumed with the terror of people judging me, terror of getting lost. in my paralyzed state, my fear created this imposing image of what was acceptable, what i had to look like, the show of wealth i would have to display, the style i would have to sport just to be able to go outside in my own neighborhood. it wasn't enough that we got a raw deal upon our arrival to california, but now i was living in a self-imposed prison of fear.

i think it took me a good four months to come out of my shell. slowly i became more familiar with the lay of the land. i introduced myself to my neighbors. i made peace with the false image that my fear created and i was able to just feel good about being me again. i've come a long way in one year. if i take inventory of the events of this past year, the list is significant: i went on a month-long road trip across the western half of the united states, i landed a great gig, i started truly investing in my health, i've committed to being in relationship with my body, i organized a trip to meet friends in vegas, i flew back to chicago a few times, i deepened my relationship with close girlfriends despite the distance, i hiked all over the malibu mountains, i went on my first wine-tasting trip, i started blogging. and the coolest part is that i did this on my own. no friends nearby. no family. no therapist. no familiar city. just me. of course my guy was there every step of the way, lending his strength and love and encouragement, but i'm taking all the credit on this one. i came full circle this past year...all because of me.

it took me a year to do it, but i've finally made peace with this old whore of a town. i've learned to work with the city rather than against it. i've learned to appreciate her jagged visage and hard ways. i don't know if i'll ever feel like i truly belong to this city or it to me, but for now i've found peace with los angeles. i've found peace within me. and that's hot.

20 lbs in a week just ain't right

2008-02-19T22:23:00.000-08:00

i just found out that my guy and i are headed back to our home town at the end of april for a grand celebration. my guy has numerous tracks included his buddy's indie movie. when we went to the premier out here in l.a., we were overcome with excitement. we watched the final edit in a real movie theater with 250 of the producer's friends and colleagues. we delighted with recognition every time one of my guy's songs faded in. we squirmed with glee when we watched the credits roll and my guy's name scrolled across the big screen. it was a surreal experience. it was a wonderful event. i was so proud and honored to be sitting next to this creative genius who received verbal accolades from the producer in front of the 248 strangers in the theater with us.

so after my guy told me the good news and we decided to go back home for the event, it started. this happens to me every.single.time i am confronted with an impending date of reuniting with old friends, going on a trip, any momentous occasion that will require me to be presentable. 'it' is the soundtrack from my youth, the voice that repeats over and over and over, the sickness that asks "how much weight can i lose before this event? if i starve and exercise every day could i lose 20 lbs in a week?" this tape used to drown out all rational thought - it was the soundtrack that beat with my pulse, that consumed my thoughts... this is the same voice that nearly caused me to miss the memorable experience of attending the premier of my guy's movie.

it was a wonderful woman, full of wisdom-by-the-hour, who helped me see how damaging and distorted this idea really was. the shrink is gone. the voice is back. granted, it's not as ridiculous and demanding as it once was. no, i am now able to understand just how fucked that way of thinking is. but the voice is back... only... different. as soon as i heard about a second movie screening in our home town, somewhere deep inside of me i sensed an old, familiar part press 'play'... this time, though, the voice is disguised as a seemingly rational thought:

"belly, you have two and a half months until the event. wouldn't it be wonderful to look great for it? two and a half months - if you really got with the program, you could lose at least 15 lbs in that time."

blech. when i logged my weight yesterday on the weight watchers site, i noticed that it has taken me two and a half months to lose 5.5 lbs. why do i think - wait - why would i want to sabotage myself by trying to adopt anything faster than my current pace? and FOR SOMEONE ELSE?? what about me? how did i happen to lose myself inside of a sentence??

what about me?

here i am. here i am reclaiming my new found relationship with my body. here i am denouncing the idea that i want to lose weight for anyone but myself. here i am picking myself back up off the chuckwagon from the past weekend, dusting off my knees and the cheez-it crumbs, and getting back on the path. here i am reminding myself that my body is sacred and beautiful exactly the way it is RIGHT NOW.

it's times like these, when i can hear the old, sick tapes playing, that i have to give pause to my life and reclaim it. i have to restate my purpose here. i need to remind myself that those old voices don't guide me. i will make peace with them. i forget to look for the beauty in these falling down places... for it is in these moments of weakness where my truth lies. it is in these moments of weakness that i am truly aware of my strength. i don't wallow in my broken places because i am strong enough to pull out. pull up. get back to center.

so here i am. here i am struggling to be tender with the old voices. struggling to let them know that it's ok now. i've got this one. i'll take it from here and i'm strong enough to do it. in the past two and a half months that i have been with weight watchers, i have been more successful in getting to know my body and adopting healthy habits for weight loss than ever before in my life. i like this pace i'm keeping. i like discovering my self. i am falling in love with my body.

in the coming months i will build success for myself through weekly goals. i will continue to post with regular frequency. i will be aware of my body and my food decisions. i will go back to my home town in a couple of months and i will revel in the celebration of my guy's creativity. i will cherish the time laughing and talking with friends and family. i will meet new people with open arms and a warm heart. and it won't matter a lick what i weigh.

week 2 goal check in

2008-02-19T22:15:00.000-08:00

week 1 goal: document all food intake. goal met
week 2 goal: stay within weekly alloted points. goal almost met.

didn't quite meet my week 2 goal, but i did lose a pound and a half at my weigh in yesterday. i was really beating myself up, too - this past weekend i had the most god awfully good thick wedge fries and some of that disgusting bright orange melty yummy cheese. so good. but i felt so bad having them. this is one of those times where i'm grateful that i'm as large as i am because i get 31 glorious points a day on the weight watchers menu. i know, backwards thinking... but those fries were a little more than half of my daily allotment. so good though. it's amazing how riddled with guilt i felt in anticipation of the weigh-in and the goal check-in. the goal is to lose weight, right? so why the freaky freak-out? seems to me that it all just comes down to math. and yet i imbue that simple daily equation with enough emotional turmoil to make the freshman year at an all girls academy look sane. curiously enough i had quite a few triumphs this week - gutted the office/second bedroom and brought organization and cleanliness to an otherwise storage wasteland; logged more pedometer steps in one day than ever before; lost weight. yet all of these huge achievements seem to get swallowed by my own neurosis.

week 3 goal: make a dentist appointment and an eye doctor appointment

in addition to the week 3 goal, i'm going to try to focus on staying sane when curveballs come my way. i have to remind myself that this is a process. there are ups and downs. but the big picture has me moving forward, my weight trending down and my relationship with my body finding balance. i truly believe that regular blogging is key to helping me stay the course. i find that when i blog on a daily basis, i am more accountable to myself. i am more aware of my mind/body relationship. i am less likely to fall off the wagon into a box of big-cheez-its-because-it's-weigh-in-day-and-i-have-a-full-week-to-work-these-off-my-ass. i will quit beating myself up over the stupid shit, too. guilt DOES NOT BURN CALORIES. exercise does.

here's to another week of cumulative goal-building and getting back in the saddle. oh yeah, and to being nice to myself.

time out

2008-02-13T18:59:00.000-08:00

today i am quiet. i am full of recent revelations and now i am mentally digesting.

The Healing Time
by Pesha Gertler

Finally on my way to yes
I bump into
all the places
where I said no
to my life
all the untended wounds
the red and purple scars
those hieroglyphs of pain
carved into my skin, my bones,
those coded messages
that send me down
the wrong street
again and again
where I find them
the old wounds
the old misdirections
and I lift them
one by one
close to my heart
and I say holy
holy.

sanity check

2008-02-12T17:56:00.000-08:00

i got home from work a short while ago. i was staaaaaarvvvving (not literally, but quite dramatically). i felt that psycho must-eat-something-NOW-tornado start to spin inside me as soon as i walked in the door. i hurried through the right-when-you-get-home routine of feeding and walking pets but as soon as i returned from the potty walk, i nose-dived into the kitchen. awareness was shot and the cloud of numbness was surging in. the fastest thing to prepare was an english muffin and while it was cooking, i spied pringles (even faster). when i saw the pringles, i had a physical, pavlovian reaction - i felt my eyes get bigger at the recognition of the unopened tube of potato crisps and i started salivating. this story has a happy ending, though...

"whoa. hold up there, little mama. i've only got 13 points left for the day," i thought with the last shred of sanity. so i took 10 pringles out (mind you, i have NEVER counted out pringles before - this is huge for me), put the canister back and waited patiently for the muffin to finish toasting. i grabbed a bottle of water and my muffin and retreated to the office to check in with the blogs and try to calm the category 5 winds that started a churnin' in me just moments earlier.

this moment, as i type, the crazy need to feed feeling has abated and i am calm enough and sane enough to go back to the kitchen and make a healthy dinner. i didn't die from starvation. and i didn't succumb to "the nothing."

could it be? is this... success?!

kickin' ass and taking inventory

2008-02-11T17:53:00.000-08:00

great week. successful week. but before i get into the thick of it, a quick goal recap:

week 1 goal: document all of my food intake. goal met.

week 2 goal: stay within my weight watchers point range for the week

yikes! did i really just give myself that much hangin' rope for week 2's goal? i have to admit that as a weight watchers online subscriber for two and a half months, i have not had one week where i've come in under my weekly points. until now, i have lived in terror of this goal. mostly because a very large part of me isn't sure that i can do it, but there is also an equally fearful part that i will do it. for days i mulled over a good second week goal for myself - it has to be something tangible, within my grasp, but not too scary and hard that i'll land face first into a giant vat of chocolate chip cookie dough. staying within my point range seems like a natural progression from accurately journaling my food intake - but still, this idea strikes a really fearful chord in me.

in the past, i could sense the fear creeping in, gnawing at the periphery of my consciousness until i was so consumed with holding it at bay, whatever it really is, that i would lose control of my true voice... seemed like no one was running the show because my true self was lost in a cacophony of confusion and denial. i don't want to head in to my next goal with this much fearful chatter whispering in my ear.

