Catching Up

So, hello blogdience. I'm back - did, um, you know I was gone? Probably not - but, hey, here's today's entry.

As you know, my friend Mike moved away. So, now that Mike is gone, I'm not really looking to date. At the same time, I'm not necessarily NOT looking to date, either.

A few weeks ago, an old aquaintance and I ran into each other at an outdoor concert. I caught up on his life, he caught up on mine ...

We've met three times since then - tonight being the third time. Here's how I'm feeling on it.

Torn. On the one hand, I don't feel a drastic, dreadful NEED to see him or hang out with him. However, when I am with him, I feel very comfortable, very serene ... and in relationship to my past relationships: BO-Ring. Although our excursions have been anything but.

Our first excursion was to the Gay Pride parade, at which we ended up on the float that his company had in the parade. Our next excursion was the next week, when he stopped by my work just as I was finishing up for the day to tell me he was just laid off - could I go walk with him for a while so he can process that?

Both excursions were kind of like walking into a minefield for me. Big emotion, big expectation, I guess. He asked me out for tonight, and I was kind of like ... eh. Ok.

Tonight we went to a concert at a neighborhood festival. And tonight was really nice. We sat on the grass and listened to the music and just talked. Conversation flowed easily, we laughed, we chilled. It was a really ... nice night.

But, it's been bothering me: Why does he want to hang out with me? He's had to have noticed that I am about, oh, I don't know, fifty pounds heavier than the last time he saw me. In fact, it could even be sevently pounds more - I got down to 180 when I knew him before, and if I'm at 243 now ... In my experience, that's got to gross a guy out. I mean, there's no way he could want anything to do with me. I'm horrendous. I'm an embarrassment. So why the phone calls? Why the invites out?

I want to do like Oprah in her Chicago interview and say, "I'm overweight you know." But I'm stopping myself from bringing up anything about weight. I'm trying to just be and allow.

So, we're sitting in the back of the crowd, on a little bit of a hill, and he lays down. I'm sitting up, and we're talking. Then, I decide, OK. Let's just let this happen. I lay down too. We continue talking, and then: he gently takes and holds my hand.

I am absolutely shocked. The only thing I keep thinking is that the people walking by must be thinking: uch. What is that guy (he's quite tall and thin) doing with that fucking hulk of a woman?

That was it. That was my thought. Not "oh, this is nice." or "oh how sweet." I wanted to pull my hand out of his to spare him the embarrassment of having touched me in public.

But I didn't. I just stayed with the hand holding.

But it bothered me immensely. I mean, really - his even being seen in public with me goes against EVERY THING I KNOW OF HOW MEN RELATE TO WOMEN. No joke. Everything I know is that a man will marry a thin woman, and a thin woman only. And if that woman goes and gets fat during the marriage ... well, you can't divorce a woman for getting fat. But you can divorce yourself from any public assocation with her; ie, dancing, hugging, or generally claiming her as your own to anyone who doesn't know any better. You just kind of meet her at the car at the end of the night, drive home in silence, and fuck her at three in the morning, when it's the darkest of the dark of night, thus the least amount of visibility.

God what depressing thoughts. Ich. I don't even want to read about these horrible thoughts.

So, back with Tom on the grass holding my hand. After staring up at the sky for what seemed like an interminable amount of time, I had to ask. I mean, he's holding my hand, a guy doesn't hold a girl's hand who he just wants as a card playing partner.

I turn to him, and I say, "So, why do you want to hang out with me?"

He looks at me, a little stunned, kind of laughs, and says, "You look at me so sternly as you say that: 'WHY do you want to be with me?'"

I laugh a little, and say, "Well. ... Why?"

He looks at me and says, "Well, because I like hanging out with you. You're pretty. And you're easy to be around."

I scoff a little, I'm skeptical, and quite honestly, a lot of people find me easy to be around. Rather, I should say, I don't consider that to be much of a magical experience. I say, "Well, a lot of people find me easy to be around. That's not necessarily anything special you and I have exclusively together."