"that's too hard. you'll never be able to stick with that plan."
"this plan doesn't afford you enough food or wine."
"you haven't managed this accomplishment in two and a half months, what makes you think you can do it now?"
"what if you get hungry? you can't tolerate hunger."

but my fear is sneaky - it's done a good job of creating chaos and confusion, all of which exists to mask a deeper knowing: i am not loveable and i don't deserve success.

every time i eat something that doesn't directly provide nourishment, every time i drink one more glass of wine, every time i decide to watch some stupid reality show in favor of going for a walk, every time i make a conscious decision to deny myself those things that are good for me, i prove that deep, pained part of myself right: i don't deserve success. i don't deserve a healthy body. i don't deserve to love myself.

recently, i've written a lot about accepting the small frustrations and discouragements of the day into my life. i've talked about making room for them, letting them have space, be heard. i've made room in my heart and acknowledged these daily worries and in doing so, i have given them the freedom to dissipate. "your job is done now, little worry, thanks for bringing it to my attention but i've got it covered - run along." this new revelation, though - this is a biggun'. and yet, as i write about this big, hairy, ugly underlying fear, i can feel it losing power, withdrawing, releasing it's grip on me. i am well enough to face it head on. i am strong enough to look it in the eyes and know it. if i can accept this part of me, this dark, painful part, then i can accept all of myself. i'm willing to do that. i want to be successful. i want to know the triumph that comes with hard work and dedication. if success feels anything at all like the relief and release that i'm tasting now in finding self acceptance, then i want more of it - a lot more of it!

slow and steady changes habits. i have to remember my intention for starting off with slow and easy goals: too much too soon is a known recipe for failure. but this new goal doesn't seem all that bad. when i stop and let the fear in, when i let it have a voice and acknowledge it, i realize that it is not the voice of my true self. the fearful voice is not the truest voice. it doesn't control me. i actually feel whole letting that fearful part up to the surface. i feel like i'm not denying, avoiding or ignoring me. i feel like i'm taking inventory of my inner workings and am getting to know exactly what's going on inside me. this is different. this feels like healing. this also feels a little like... success.

feelin' groovy

2008-02-09T18:55:00.000-08:00

there are days when i feel so low and days when i feel so high... every now and again, there are those truly delightful days that just feel right, when the sun shines on my every step, a wry little smile plays at the corners of my lips and i'm filled with a sense that everything is right. today was one of those just right days.

i awoke to playful banter and soft morning laughs with my guy. later, my guy and i enjoyed a leisurely stroll, following adventure to new parts of our neighborhood, basking in the beautiful weather. we delighted in the happy waggle of our dog's tail, the back-and-forth swish swish swish indicating she, too, was feeling the good vibrations. the day agreed with all of us.

we invited new energy into our home by moving old boxes out of the entryway. we bopped around town, taking care of small errands, giggling with nostalgia at an unexpected good shuffle from the ipod. i woke from a nap to melodic stums drifting in from the living room where my guy worked out a new song on the guitar.

it was while we were driving that i glanced over at the man i love and who loves me, windows wide and lee majors crooning about being the unknown stuntman, that it occured to me: i am ok. things are good. life is full of beauty and bounty. i am ok. i could feel that feeling that comes with crying, that tightness in my chest, the lump forming in my throat, i could feel it surging into me, heading up through my lungs, shoulders, neck, working it's way to my tear ducts. and yet, no tears came. i am ok. i was so overwhelmed by the goodness of this day that i wanted to cry. instead, i just held fast to the feeling of serenity, of deeply calming peacefulness that this day had graced me with.

today i am full of light. i am full of joy. i am full of hope and awareness.

i am full.

crumb-y day

2008-02-07T18:24:00.000-08:00

sometimes i really wonder what my co-workers must think of me… i am one tragic catastrophe after another.

around two-thirty today, i happened to look down at my shirt and noticed it was covered in crumbs. i was horrified to find… snacks…that i had unwittingly saved for later…in the folds of my cowl neck shirt. and by snacks i mean small to medium-largish crumbs of the wretched little kashi granola bar i had for breakfast. i’m not bothered so much by the fact that no one told me i had the bottom of a monkey cage stuck to my upper torso and neck. no, i’m bothered more by the fact that for the six hours or so that i walked around my place of business donning my crumb-y getup, i was basically reinforcing every negative image of fat people that exist… you know what i’m talking about – the stereotype of that dirty, stinky, fat office leper who plods around covered in food stains, crumbs stuck to their 2^nd, 4^th and 5^th chin-necks, with a gait resembling that of jabba the hut (which is really less of a stride and more of an oooooozing along), leaving a trail of empty super size doritos bags and econo-sized twinky boxes in their wake. today, friends, that fat slob was me. as soon as i noticed those velcro crumbs clinging to my shirt, i brushed them away with the ferocity of a meth addict swiping at invisible bugs… "get 'em off! get em' OFF!!"

trying to regain composure, i was reminded of another moment, not so long ago, where i was once again left melting in the wake of humiliation, by yet a different stereotype: a snot-nose, scabby-kneed 11 year old boy. oddly, i found solace in the embarrassment of a few crumbs on my shirt (all day long) because that was nothing compared to what happened to me while i was temping…

i got a temp gig shortly after i moved to l.a. (and not long after i became completely demoralized by a fruitless three-month job search). my temp cubicle was strategically placed to accommodate the every whim of five or six office dwellers. my duty was primarily to answer the phone. it was not uncommon for me to bring a snacks and drinks to work because i was shackled to the phone for seven hours a day.

one day, i decided to sate my mid-morning hunger with a pear. it was a delicious pear, perfectly ripe and super juicy. while enjoying my snack, one of the office dwellers ambled by and stopped to exchange morning niceties. i noticed that this corporate slug kept diverting his eyes from mine, his glance darting about my face. was he looking at my cheek? my nose? why the hell did his gaze keep falling to the same two spots on my face? no sooner did he disappear into the dark recesses of his office than i whipped out a mirror to view my visage. what i saw caused me to drop the mirror in horror, grab the sides of my head and shriek bloody murder...on the inside...because i'm professional. instead, i frantically jabbed at my face with a kleenex, feeling the immediate burn of a deep, embarrassed blush begin to blossom on my cheeks and neck. i had not one, but two small booger-sized pear remnants sticking to my ruddy cheek and nose. holy mary mother of god. the pieces of pear looked EXACTLY like boogies. IT LOOKED LIKE I HAD TWO BOOGERS ON MY FACE!! boogers on peoples' faces… (i’m going to have to develop a steely constitution just to type out the next few sentences because nothing, and i do mean NOTHING, is more vile than a random boogie on someone’s face… even babies with the mass of yellowy goo smeared across their top lips is enough to send me into seizing fits of dry heaving.) it is just.so.gross. frankly, i'm not quite sure how i survived the day. i think i blacked out from the trauma of the incident because my recollection of the succeeding events of that day are hazy. needless to say that guy never really talked to me again... and frankly, i couldn't have blamed him. if the shoe had been on the other foot, i would have very likely cut the conversation short to go vomit in the privacy of my office. so gross.

so, yeah. i guess the crummy crumb incident today wasn't all that bad. when i compare it to some of the other recent embarrassing moments that i've lived down, not too bad at all...

i have a hunch ...back

2008-02-05T19:01:00.000-08:00

today was an awesome, awesome day:

three pounds down after the massacre-at-chicken-wing-tray sunday nite
awoke bright eyed and bushy tailed because i got to sleep at 11 last nite
stayed within my points range yesterday
got some exercise in yesterday
voted!!
wrote down everything i ate yesterday (cue european soccer announcer: GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLL, you know, because it's my weekly goal...)
preparing a healthy, low cal, point friendly dinner
very possibly will stay within my points for today
have documented all my food thus far today (again: GOOOOOAAAAAALL)

but best of all, i was best of buds with my body today. all my mind/body chatter from yesterday really paid off...

i've been suffering mild, yet constant headaches for the past couple of weeks. i'm not prone to headaches at all, so this was a disturbing new trend which i immediately chalked up to shitty eating habits and too much of the vino. but today, i realized that the headaches are more likely from the awkward position of my neck and shoulders lately. my neck has been disappearing unnaturally into my shoulders - like i'm hunching over. i have literally been holding my body like i'm bracing for someone to hit me or something. i found myself in this hunkered position countless times today and each time, i would sit up straight, take a deep breath and roll my shoulders back. my headache is gone this evening!

could it be that my body has been trying to speak to me for the past few weeks? "hey pal! pay attention! i'm here, too!" i choose to believe that my recent headaches were exactly that - my body demanding that i take notice of it. every single time i caught myself hunched over today, i momentarily had to stop everything i was doing and dedicate 100% awareness to my back, my shoulders, my neck. calmness came into my belly with a deep breath, confidence into my physique with a straightening of the spine and rolling the shoulders back.

i repeated this exercise maybe 20 or 30 times today - which was another lesson my body taught me: it's going to take repeated reminding and effort to get to a healthy relationship with myself. regardless of how many times i have to stop what i'm doing and pay attention to what's going on in my body, in the moment, i always feel much better after making the correction.

the whole bracing myself bit - that's a pretty serious and disturbing stance i've adopted as of late... definitely something to ponder in more detail later...

but for now, i give thanks to my body for speaking to me... even though it took me long enough to hear.