He accepts my comment, and says, "I'm into the hang time right now. The sex, the physical part of it, if the hang time is good, the sex will be good too. I just want to be able to have somebody that I like being with. And I like being with you."

I look back up at the sky, taking that in. I register how nice it feels to simply be holding hands. His hand is warm, the feeling is nice. I am still uncomfortable with what other people must think, but he seems so fine with it that I decide maybe I shouldn't care. He doesn't care. And maybe ... maybe nobody else cares either.

I don't say anything. He says, "Do you not like holding my hand?"

I say, no it's nice.

He says, teasingly, but he's fishing for my response; "Is it too much, too fast, too weird, too gross ... "

I laugh and say no. I turn back and say, "I'm trying to just be with it and not overanalyze it."

He looks at me with complete sincerity and says, "I think that's just right."

And then we lay there, just looking up at the night sky, holding hands.

That's it for today. Thanks for listening. Until next time.

Sexy Weight Loss

Scale this morning said 247.

A calm has come over me since reaching my goal of 250. And, I'm finding I'm finding my true sense of self and style.

Saturday I went out to do some of my census work. My regular work clothes were dirty, but I had a black shirt dress that I had just bought.

I was surprised to find that I felt fear putting the dress on. For one, it's an item of clothing that I think only thin people should wear. The other thing that was interesting was this nagging feeling that I would get raped wearing something like that.

The rape thought was interesting to me - it wasn't that I was attractive enough to be raped, which is in and of itself an interesting thought. But, the thought that it would be so easy for someone to just lift up the skirt, rip down the panties, and go. I felt a feeling of dread, of "putting it out there," of "asking for it" as I walked out the door.

I went and knocked on some doors, and one woman let me in. She neither complimented my outfit or complained. I just ... was. I realized she had no prior expectations of me or my clothing choices, and what I was wearing was just fine.

But then, I decided to go walk along the lakefront on my walk home. As I walked toward the beach, I had three guys smile and say hi to me. They were not threatening. They were not attacking me. They were simply offering ... attention.

This was a big deal to me. I haven't had a guy look at me since I started this whole weight gain experience. Or, if they have, I haven't been noticing.

So, the guys were heavy themselves, I'm not going to say they were gods giving me winks and nods. However, having their reactions made me realize what attraction is all about.

I was finally at a point of acceptance of myself, and I think that is what these guys picked up on and reacted to. It took a lot of courage for me to go out in that dress - a dress that would be considered conservative and non-sexy on any body. But I did it, and I felt calm for the first time in my life about wearing a dress. I was not worrying about who would find my outfit slutty, like I feel when I'm thin; or dumpy, which is how I feel when I am fat. I simply was wearing something that I liked. I was presenting ... me.

I think some of my co-workers are unwittingly reacting to my new sense of self as well. This weekend, a couple of the guys asked me if I've lost weight. I found this to be a nice little irony, but at the same time, emotionally, I feel like I have. Like a weight has been lifted. I think it comes across to other people.

That's all for today. Thanks for listening. Until next time.

Mission Accomplished.

I. did. it.

250 pounds.

I set the goal.

I attained the goal.

That's all I have for today.

Two Pounds and A Rose

I've started sketching at night to express how I'm feeling about things. Last night's sketch consisted of a female runner just about reaching the finish line, her foot stretched to cross but it not quite being there yet, her hand reaching out for the finish line ribbon but not quite having a hold on it yet either.

It's how I feel. I feel I have been running a very long race, and that I am finally almost across the finish line. The finish line is the 250 pound mark on the scale.

I sincerely feel this. I feel like I am just a step away from the pinnacle of the mountain. I feel like I stopped just short of it a while ago, and couldn't figure out why I wasn't able to start down the other side of the hill. It's cuz I never reached the top of the hill in the first place.

I am truly scared about hitting 250. I feel like my body will completely shut down. I'm afraid I will go into some type of dyabetic coma. I'm afraid I'll have cardiac arrest. I'm afraid of all these things. Yet, all I can tell you, is that I must reach this goal or I will spin at this weight forever. The tip of the mountain is very clear to me now. I just have to get there so I can start the adventure that awaits on the other side.

Quick story from yesterday. So, here I am, feeling like I am this beast of a woman, just shy of 250, totally unloveable and unattractive, when one of my customers brings me a rose. He brought it because he's been not showing up to the appointments we've booked; I don't get mad that he doesn't show, I just don't know why he keeps booking appointments to work on a project he doesn't seem to want to do. Anyway, he tells me he's stopping by today, and he's got this all wrapped nicely with a piece of greenery and a ribbon to hold it together. He presents it to me. I say, "Oh, my gosh, can I hug you for this? This is so nice!" So I hug him. And right then, I got it. Or, at least a piece of it: love is this simple. And you can't not love others. This guy is married, he loves his wife. But there is something about me he loves as well. Maybe he can tell I'm hiding in my weight right now, maybe he just likes me and wanted to give me a gift. I don't know his intentions - I do know that they felt pure and simple and that somehow, there was something in me that clicked, that jogged, that felt safe in being loving and joyful with everyone.

As I went home that night, carrying my nicely wrapped rose, many people on the bus or on the street would catch sight of it, and their eyes would light up and they'd smile. Some would say, "Oh, is it your birthday?" To which I would resond, "No, it's just a random gift. Isn't that nice?" And they would smile and say, "It sure is. It's a beautiful flower." Others, who had been walking down the street with scowls on their faces, seemingly lost in thought, unwittingly brightened upon seeing that simple little coral colored rose. Still others just gave sideways glances at it, seemingly trying to look at its beauty for as long as possible without being obvious about it - almost like trying to sneak away a bit of it's enjoyment without being found out.

I found all those reactions interesting. Not only did I benefit from receiving this flower, but other people benefitted somehow, too. Just seeing that someone got a flower from someone seemed to imply that love was exchanged. Didn't matter what form of love, just that some form of love and care was given and received. And other people seemed to feel a bit of it by seeing the floral representation of that exchange. It was a pretty amazing experience. The flower garnered so many looks of joy, or brought smiles to faces that were otherwise scowls, it occured to me that maybe love really is the greatest form of protection - I felt safer walking down the street than I ever have, as if people wanted to protect that delicate flower so much that, as the carrier of the lovely thing, I was protected as well. I truly wondered if it work as well as a gun if I were in an inner-city neighborhood. Would the love be so protected there? Or would there be attmepts to destroy it? I was simply amazed at how much of a protective shield that little flower felt like.

It was an interesting and lovely experience. Thanks for listening. Until next time.

Sexy

Couple things.

Yesterday, I got on the scale. 245 pounds.

God. Dam itt.

So, I got thinking about it. And I thought, well, long ago, I had a set a personal goal for myself of getting up to 250 pounds. That way, it felt to me, I could live in 125 pounds and emotionally bury 125 pounds, leaving my dead twin spirit at a viable, healthy non-existent weight. I don't know why that feels so right to me. But it feels right. Yes, I've considered therapy. I've more than considered it - I've done hypno-therapy, psycho-therapy, postive psychology therapy ... believe me, if there's a therapy out there, I've done it. However, this little weight gaining experiment seems to be opening up more stuff and hastening things along more than any therapy I've done.

Yesterday at work, a couple of my male co-workers started chatting with me about how we're all coming on this 8 Pounds in 8 Weeks program, for which I am the Captain of at work. One said he's lost half a pound; the other said he's been excercising, but just can't seem to get a pound off his body. In my head, I'm thinking to myself, It's because you aren't really ready to take the weight off yet. I didn't say that though. I'm trying to learn to let people discover their own lives instead of me "gracing" them with my knowledge of what they should or should not be doing. ;)

Anyway, I mentioned how I've gained weight since we started it. I said, that's typical me, even if I'm the one acting as my own authority, I buck it. That struck me hard when I said it - I do buck it. Any goal I set, I immediately seek to destroy it. It got me thinking about my goal to get to 250 pounds. And how far did I get? 243. J u s t s h y of the goal. No quite, but close enough. Just like my life. Not quite. And close enough.