Mind, meet Body. Body, meet Mind.

2008-02-04T18:44:00.000-08:00

...because after a FOUR pound weight gain this morning, i realize that somethin' ain't quite right here.

seriously. what the hell? four pounds, really? four?? FOUR???!!

i know what the hell... it was eating half a tray of chicken wings and a downing a couple of beers at 11pm last night. i knew that kind of splurging at that hour of the night could only mean doom and gloom on the scale this morning, yet i did it anyway! the four pound gain was disturbing but not unexpected... what was unexpected was the horrible stomach ache i woke up with, the all day bloat factor, and my jeans fitting SUUUUPER tight when i got home. the backlash from such a gluttonous evening was unbelievable.

and yet, i'm actually pleased that i didn't freak out this morning, enacting some crazy godzilla scene where my scale gets shattered under a crushing deathblow-stomp and the peaceful morning is pierced with my shrieking roars.

disappointed? yes - absolutely. but freaky? no.

i have a sneaking suspicion that i know exactly what's going on here. for weeks i've been working on the internal piece of my weight loss journey. i've been mired in my own thoughts, coming to terms with what's going on in my head and in my heart. but when it comes to my body? that's an entirely different story... and therein lies the problem. it's high time i quit frakking around with the weight watcher's plan and start following it the way it's supposed to be followed. it's time for me to get serious about consistent exercise. it's time for my body and mind to work together for the greater good.

i have a plan for myself: i'm going to pick one goal i aim for per week, something i can do for myself every day for one whole week. if i can succeed (or even if i can't) i'll select a new goal for myself the following week and just keep building on my previous weeks' successes. i realize that i work well within the architecture of routine so i will build structure for myself, a sturdy foundation built on weekly accomplishments, a system in which i can thrive. i will be careful not to overwhelm myself with grandiose, complicated goals, too, because i don't want to sabotage my plan. i know myself well enough to know that i'm not good with change, so i'll take this slow - not as slow as i have been taking it, but slow enough to allow change into my life in a steady, accumulating way.

the goal for this week: get back to writing down EVERY SINGLE THING I EAT. and if i can stay within my daily points, that would be great, too... but for this week, the primary goal is going to be maintaining my food journal. by doing this, i envision myself planning meals again, grocery shopping for healthy choices in anticipation of being hungry during the day or at night, making time for exercise and making exercise a priority. if these things manifest as a result of me maintaining my food log, great! wonderful! but if not, that's ok, too.

i gotta admit, i'm scared. i'm scared of creating a plan because that means i am accountable to something. i'm scared i'll succumb to failure. but equally intimidating is the prospect of success...

so where does this kind of fear leave me? right where i am: nowhere. and this is not the right place for me. so i'm going to trust my mind to lead my body and my body to support my mind... strong heart. strong mind. strong body.

in praise of clear-cutting, one ratty bra at a time

2008-02-03T13:37:00.000-08:00

what a wonderful weekend it's been. yesterday was full of small errands done at an easy-going pace, errands that need to be done with some consistency if my home is to retain it's comfortable, home-like appeal. i had plenty of time to frolic in the lazy hours of a free saturday. today is a perfect sunday. i awoke from beneath a plush, down duvet after hearing soft rain drops playing at the window. i have had the luxury of spending quiet time perusing blogs and thinking big thoughts while my guy peacefully snoozes in the other room.

all is right with the world.

i attribute this moment of serenity to the slow, steady clear-cutting project i've undertaken in my own life. recently, i read an interesting bit about the direct relationship between depression and clutter. the idea that those who have order and cleanliness in their homes are more likely to be content and happy individuals resonated with me. and so, for the past few weeks, i've taken this idea to heart, and have been taking inventory of all the unnecessary 'stuff' that clutters my home. i've been throwing away and getting rid of clothes, furniture, knick-knacky-tacky pieces of decor that have been collecting dust and taking up space in my home. it feels good to bring order in. i allow calmness in as i winnow my underwear drawer down to only those unmentionables that fit, bras that are not suffering injurious calamity to the elastic, tights and nylons that aren't pock-marked with runs and futile nail polish remedy. i like that i don't have to jimmy my bureau drawers closed because they are stuffed to the brim. i imbue my closet with a sense of freedom when i rid it of items that haven't seen the light of day in years. yes, it is hard for me to part with these things. but the sense of freedom that comes in releasing these unneeded items far outweighs any feeling of loss.

in taking inventory and cleaning out, i am making space for newness. i am inviting 'other' in where previously there was no room in my home. in the same respect, i am working towards opening up myself to a healthy relationship with food. i am striving towards awareness, awareness about what i put in my mouth, awareness of how i feel (or the absence of feeling) when i eat, awareness of how much i eat. i firmly believe that it is only after i let my food issues in, hold them firmly to my breast, know them and love them as a mother loves a child, only then can i release those issues.

for now i will celebrate my journey to health and where it has taken me thus far. i honor the peacefulness that i have found this morning, and i open myself up to what lies ahead.

The Guest House
by Rumi

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

perspective

2008-02-01T19:25:00.000-08:00

i was tickled to be invited for a coworker's birthday lunch yesterday. i work with two of the three women in our little lunch party and was excited that they decided to include me, even though my interactions with them has been limited. we went to a nearby mexican restaurant and had a nice enough meal. i was feeling pretty good for making good food choices: i ordered a relatively healthy meal and was careful to eat only half of what i was served. then the bill came.

i am familiar with the birthday lunch etiquette at my place of business because shortly after i came on, i was treated to my own birthday lunch. a very sweet gesture which is bestowed upon everyone in our group throughout the year. but when the lunch bill came yesterday, the two non-birthday ladies immediately reached for the check and started divvying up the bill. when i noticed the birthday girl going for her wallet, i said, "absolutely not! no one pays for their own birthday lunch." when the other two gals handed the bill to me with their contribution, i was horrified to find that not only had they not chipped in ANYTHING to cover the birthday girl's meal, but they included nothing for the tax or tip. i ended up putting in $30 on a $50 lunch. i was pissed that i was invited out to someone's birthday lunch, someone i don't even know all that well, and was left to pay for her lunch. WTF?

so what's the big deal? i can afford it. hell, i spend $30 on stupid shit a few times a week! of course, i could have spoken up but that would have felt REALLY awkward. i mean, i'm still the newbie and according to my 'rules to keep the peace' it is not the newbie's role to pull a dick move and demand birthday lunch money from the rest of the stingy beeyotches at the table.

i was stewing about this injustice for the rest of the afternoon. when my guy got home, i was telling him about my day and how i felt completely slighted and shitty because i didn't speak up about it... my guy asked me who these gals were, what they did at the company, how i knew them. i gave him a brief bio on each of the ladies, then he said, "well, honey, you're right. that was pretty shitty of them to stick you with the bill, but you know... you were the senior employee in the group. they probably expected you to pay for the birthday girl."

i was stunned. of course! i was the 'ranking officer' of the group. when i thought back to the few other birthday lunches that i have attended in my short tenure at the company, i did recall the senior person paying for lunch, or for most of the group's lunch.

my guy gave me perspective that i was not able to see on my own. his insight allowed me to perceive the situation in a completely different light:

i consistently devalue myself, do not take credit for my full worth - this is an age old theme for me. it didn't even occur to me that i outranked the other women i was lunching with. it was probably expected that i cover most of the bill, if not all of it.
i am a 'pleaser'. growing up with a crazy, bulemic mommy did a number on my head. as a child, i adopted the role of 'pleaser' to ensure safety in my own home... this sick pattern is prevalent in my life today and is a role that i still struggle to break. the little girl in me is scared of anyone being mad at me. if i asked the other gals at lunch to throw in a few extra bucks, they might have been mad at me. and to my inner, scared little girl, this was a terrifying prospect.

so now i'm feeling kind of foolish. i feel silly that i worked myself up into a full blown tizzy over the course of the afternoon. i feel kind of lame that i didn't recognize the silent social rules and just offer to pay for the whole lunch. what's done is done.

what i can do is take away an important lesson from the experience: pull up! pulling my head out of my own ass will likely give me the perspective i need to see a situation from other angles... and even if i don't have the ability to find a different perspective in the moment, i don't really mind the taste of crow.

all is not right in mudville

2008-01-30T23:07:00.000-08:00

i like to think of my drive home from work as an accurate reflection of the state of affairs in my head. sometimes i get caught at every single god forsaken light on the way home and sometimes i barely have to touch the brake. the past week i zipped right home, miraculously breezing through every single green light. today, however, i was not so lucky. i swear i stopped at every single friggin' red light, got stuck behind some mini-van-jalopy doing 10 miles under the speed limit, and got jammed up by buses and fed ex trucks in the parking lane (in l.a. there's an anti-gridlock initiative which forbids parking in the parking lane during rush hour... most of the time these lanes are a clear shot, but occasionally, some jack-ass gums up the works).

to keep my road rage in check, i've learned to accept excessive red lights as a little message from the universe telling me to slow it down and check myself. as pollyanna as this idea sounds, it actually works for me. i had kind of a crap day... woke up late, necklace broke getting out of my car, i ate a 20 point lunch and just didn't give a shit, got stuck at nearly ALL the lights on the way home.

i can feel the numbness creeping in at my edges since being home. so instead of succumbing to an evening of overeating and guilt, i'm going to chiggity-check myself before i wriggity-wreck myself. i invite the small frustrations of the day in, but i will not let them overwhelm me.

today i am grateful for...
...my guy returning safely from a business trip
...busting out an unplanned, cute outfit for work even though i woke up late
...thomas' whole wheat english muffins
...a stellar 90 day new employee review w/ my boss
...the ability to recognize when i'm numbing myself and the grace and willingness to pull myself out of it
...my cutie pie pupperoni who always welcomes me home with doggie exhuberance
...tivo + american idol = 20 min of funny auditions instead of an hour of ryan seacrest filler

you're my punk rock girl

2008-01-29T19:00:00.000-08:00

this weekend i found my old tongue post and was tickled by the idea that my tongue piercing might still be open. i remember the piercing technician telling me that if i didn't wear the post at all times, it would close up very quickly. when i finally got a 'real' job a few years later, i was reluctant to remove the piercing so i bought increasingly smaller gauges and shorter posts so as to conceal my rebellion from my corporate gig. this was also about the same time that the spice girls exploded onto the scene and scary spice was titillating pubescent girls and 'cool' parents with her flashy new tongue jewelry. lame. i remember feeling so unique because i was still rocking a tongue ring, which was actually an eyebrow post - so it was waaay more discreet, and therefore, still cool. i was foolin' no one but myself...

so when i found the tongue post, nostalgia and curiosity got the better of me and i had to see if my piercing was still open. i was delighted to find that it hadn't closed up - well, maybe it closed up a little, but with a little force, i was able to jam the damn thing through my tongue. i wore it all night, enjoying the click-click-click against my teeth, checking my mouth out in every mirror i passed. but when i woke up the next morning, i became acutely aware of a dull throb in my tongue. the novelty had completely worn off and i was left with an irritating piece of metal in my mouth which i just wanted out. after pulling, prodding and tugging, i finally freed myself from the whimsical memento of my youth.

and yet, as sucky as it was to wake with that obtrusive tongue post stuck in my mouth, i feel conflicted about permanently letting go of this token of my young adulthood. i felt pangs of child-like defiance surface when i dared to think, "shit. this is not for me anymore." the twenty-something girl in me absolutely did not want to cede her grip on the reigns.

i realize that that part of me from the past no longer fits the current me. but it's tough for me to let go of the girl i used to be. i still find myself clinging to mementos of my college years, cherishing 'friends' from that era who add nothing to my life today, desperately holding onto my pierced tongue. becoming aware of these feeling, recognizing this pattern now feels as constricting as wearing a pair of shoes that are two sizes too small. why would i want to do that?

why try to fit my current life into the shape of my past? i'm so much wiser now. i'm happy with who i am today. i've worked hard to create a deeply satisfying life for myself and to appreciate the process and the journey of how i got to be where i am now. i've made peace and am still making peace with my self, my body. i have come so far from the days of that rebellious, tongue-pierced girl. yet, until now, i couldn't seem to let her go.

as i reflect on the past weekend, i realize that i don't want to be that girl anymore. i want to be who i am today. i want to fully embrace the woman i am right now. i will not forget your rebellious spirit, punk rock girl. i won't forget how cool, unique, and brave you were. i'll hold onto the courage you exhibited while trying to figure out those tumultuous college years. i honor our past because that's where you, my inner punk rock girl, created the building blocks of who i am today.

it feels a little uncomfortable settling into that thought, to let myself be an adult, to fully embody the idea. it's scary. to accept adulthood is to accept responsibility, accountability. and yet, if i hold up a mirror, the person looking back is certainly no girl. no, the reflection i see belongs to a beautiful thirty-something woman, a woman who's eyes shine not with the brightness and naivety of youth, but with the knowing sparkle of wisdom, of experience, of adulthood.

i'm going to keep that old tongue ring. i'll save it in the bottom of my jewelry box. i might come across it in another couple of years, but perhaps then, i won't feel the need to make it fit where it no longer belongs. i like the idea of accepting who i am today. it feels like relief. it feels empowering. i am an adult. i am responsible for my health. i am capable of taking care of and nurturing my body. i am accountable for my weight and i accept the responsibility to change it.

the best laid plans

2008-01-28T17:56:00.000-08:00

last nite i went out for what i thought would be dinner... instead, what i got was a hearty helping of unending wardrobe malfunctions...

it all went downhill when i decided to wear a new black dress to meet my friend for dinner. soon after putting it on, i realized that the sales folks forgot to remove the obtrusive, plastic anti-theft device from the inner lining. had i the good sense that god gave me, i would have simply selected a different outfit for dinner, and returned to the store another day to have the sales folks remove the plastic shackle. instead, i decided that i could just cut the unruly thing out and no one would be the wiser. after all, the alarm was only attached to the black slip and not the SHEER top layer... once i frankensteined my beautiful new frock, i was horrified to discover that when the light hit the hem of the garment, my 'brilliant solution' was plainly visible.

not one to be undone by my foolish decision to TAKE SCISSORS TO A BRAND NEW DRESS, i decided i could still make it work if i wore a pair of black panty hose (after the whole pee hole panty line incident, i was still a little too gun shy for spanx) under the black hole. it was only after i was in the car headed to meet my friend that i realized there was a gaping rip the size of my fist, calf-height in the nylons, peeping up over the top of my boot. christ. seriously?? i was now heading to dinner looking less 'class act' and more 'rat's ass'.

once at the restaurant, i did as little walking as possible so as not to upset the delicate hole on the side of my leg... i managed to barely conceal the panty hose carnage by gingerly pushing the nylon down below the top of my boot. i also adopted a crafty swagger which kept the hem of my dress close to my leg, thus concealing the other hole. fortunately, we didn't have to wait long for a table.

the rest of dinner was without issue... until we left the restaurant and headed off for the car in the pouring rain. in the twenty feet sprint between the restaurant entrance and the valet stand my belt somehow slipped from my waist and tangled up at my ankle, tripping me up in my hundred yard dash. i grabbed the sopping wet strip of satin and hobbled the rest of the way to the valet shelter. i'm sure i must have looked like some kind of crazed hunch-back dragging a lame leg behind, grabbing at her tattered, billowing mumu, and trailing a long, limp garden hose around her leg (because when you buy dresses in the big girls' sizes, belts are the length of industrial extension cords and not the S, M, L sizes of the neatly merchandised belt rack at banana republic).

just when i thought i was completely undone, this hobbled bag-lady endured yet one more fashion injustice... as i turned to give my friend a farewell hug, my friggin' necklace broke, sending a shower of beads down my dress and into the gathering puddles. i couldn't help but laugh... and not the normal toss-my-hands-in-the-air-and-shrug kind of chuckle, but a maniacal, hyena, quick-move-away-from-the-crazy-lady laugh. needless to say the valet got my car pretty quickly...

the best part of the evening was finding still MORE beads after i got home - there were a few in my boot, three or four tumbled out of my underwear during a bathroom break, another fell out of my bra as i got ready for bed...

i gotta say, though, that dinner was amazing. my girlfriend from out of town was amazing. and as resistant to being fabulous as my outfit was, i felt nothing less than amazing, too...

all in all, a really nice night.

you're out of the woods, you're out of the dark, step into the light

2008-01-25T17:38:00.000-08:00

i wish i had a green thumb. i would so love to be able to grow things. truth is, i’m terrible with plants. take, for example, the philodendron in my office. this hearty species is a sad testament to my inability to care for plant life. it hangs limply from its bookshelf perch, the edges of its leaves brown and curling in. it looks something akin to sick e.t. – pathetic, weak, straining to stretch a withered little tendril at me, pleading for… well, i’m not sure what it’s pleading for… water? sunlight? plant food? a phone call to home? and therein lies the problem… i don’t know what it needs. i read that they basically thrive on water once a week and do well under fluorescent lights… and yet the poor plant's sickly pallor tells me that my office is a torture chamber and i'm an axe-wielding executioner. if only that little plant could speak to me...

this morning i awoke easily and was delighted to find that the menstrual fog invading my head for the past two days has dissipated. welcoming this renewed, peaceful feeling, i tended to my morning routine in a great mood. as i was buzzing about the kitchen, my attention was momentarily diverted to the window sill where i’ve been conducting a little science experiment.

for christmas, i received a lovely gift: a delicate little flower kit containing three flower bulbs and three very small vases. this seemed like my kind of gardening – put bulb in vase. add water. how easy! how wonderful! hopeful that i might actually be able to grow something, i merrily set about prepping my little garden. within moments of putting the kit together, though, i was reduced to base frustration – i manhandled two of the [square] bulbs into the [round] mouths of the mini-vases, but was starting to cuss up a storm trying to get the third one in. see, i didn’t really read the instructions… instead, i just glanced at the directions on the box, saw three short lines of copy and figured i knew exactly what to do… turns out i didn’t. if i had read the three short lines of instruction, i would have understood that the bulbs should have been gently placed on the mouth of the vase. i was jamming these little bulbs INTO the tiny vases instead of placing the bulbs ON TOP of the opening of the vase. after a few more curses, i tried to right my wrong by removing the stubborn bulbs from their miniature glass prisons. this, of course, did not work and i was quickly nearing the point of having a shattered little flower kit, because, in my unending patience, i would inevitably take the path of least resistance and just smash those little fuckers against the ground. defeated and re-affirmed in my failed green thumbery, i filled the three vases with water, gingerly placed them on my window sill, and said a little prayer to the higher flower power that they might make it, despite their less-than-desirable welcome into my home.