I thought, you know what, I need to hit that goal. I had set it, and as crazy as it might sound, knowing that I can follow through on ANY goal I set for myself would be wonderful. So why not set up an easy mark - with a negative goal? Sounds like a doable goal to me.

On the way home last night, I went to Whole Foods to read. The one they recently built down on North and Sheffield is amazing, and I wanted to be around people and not go home.

I went and bought treats to eat while I read. Last night it was two pieces of cherry pie and some brownie bites. As I made the purchase, I wondered why I always felt it so important to eat while reading.

Then, as I sought out a place to sit, I was hit with more thoughts. I saw all these people there, working on projects together, eating together, laughing together. I saw girls, look like roommates having fun buying groceries together. I saw guys, are they friends? A couple? working their way through the aisles as well. Moms and kids. All these different groups of people, sharing an experience.

I've never really known what it's like to have that experience. I've always kind of been a loner, and always hung out with loners. People who didn't go shopping together. For anything - not clothes, not groceries, not home improvement items. I've been noticing people shopping at my job at The Home Depot. I could not imagine going there with my girlfriends. Who's fault is that - mine, for not inviting them? I suppose so.

Anyway, this is totally rambling, but back to that conversation with the male co-workers about losing the weight. I did make a comment about not being ready to lose it. I said, "I suppose people couldn't figure out why I gained all this weight, but I'll tell you - it's a lot easier here than it is thin. Thin means guys deciding they want to harness my outgoing-ness and make it their own. I don't want anyone harnessing me. I want to be able to talk with you, and you, and whoever else I want to talk with, and I don't want to be told I can't or have a guy think I want more than just the moment of conversation that we are having together. I can do that at this weight. I don't like a lot of things about being this weight - but that part I do like. I like that part a lot. It's very safe here, and I think I'm going to be here until I know how to manevuer through life otherwise."

One of the guys just kind of walked off, like, what a load of bullshit. The other, though, looked at me with what seemed to be new eyes. I could see he never thougth that somebody might have literally thought about keeping the weight on. I think we all think that weight is this unconcious *THING* that nobody can seem to *CONTROL* - well, some people can. But the ones that can are annoying, self righteous bitches and pricks. Choose to be fat? Benefits to being fat? I could see that it had never occurred to him.

But it was bothering me after I said it outloud. Because, in some respects, it is a load of bull. Or, rather, more like this: somewhere in my psychological pursuits, I heard it said that having a revelation, for example, "I am mean because my parents beat me," is only revelatory in that moment. We should not, pardon the pun, revel in our revelations. We realize them, and then we work to move past them.

Most of us don't, though. We stay in them. I'm a bitch to my sister because she was a bitch to me. I am not nice to my aunt because she was never nice to me. I can be an asshole because my dad was an asshole to me. In general, I can hurt other people because somewhere along the way, somebody hurt me. We all operate on this motto. Poor, poor me - so fuck you.

My little share with the guys spun in my head all day. I've known for quite a few years now that I have a hard time dealing with male attention. And female attention for that matter. The other guy had heard me say it once before. Maybe twice. Seems I've been reveling in my revelation - spinning my wheels in the muck and the mire, instead of getting myself some sand to get myself out.

Or is the weight the sand that is helping me get out?

Seeing that I want that - that I want to be able to talk and laugh and have fun with everyone I meet - do I really have to stay fat to be able to do that? Do I have to absorb other people's insecurities? Or, do I fear that I do want to cause trouble, and then just innocently say, "Oh, I was only having fun..." ? Maybe I do. Maybe. I. do.

I got thinking something about my sister last night - how I've stayed fat to stay safe around her. That she trained me that thin is dangerous; for I learned early, if I outshine her, as my other sister seemed to, she will go out of her way to destroy me, as she did my other sister. Being fat was a survival technique.

Well, survival time is over. Now, it's thrival time. And it's now or never.