i’ve been checking in with those lovely little bulbs for the past couple of weeks, urging them along, dutifully maintaining the water level. and today i was rewarded with the most brilliant gift: a sprout. a SPROUT!! a lovely light green, small and delicate, little shoot has burst forth into this world. i thought i was having a great morning, but the sight of this darling new shoot sent me higher. godspeed, little bud. you survived a very rough beginning. i had the best intentions for you, yet i didn’t pay attention to the instructions, shoving you, pulling you, treating you without respect. and yet here you are despite my mistreatment, in all your beautiful glory, defiantly announcing yourself: bear witness, world! and i say, "welcome."

today i feel clear, sane, and strong - ready to recommit to the weight watchers plan with renewed conviction and intention. i am grateful to the delicate little bud that has courageously chosen to make itself visible, to show itself to this world, to me. little plant, thank you for helping me to see that i, too, can blossom, that i, too, can have the courage to be visible, and possess the strength and will power to achieve weight loss success.

memory loss, mammary gain

2008-01-24T18:19:00.000-08:00

wooooooo doggie! i am one messed up menstrual mutha right now. today the hormonal fog was so very thick. work was nearly unbearable. fortunately, there's a lot of activity going on outside of the office this week, so for the few of us who were in today, it was relatively mellow with minimal interaction. thank god. because the few interactions i did have with others were challenging. i was struggling to string coherent thoughts together much less speak whole sentences.

i do, however, possess enough clarity of mind to know that i'm making bad food decisions. and silly me, i'm trying to blame my bad decisions on the fact that "i'm menstrual. i don't know what i'm doing. i can't control anything right now."

yesterday i got an email from a girlfriend who was feeling extremely guilty after hunting down chocolate cake at work and devouring a very large piece, especially since she had been eating really healthy all day. after tapping off a cheerleadery reply of reassurance, i started thinking, (cue homer simpson drooley noise) "mmmmmm. chocolate caaaaaaake." and dammit if i didn't wander down to the vending machines and purchase one of those horrifying little dense bricks of diabetes-inducing mini chocolate cakes.

who's driving here??

i will say, though, that i thoroughly enjoyed every single point-loaded bite of that cake... so much so I BOUGHT ANOTHER ONE TODAY!!!!

i say again, WHO IS DRIVING HERE?

your turn at the wheel is up, whatever part of me that navigated my ass down to the vending machines. rational me is cutting through the excuses and the fogginess and taking the reigns. no more chocolate cake. no more vending machines. no more excuses. i know i can do. yes, it is challenging to retain mindful awareness especially since i momentarily have shit for brains. but i can and WILL do this.

i will have faith that my inner lighthouse will guide me through my temporary mental fog. onward to healthy frontiers! to weight loss! to feeling good in my skin! and away from the treacherous vending-machine-lined-shores.

because i'm classy that way

2008-01-22T17:55:00.000-08:00

one of my favorite sunday evening routines is fashion show. at the end of the weekend, i spend an hour or two raiding my closet, preparing cute outfits for the coming work week. i love everything about the routine: touching fabrics, playing with different garment combinations, coordinating colors/patterns, accessorizing. everything about fashion show delights me. but mostly i do it because when my tired ass rolls out of bed at the last possible minute in the morning, i know that i won't be late because i don't have to hem and haw in front of the closet for 40 more minutes trying to figure out what to wear.

today was no different. i wore a pretty wrap dress under a beautiful sweater with elegant lace detail. i paired the outfit with knee high black boots and spanx tights. i was sassing it up all over the office lookin' good and feelin' fine... the only downside to this kind of fabulousness is the spanx... and it's not really a downside because the benefits of spanx far outweigh any annoyance with them... until today...

on the weight watchers plan, i am required to drink a shitload of water every day... it goes to follow that i also take quite a few bathroom breaks... and with the bathroom breaks comes the wrangling of the spanx. getting into a clean pair of spanx first thing in the morning is a sight that no human should ever have to behold - it is a life or death struggle, often causing unnatural grunts and disfiguring twists that require the wearer to bend and torque in more ways than, say, an advanced yoga class would demand. profuse sweating and heavy breathing is sure to ensue... but dayum if those spanx don't smooth out every last bump, roll and dimple. spanx rule. getting in and out of them does not.

clever company that they are, the makers of spanx did their market research well... they even built in, for lack of a more dainty phrase, a giant pee hole so a lady would not have to spend additional time wrangling the spanx up and down in the confined space of a public bathroom stall. i, however, am not one of those gals who's really comfortable with the whole commando-pee-hole thing. i prefer to have all of my lady bits cloaked... so a-wranglin' i will go when i have to go... what i was not fully aware of, though, is that all my wrangling throughout the day left me strutting around the office with a rather unfortunately positioned visible panty line... or perhaps a more appropriate term would be visible pee-hole line. it wasn't until i got home tonight that i happened to catch a glimpse of my backside in the mirror...

behold the horror! the embarrassment! the... intrigue??? i had hiked my spank so far up that the giant pee hole was stretched to a visible position on my ass. the strain of the spanx, just doin' what spanx does best (holding in like sausage casing), was causing a terribly disfigured ledge to form as my gratuitous booty escaped through the pee hole. holy crap! did i seriously walk around all day looking like i had loaded pants (or rather, a cute little, albeit loaded, jersey wrap dress)?! christ!

oh well. what i'll hold onto today is 1. the ability to laugh at myself; and 2. how confident and comfortable in my skin i felt not only when i walked out the door this morning, but all day; and most important, 3. to always check myself out from the rear before leaving the house.

waiting for the dust to settle

2008-01-20T19:47:00.000-08:00

just wanted to give myself props for having a totally full and productive sunday:

got up at a decent hour
made a gourmet breakfast
did 6 or 7 loads of laundry
deep cleaned the kitties' area
re-arranged the living room furniture
cleaned the bedroom
scoured the kitchen
re-arranged and hung new photos
dusted
went for a family walk w/ my guy and the doggie
prepared an amazing dinner

and now that i sit and reflect, treating myself to an exquisitely made vodka tonic and finally kicking back, i can't help but think that something else besides sheer burst of energy drove my frenzied cleaning and re-arranging today. as i read over my list of accomplishments, the first word that comes to mind is MANIC. upon further reflection, i attribute this mania to three things:

full moon
pms-crazies
i have been running from something all day

i have long been witness to my own physical and mental changes when the moon is full. i am a believer that the full moon affects me. so, weirdness abound is to be expected. i also usually have some sort of pms insanity going on when the moon is full - this just compounds the complexity of any deep emotions that might come up right now. finally, shortly after i woke this morning, i decided that today i wanted to hang some new photos... none of the rest of the stuff on my day's list of accomplishments existed at this point. first thing i did was to thumb through some old photo albums. this is when the levee broke...

i happened upon a photo album from 7 or 8 years ago. the photos were from a time in my young adulthood where i was floundering, trying to figure out who i was and who/what/where i wanted to be/do/go. during that time, i found myself delving into a very very dark place, a place where i hid for a couple of years. it was a place of deep shame, hiding from true friends and family, a place of denial, lies. my life today resembles nothing of those dark years - nowadays, i aspire to exist as a being of light. i threw myself into years of therapy trying to 'figure it all out'. i grew up. made peace. moved on... or so i thought.

today i came across a photo album containing images from that troubled era of my past. the photographs stopped me cold in my tracks. i was looking at pictures of a girl i barely knew. and yet i was also looking into eyes that were deeply familiar. my stomach flipped as my eyes recognized a part of me from so long ago. i turned a page in the album. a hot burn rose to my cheeks as i remembered those days. i turned another page. faster and faster, i flipped through the pages of that album. i needed to flip past those photos faster, so they were no longer visible, so they were eclipsed by the exposure of the next page, and safely hidden. i feared that if i stayed too long examining any of those pictures, the girl from so long ago would creep back in, take over, send me into the flames of shame and darkness of those days. i got scared. i panicked. and yet, i could.not.put.the.album.down. i struggled to remember strange, pallid faces, club backdrops, half-lidded eyes and sleepy grins of people i used to hang out with. i could now barely remember those lost souls, none of whom i kept in contact with, all of whom are completely irrelevant to current me.

i've been running from those photos all day. i've been running from the memory of that girl all day. i've been cleaning and scouring my house ALL DAY because all i really wanted to do was clean and scour the me in those photos. the me in those photos was lost. i was broken. i was exploring the darkness because i didn't think i was worthy of the light. it was as if the act of cleaning of my home could cleanse not only my soul but also memories of the darkness i crept into during my early adulthood.

i think that rehashing the memory of the girl in those pictures, coupled with the fucked up friday night i had in the presence of another very dark being have led me to this place of feeling unsettled. i feel like some emotional dust was stirred up when i looked in that photo album - like the girl in those pictures never found true peace. throughout all those years of therapy, my work revolved around my formative years, the hurt and wounds of a child. my therapist and i NEVER TALKED about the fucked up shit that went down during my dark years.

i so desperately want resolution for that girl. i want peace for that girl. i want peace for me. but for right now, all i can do is be cognoscente of the deep feelings that came up for me today. soon i will be able to go back to that photo album and sit with each image, let each photo into the light, let it be exposed long enough for me to take in every detail. but for right now, all i can give is recognition.

i know you exist within me, dark girl. i know you haven't yet found peace. here is my promise to you: i will remember you. i will honor you. i will make room for you in my heart and in my memory. you are part of me. and together, we are whole.

about last night...

2008-01-20T00:23:00.000-08:00

to express her gratitude for helping her out while her car was recently in the shop, one of my co-workers (co-worker 1) invited me and my guy over for some wine and company. another co-worker (co-worker 2) who also played good samaritan would be joining usin the festivities, too. being the ever dutiful guy that he is, my guy reluctantly agreed to go and keep a good game face despite the fact that he feared we would be spending the evening mired in work talk. i've been at my current job for less than 4 months. new city. new job. no girlfriends. so it seemed like a fun thing to do to meet some gals from work for a few glasses of wine and some harmless office chatter. boy, was i wrong. upon our arrival, co-worker 1 greeted us innocently enough, poured us a glass of vino, and sat us down at a table full of hor d'oeuvres... then began talking... for 45 min straight... about her world. and this was just the beginning....

...over the course of the evening, co-worker 1 got drunk, and the drunker she got, the more hostile she got... especially towards me and my guy. it became increasingly clear that this gal's competitive nature runs deep and in a very dark, very sick way. my guy and i were basically fielding an attack of insults the entire time we were her 'guests'. let's see if i can tally up the body count:

endured about 30 min (no joke) of one question: "how much do you make." (30 min because i refused to answer and she refused to quit asking)
was called some variation of fat TO MY FACE one confirmed time and very possibly a second time
was ridiculed for living in one of the premier areas of town
was ridiculed for driving the car i drive
was told that the only reason i have my job is because she didn't want it
more times than i can count my guy was referred to as a douchebag because of the prestigious field of work he's in

SERIOUSLY?? next time, honey, a simple thank-you will do.

and where was everyone else during this barrage of barbs? right there, witnessing the verbal attack, DOING NOTHING. co-worker 2 sat around, meekly smiling, not offering much. co-worker 1's new roommate was equally as horrified, but glad to not be the victim of her attention for once. the best part, though, of this whole CRAZY evening, is that this gal, co-worker 1, was SO over the top with her venomous reception of us that we couldn't help but find humor in the whole debacle:

"stop being a liar, belly. how mush do you make?"
i haven't lied about anything and i'm not going to tell you. AND this question is entirely inappropriate.
"look, i don't really care. good. i'm glad for you. i'm happy you are doing well."
great. thanks.
"just tell me how mush you make."
nope.
"JUS' TELL ME HOW MUSH YOU MAKE!"
no.
"fine. then i'll [hiccup] stop helping you at work" (co-worker 1 is a glorified admin. i have an office. i rely on her to take care of glorified admin tasks to get my job done.)
aw, come on. i need you. you can't stop helping me.
"then tell me how mush you make."
nope.
"fine. i hate you. i'm quitting shoon, anyway."
really? you can't. what are we going to do without you?
"how mush do you make."
[silence]
"come on. don't be a liar. just tell me how mush you make."

relieved to finally be free from her negativity and darkness, at the end of the night my guy and i fell into our car and laughed the entire way home. "what the HELL was THAT??!" we giggled. the drive home was filled with chuckles and tittering at recounting just how utterly insane the whole ordeal was.

today, i found myself mulling over numerous flashbacks from last evening. i was a little unsettled at the fact that my day was consumed with recollection of yesterday evening's events. i finally realized that i should be grateful to co-worker 1. in a strange way, she solidified for me just how confident, strong and successful i am. among other insults, i stared down taunts of being called fat to my face (horror of horrors!!) with the grace and dignity of a wizened mother patiently batting away the irrational tantrum of a five-year-old. i have a very nice life. i have a great guy. i have a good job. and, most surprising to myself, i do not crumble under the weight of being called "big" in front of a room of people.

here's to finding peace. peace within ourselves, within our lives, in our relationships, with our jobs, with our bodies. peace be with you, co-worker 1.

crap. only three more days til d-day?!

2008-01-17T18:56:00.000-08:00

that delicious d-day is, of course, the weigh-in day... and i am sweatin' the load like crazy... why? because i'm starting to fall off the bandwagon and back on to the chuckwagon... my weigh-in last week was another nail-biter. i had talked myself into delaying the weigh-in by just one more day so i could get a really good day of eating healthy and exercise in, hoping that that one day would make up for a week's worth of half-assed healthy eating. much to my surprise, i overcame my fear of the scale and was delighted to find that 1. i had the courage to go through with the regularly scheduled weigh-in and 2. i was only up by half a pound.

there are a couple of things wrong here:
1. happy about being up by any amount is sick sick sick. seriously? the crazy shit i can talk myself into sometimes...
2. i have been playing fast and loose with the plan and have denied the inevitable repercussions of neglecting said plan.
3. trying to talk myself into delaying the weigh-in is the same kind of dangerous thought that will lead me down the road to perdition... i've spent years talking myself out of control with food and into denial about my true pant size.
4. the lion's share of two bottles of wine on a 'school' night is surely NOT part of the plan no matter how i try to fudge the ww points math. holy hell. what's happening to me??
5. i fear the scale, yet i am obsessed with the scale.

so here's how i'm going to right the wrongs:
1. be mindful of the goal at all times. what's the goal? LOSE weight... no more delusions of happiness because i narrowly escaped a huge increase by sustaining a small increase.
2. weigh-in day is hard and fast.
3. be mindful of the unhelpful talk that goes on in my head. eating healthy, exercise, being accountable, being AWARE - these are all qualities that will help me with the goal. when i catch myself trying to talk myself into one more glass of wine or food that i know ain't ww worthy, i will remember the goal. i will allow the negative thoughts in and let them exist, but i will not let them control my actions. (this one is going to be the hardest part, but i know i can do this.)
4. chill out with the cocktails. this one is also going to be difficult because i love me some wine. i love my down time, snuggling with my guy and/or the pets, and a nice glass of white in beautiful stemware. it feels decadent, luxurious - and i feel like i deserve the finer things. well, i also deserve to be healthy and to move with the grace and ease of a body unencumbered by XXL pounds.
5. the scale will not rule my life. i will stick to weighing in once a week on my designated day and not 15 times every day.

and above all, i will be gentle with myself as i move forward in this process. i am changing my lifestyle slowly, but surely. i have stuck with this plan for 8 weeks and have sustained a net loss of 5 pounds. these are huge accomplishments.

how about a fat-girl chair, 1-800-DENTIST?

2008-01-14T19:14:00.000-08:00

i am dying to get a ass in to see the dentist. it's been about two years and i could really use a good teeth cleaning. having moved to a new city a year ago, i have postponed this task for one reason and one reason alone:

i'm scared i'll be too fat for the dentist's chair.

i'm thinking about calling 1-800-DENTIST and asking if they can cross-reference a nearby dentist with my one need: an XXL chair to accommodate my XXL butt. surely 'fat-girl chair' is one of the metrics listed in their database ('5,10,15 mile radius from home' ; 'male or female dentist'; 'type of insurance accepted'; 'chair size'...)

of course, this is an irrational fear. i'm not too much larger than i was when i last saw a dentist. i fit comfortably in the chair then. i'm certain (this is rational me talking here) that i will fit comfortably in my new dentist's chair.

but still (irrational me, here), i have this catastrophic fantasy of waddling into the exam room, boom-boom, boom-boom. the ground quivers beneath my short, heavy strides. i squeeeeeeeeeeeze into the chair (because in my catastrophic fantasy the shelf holding the tools doesn't move and is permanently perched over the chair, like a vice). the metal chair groans under my girth, threatening to lurch over, sending me smearing across the feet of the delicate, little hygienist and spilling sterile dental tools across the floor. i barely breathe for fear of shifting the seat, causing the aforementioned upset. fearing my hefty jaw might snap closed on her small hands, the hygienist dons metal diving gloves, the kind that protect divers from the razor sharp teeth of man-eating sharks, before climbing the 'extension-ladder' that allows her to perch over my mass and attend to my recommended routine teeth cleaning.

i jest. i know it won't be that bad. deep down, here's what i'm really scared of: i will be rejected by the dentist because i don't fit into the dental chair and she/he will have to decline to help me. ouch. that would suck so bad. utter humiliation.

well, i'll tell you what, Utter Humiliation, i'm making room for you. come on in. there's room for you to exist in my heart and in my head because i know that the fear driving you is only a means of self protection. i know that your best intention is to protect me from the world. and i love you for that. i appreciate what you are doing. but i'm taking the reigns now. i've got this one handled. i'm going to make a dentist appointment this month because i am taking care of my body and my teeth need to be cleaned. it is not likely that i won't fit in the chair. it is not likely that the dentist or the hygienist will even remember me after my appointment. they see tens of folks a day for recommended routine teeth cleaning. but even if i don't fit in the chair, even if the dentist or his/her hygienist declines to attend to me, i'll take my business elsewhere. and it will be ok.

it will be ok. and if the chair does collapse under me... i'll sue their asses.

crossroad

2008-01-12T14:27:00.000-08:00

last night i had a strange dream. it felt foreign, as if it didn't belong to me. like someone else was dreaming inside my head. in the dream, i felt unsettled and unhappy about my surroundings...

my guy and i found ourselves in a new apartment, but much to our dismay, it was in complete disrepair. the old tenant was still moving the last of his furniture out while we were there. he noted a particularly large hole in the hardwood floor, damage he took responsibility for. when the old tenant finally vacated, i walked around the new place, horrified that the landlord hadn't cleaned, repainted, repaired in anticipation of our arrival. while surveying the cleaning and repair that needed to be done, i was momentarily able to see beyond the dirt and admire the amount of living space in the apartment, as well as the unique layout. however, my ability to see beyond the immediate needs of the apartment soon dissipated into my horror and discomfort at the current state of the place. so much was my discontent that we ended up in another apartment. this one, although clean and freshly painted, was much smaller and felt equally unsuitable for living. the layout was uninspired, the colors clashed and there was carpet (i HATE carpet - it's like a giant, permanent dirt trap.)

it's rare that i ponder my dreams upon waking. even the dreams that leave me unsettled or scared or feeling wonderful - i might give a moments thought to them, but the memory of them soon disappears into the grind of the day. though there is one type of dream that will give me pause... dreaming of my home, a house, an apartment, any space where i take up residence - these are the dreams that float around my thoughts well into the day...

a few months after i really started getting in to therapy, i had a conversation with my guy in which i intimated to him the details of a particularly powerful dream i had the nite before: i was throwing my mom out of my house (at the time i was doing A LOT of work in therapy around breaking negative patterns learned from my mom). the dream was rife with emotion, emotion that stayed with me well into the day. after patiently listening to my dream recap, my guy gently proposed that the "house" in my dream was actually a metaphor for me, my Self. hmmm. it made sense. i was consumed with identifying and changing negative legacies inherited from my mother and my days were filled with emotion from healing my mother issues. so it would make sense that the subconscious of my dreams would capture the intensity of my daytime consciousness. the dream in which i threw my mom out of my house meant that i was healing. it meant that i was throwing her out of my head, my heart, my Self. i was reclaiming me for Me.

this is why i remember the dreams where my home is a main character. dreams of home are like my internal compass. reflecting on those dreams provides an accurate sense of what's really going on with me. so, after an entire afternoon contemplating the weird dream i had last night, i feel good about the direction my internal compass is pointing. here is the message my True Self gave to me last nite:

You are at a crossroads. You are at the place you have been many times before on Your journey towards a peaceful, loving relationship with Your Body. a familiar part of You, the part of You that has done much damage by abusing food, is moving out, allowing a new part of You to move in. yes, this mentality is foreign, yes it is unsettling, yes there is much work to be done to restore the relationship between Your Body and Mind, but We will do it together. You have the strength to walk this new path. You know what the other path looks and feels like and it has brought You here, to this crossroad. Your Body is sacred. It welcomed the last tenant and bravely endured that part of You. It is scarred and heavy and damaged, but not beyond repair. Your Body is Yours. It is ready to receive love and care and attention.

i've really been struggling with weight watchers this past week. i've found i'm at the place i've been many times before... i managed to eek my weight down a few pounds but, like so many times before, my good intentions and work fall to the wayside and i go back to shitty eating behaviors. the other day i offered up a prayer that i get through the next couple of 'crazy' weeks without blowing my ww plan. i think my dream last night answered my prayer.

and to my Self i say I am ready to give.

crazy-making lady bits

2008-01-10T17:56:00.000-08:00

ah heightened hormones... sometimes ye are the bane of my very existence. i can count on you to make me an absolutely unrecognizable nut-job for a good two to three (and sometimes, if i'm lucky, four) solid weeks out of the month. my respite from emotional helter skelter has once again given way to all out bat-shit-crazies...

last nite it started innocently enough and without my knowing... i ran around the house after work in a cleaning frenzy... but not just any cleaning frenzy. it was the type of frenzy that would put any ADD, sugar addled kid to shame. the frenzied cleaning part wasn't the problem. the problem was that i could only spend 30 - 45 seconds on a task before jumping into the next thing... before finishing all the various chores that i started, i ended up crashed out on the bed, drooling on a crossword puzzle. this is how my guy found me when he came home.

"did you overdose?" he asked coyly, noting my unnatural, splayed position on the bed and my drooly crossword.

"unghHHHHH" was my irritated response.

"you look like you've taken big game tranquilizers.... what's wrong wit.... uh oh. are you... premenstrual?" he gingerly asked as he slowly backed out of the bedroom.

judging from the way he flattened himself against the wall and tried to sneak out of there unnoticed, i knew he was bracing for some kind of maniacal response from me. fortunately, through my menstrual induced crazy-haze, i was able to see the hilarity in the moment and started to laugh.

the rest of the evening held more of the same... me chattering on like a crazed chatty cathy one moment, then falling into a near-coma stupor the next... following my guy around while he cleaned up all my half-finished cleaning projects... today, however, was much more tolerable. though i can sense the emotional instability creeping into my sanity like the first wisps of menstrual fog crawling forth from the shore, today was somewhat back to normal. all bets are off for tomorrow though...

so while i have the clarity of mind (at least i think i do), i'd like to offer up a little prayer that i make it through the next couple of weeks without too much fallout from 'altered me'. and even if it gets really crazy up in 'dis muuuug, there's room for it. just please, god, jah, allah, goddess, please, regardless of the insanity i may suffer in the coming days, please help me stick to something that even remotely resembles my daily weight watchers points... and even if i can't do that, just help me from careening too far off into an ocean of chocolate.

i am woman. hear me roar. then laugh. then cry. then laugh again. then laugh harder. then cry again, laughing a little while crying. then yell. then cry some more. then.....

me want food

2008-01-08T18:14:00.000-08:00

i am struggling. the past two days have been particularly difficult for me with food. i find myself abiding by the weight watchers guidelines until i get home from work, then i eat non-stop – right up until bedtime - wracked with guilt for doing so.

Why?

‘because i’m hungry' is my immediate response. this is no real answer, though. this is the lazy reply of a little kid. rarely do i bother delving a little deeper, asking myself “hungry for what?” instead, i feel that gnawing presence of my belly, mistake it for physical hunger, and without thinking, without really feeling what’s going on inside me, i head to the kitchen and start scouring the cupboards. there is a sickness in my scavenging but there is also comfort. i know this routine is not good for me, yet i don’t allow myself to pause and figure out what it is i’m REALLY starving for.

a few days ago, i started pondering addiction, my addiction: food. i quietly focused while trying to duplicate the feeling that i get when i’m in the midst of a binge, stuffing anything, everything as fast as I can down my gullet. you know what i came up with? what i felt? numbness.

binge eating brings numbness.

it's not really a 'void' or 'nothing' or blankness'; 'nothing' suggests the absence of anything. numbness, however, suggests the presence of something, yet an inability to engage it. when i succumb to the 'need to feed' i am, in essence, a friggin' zombie. instead of clamouring for more "par-ee-medics", i find myself trying to sate my hunger with a pear, an apple and peanut butter, a reese's candy bar, a frozen pizza, a handful of triscuits, a few olives, a handful of craisins, creme brulee that's been in the freezer long enough to develop a crystallized winter city on it's surface... eating and eating until the needle on my internal fuel tank rises well past "full".

this is what i can do for myself at this moment: 1. be aware of my comfort in numbness and 2. honestly record the points of everything i eat. and this is enough for now. it's ok
that i ate thirteen points more than my daily weight watchers allotment. i am aware and accountable. getting to the next level will come...

as daunting as the journey to a sound relationship with food may seem, there is light at the end of the tunnel… actually, it's closer than the end of the tunnel. this very moment i’m blessed with the presence of light and the calm it brings. this afternoon at work, a gal from another department ambled by, peeping her head into my office, whispering about pie leftover from afternoon office festivities in her department, "hurry up and get it! it needs to be gone before the end of the day" - the way she said it - the low, husky tone of her voice, the breathless, hurried excitement of a gilded secret, the glimmer of diabetic shock in her eye - it was as though she was intimating sacred directions - from one fat girl to another - about how to find the treasure. before heading off to extend her invite to another gal, she mentioned something about eating too much pie herself, worrying about having it go straight to her capricious ass and feeling guilty about how much of it she ate. girlfriend, i know the guilt of which you speak all too well.

perhaps it was the tone of her words. perhaps it was the fact that she chose to disclose the bounty of pie to only a few folks in my area, including me. or perhaps it was the way she denied herself absolute delight over an afternoon piece of pie by decrying her largess and therefore her right to wholly enjoy a simple piece of pie. (or perhaps it was the three 1-point weight watchers chocolate cakes i had already devoured over the course of this afternoon...) maybe it was all of these together that gave me pause. i was left a little stunned at her own admonishment of self, and, well, it felt very familiar. i'm grateful to this office pie cryer. strangely, her words left me feeling at peace with the pie, peace that was strong enough and steadfast enough for me to hold on to it through the evening. normally one to jump at the invitation of free sweets, this time I didn’t feel the need to quietly sneak attack the snack table in the pie department. it feels good to not need food just because it's there. it feels good to be offered something yummy and to be able to turn it down. it feels like peace. it FEELS.

and so it is this serenity that comes from saying "no" that i choose to hold on to as i go home tonight. i don't need to reverse carpet bomb the fridge. i am strong enough to confront whatever it is that i've been eating down these past couple of days. i invite it to the surface and offer it a place in my heart, and room in my belly.

one more f.u...

2008-01-04T23:07:00.000-08:00

oh yeah. and one more big f.u. to ill-fitting, cheaply made fat girl jeans. no more. out with the old, unflattering, bought-in-an-

exasperated-state because-there-was-nothing-else-
that-fit and-i'm-a-shopaholic jeans and in with the judiciously-purchased, fabulous wardrobe items.

it is pouring today - a welcome winter sigh in this crusty, old, dry city. running the few yards from a primo parking spot to my back door left me utterly drenched. with all of my 'after-work' attire crumpled up under weeks worth of laundry, donning comfy dry duds for the remainder of fun-ass friday proved to be a challenge... piles upon piles of laundry in the hamper(s) means slim pickins in the wardrobe. it is rare that i find myself choosing between those articles of clothing that have somehow survived multiple decades and the crap that made its way to the bottom of the pile because, well, it's shitty... but tonight was one of those nights. i found 'em. the ill-fitting, slightly too big in all the wrong areas, cheap denim jeans that i bought for a bargain at one of my favorite discount stores... and i've been tugging, pulling, and picking at them uncomfortably all night.

in the spirit of the new year, new beginnings, cleaning out the old and eschewing in the brand spankin' new, these shitty fat girl jeans are going right in the trash. tonight. ...along with the lack of sense that led me to purchase such jeans...

f.u., weight watchers

2008-01-04T17:58:00.000-08:00

a few weeks ago i took the plunge for a second time - the plunge being that scary-ass dip into the pool of organized weight loss. having heard myriad recent success stories from girlfriends and my folks, i decided to sign up with weight watchers online. gag. i was totally riding the high from the contagious excitement of hearing stories of 13 lbs lost! 11 lbs lost! someone else with a resounding 30 lbs lost!! i want that for me! so, with great expectations and ample courage i signed up with ww.

now this is not the first time ww and i have crossed paths. the first time i decided to jump on the bandwagon, and off the chuckwagon, was a few years ago when the ww lady came a-callin' at my place of work. she brought with her a veritable eden of healthy lifestyle changes, promises of weight loss at my own pace, PERMANENT loss, and all the while eating real food. hell yeah. where do i sign? the charm and charisma of ww wore off in exactly 1 and 1/8 meetings. little did i know that i was to become completely demoralized and shamed beyond repair by the weigh in of the second meeting. as i see it, i was doomed from go for a few reasons: 1. the weekly meetings took place at the corporate offices where i worked. (what the HELL was i thinking??) 2. the program happened to coincide with some fairly intense therapy around emotional eating. (SERIOUSLY. what was i thinking?!) 3. i gained 2 freaking pounds in the first week, and to my horror, was called out by the very same ww woman who, just a week earlier, promised me eden.

"oh" she said when, having summoned more courage than i thought possible, i stepped onto the public-scale-of-shame in front of a long line of my co-workers.

"two pounds up?" queried the voice of damnation. i could feel my shame burning the skin right off my chest and face in the form of a deep blush. i felt exposed. desperate. i wanted her to stop talking. just shut up. just shut the hell up, lady!!

"well what's going on? are you following the program?" i think it was at this point that i started to stammer on about some pitiful excuse. i had already spent more time on the public-scale-of-shame than the other folks who weighed in before me. i felt like every moment longer i had to stand up there and explain why i gained two friggin' pounds was drawing more attention to myself, to my weight gain, to my failure. i felt raw and vulnerable and it did.not.feel.safe...

finally free of the weigh-in humiliation, i dutifully folded in with the rest of the group who were now happily chirping amongst themselves about their successes over the week. one of the ladies-from-accounting (one who was always particularly nasty to me) plopped down next to me and challenged me, "so how much weight did YOU lose this week?" i told her i'd rather not talk about it. she stared a moment longer at me and harumphed around in her seat to chat up someone else. i sat for a few moments longer with the group, while hot, embarrassed tears struggled to spill over - my best intentions not to cry trying to hold them back. i think i stayed for a few moments longer before i quietly got up and went to the bathroom. where i proceeded to silently sob. weep. it was horrifying. here i was at my place of business and i was just branded with a scarlet "2" in front of co-workers on the public-scale-of-shame and now i was crying in the last stall in the ladies restroom.

needless to say i did not return to the meeting... i didn't return to any of the meetings even though i had paid in full for a few months. so you can understand that it was a particularly big decision on my behalf to sign up once more with good ole ww. this time, however, it felt quite a bit different. i signed up online so i wouldn't have to face the public-scale-of-shame... even if it was in front of supportive strangers.

imagine my horror resurfacing in completely new ways this time. my first week was more of a test run - an eye-opener, if you will. i was made acutely aware of just how much i was eating in a single day... just how much BEYOND what i was supposed to be eating to start losing at a slow, steady pace. resisting the urge to just not record a point or two, i decided that i would take the challenge and write down every last point of every last bite i took. i felt ready. this felt different from before. even though it was scary, it still felt safe to take this challenge.

after being on ww for one week, and facing down my first weekly weigh-in, this is what i have to say about the whole experience:

dear ww,
F.U.
how dare you make me write out every single god-forsaken thing i put into my mouth.
how dare you give me 31 measly points to eat a day - points that taunt my every meal and snack and glass of wine and glass of wine and glass of wine.
how dare you.
the past four days have been eye-opening, indeed, you scoundrel...
i am now wholly aware of just how many resplendent calories i consume on a daily basis - how could i not be, when, at the end of day one, i had exceeded my 31 points by an additional 20 points...
at the end of day two i drunkenly type in the last of my caloric intake, and you mockingly return a daily tally of 45 points!
this after i starved myself all day for you...
today you greeted me with an excited declaration, a declaration full of hope and of good-things-to-come: Today is your weight tracking day! and as giddy as a newly initiated sorority girl, i gleefully respond to your excitement by hauling out the dirty old scale, the harbinger of doom, for you. with joy in my heart and a lightness in my step, i get on, anxiously awaiting the result, as you promised, to shed 1 pound, or, if lucky, 2 glorious pounds.
imagine my horror to see the digital readout floundering 1 or 2 pounds HIGHER than my start weight.
your only acknowledgment comes in the form of a silent, mocking small orange incline on the weight tracker chart.
F.U. ww.
i dream of going home after work today and sulking into a pint of haagen daas.
yet you deal the final, cruel blow, demanding that i get out and move my ass if i want that damn ice cream, and even then, you only allow me 1/2 cup.

damn! this is exactly the demoralizing turn of events that happened to me the last time i tried ww. i totally started panicking, ate everything in sight and GAINED weight. but this time will be different. this time i'm not responsible to some lame ww nazi who will publicly chastise me in front of the rest of my co-workers who are waiting to get weighed. this time i am responsible to myself.

i am bound and determined to ride this out. i'm going to give myself the space to get over the initial freak out and let it be ok if i gain weight at the start of this. i will stick with it. i will succeed. i will be kind to my body. it will be hard and i will stumble. but i will stick with it...

and i have stuck with it... for five weeks now. and i have actually lost 7 lbs. and that feels really f'ing good.

whaddya expect if you never take a risk?

2008-01-03T18:27:00.000-08:00

not too long ago, my guy and i were fondly recounting his success in the last couple of years - he's worked really hard and has quite a bit to show for it - music that's noticed, a funny website, a fantastic dream job. at some point in our conversation, i wondered why i couldn't count the same kind of successes for myself- i mean i, too, am really passionate - and about so much! so why is it that my repertoire of worldly talents has gone unnoticed?? i mean i AM fabulous for cryin' out loud!

"whaddya expect if you never take a risk?" my guy innocently asked me.

blink. blink.

"you have a lot of projects and you are talented at so many things... but the difference between you and me is that i actually take the risk and put my shit out there... out there to be seen, to be judged on my creativity by an elusive anonymous." weisenheimer. ok. i get it. my guy is talented AND sensible. i'll show him i can take a risk... right after i prove it to myself...

so here i come, risk. here i come. here's my attempt at openness and blatant honesty in the face of unknown judgement. and yet, before i can start taking risks with my fashion or photography or jewelry making, before i can display those projects to the world, i've got to start with baring that which is closer to home. here's my attempt at finding peace, at gingerly tending a beautiful blossom of self - even in the dead of winter. i'm ready to be visible. i'm ready to take the ultimate risk and bare myself right down to my big ol' belly...

i have spent A LOT of my life in the throes of recurring negative thoughts about self and body... mostly, my not nice thoughts target my stomach region. i am an emotional eater. i carry more weight than my bones should have to bear. since i can remember, food has served secondarily as fuel, a means of life, and primarily as a means to sanity, safety, discomfort, and psychosis. i stuff, therefore i am. i stuff and stuff and stuff. and my belly takes it. it takes all the food and emotion i can shove down. and it holds it. my belly stretches and expands and adapts to all my neuroses. i have spent far too long hating and shaming myself, specifically my big, beautiful soft belly - symbol of feminine, mother, center of my self.

for holding me in your soft embrace for so very long, Belly, i am ready to risk vulnerability, shame, fear, and embarrassment in the name of release, in the name of health. you deserve a much needed break from holding me - holding me in, holding me up - while i've been holding you down, Belly. you deserve love and appreciation.

today i accept change. i welcome my feminine. i cherish the center of my self. i seek to nurture my self. this is the challenge i accept - to use my voice and my words to heal, to resist using food to choke. today i honor my body, my belly and will continue to so through daily posts, songs from my truest, depth - notes from my belly.