Today I went shopping. Had some guilt on this, as I didn't check my dollars available to spend before I did it, but I did it. That's for my DA meeting to contend with. However, I spent $150 and got some good summer outfits, outfits I feel good about going out in - even though I am a size 24.

24?!?! How did that happen?

Don't get me wrong, I'm fully aware that I've been hoavering around 240ish, and I'm fully aware that 240ish pounds has to fit into something. I never knew what a size 24 looked like. No, I take that back. I know what a size 24 looks like. And I don't think it looks like me. How's that for being squarely in the middle of a big ol' river in Egypt?

As I tried on clothes today, I started off with size 20s, and then remembered that that last pair of jeans I bought - a pair of Levi's, and may I say, Levi's are amazing - they can make great asses look greater, and fat asses look, well, we don't want to say they look fatter. They look allright. At least, again, in my mind, which might just be so far down along that river in Egypt that what the Levi's have done for me might just be a mirage. Maybe I should take a picture and post it - I've been meaning to get some pics on here. That's probably a good one to start with - a big dose of reality to get this boat a little bit back on course.

Anyway. I bought some outfits that were outside of anything I've ever purchased before. I bought three types of outfits: For one, I bought some yoga clothes.

In the past, my workout outfits were baggy t-shirts gotten free from random events I'd attended, with baggy shorts. The thought of buying those cute little workout outfits ... oh no. Only the tragic People Only Love Me If I'm Thin people buy those. All those matching tops and pants, with the piping that only goes with each other. Not me. I like mix-y match-y separates, comfy cotton knits and interesting patterns and textures.

I ended up spending $33 on a pair of white knit yoga pants and four interesting, bargain priced tops. Tight fitting. Too tight to wear in public, but not too tight to excercise in. They fit well, is my point. On a thinner body, they would look hot. On my current lumpy body, not so much. Is as if I have to back myself into my clothing preferences; and wearing these clothes at this weight and on this body shows me that this is simply my taste - I do not do it to show off when I am thin. I don't know why I feel I have to go about it this way. But I definitely feel I do. I can't wait to stretch out in my cute outfits. And I really can't wait until I look just as cute in the cute outfits as the cute outfits look cute on their own.

The next set of clothes I bought were for going out. I spent $40 on these three outfits. The first, which I absolutely LOVE, I have never bought an outfit like this before in my life. Let me give a little background.

If I were to pick a style for me, up until this point in my life, I would call it safe. And that is so interesting to me, because I don't consider myself a "safe" clothes wearing person. However, I've always been very careful not to draw too much attention to myself with the clothes I'm wearing, always been in style, but not too outlandish. These days, I seem to be going through my bourgouise hippy phase. Impeccably mis-matched, shlippy shloppy outfits that are planned to look unplanned. And so were the three I picked out today; the first, a sequined strapless grey knit top with a light, striped sweater to wear with it. It looks so hippie chic, I can't wait to wear it. I got two other tops that are just easy, breezy, summer tank type tops, that I want to wear with a covering to cover up my arms, but they are along that same hippie chic vein. The jeans are ripped - ripped jeans! ONly on the fronts of the thighs, and you can't see any skin, and there are no rips on the backs of the legs. ME - a SIZE 24 WEARING RIPPED JEANS! It's completely preposterous. In fact, if I saw another size 24 wearing them, I'd think, who the fuck does she think she's kidding? Does she really think anyone is going to find her attractive in that outfit? The answer is - yes. Me. I find me attractive in this outfit. Or, rather, I find the outfit attractive. And I've decided I'm not going to not wear something because of my weight. If I can't wear it with the weight on, I'm realizing I won't be able to wear it in good conciousness when the weight is off.

I am wearing the outfits that I have always denied myself wearing

, reasoning that I can't wear them because I'm not a size six. And then when I lose weight, I feel bad for looking good in them. These are outfits that would be totally sexy and hot on a thinner person. I have to learn to love me wearing whatever I want to wear. Then maybe I can love me when wearing the same clothes when I get skinny, too.

The third group of outfits are, well ... I'm not sure how to classify them. Maybe these are the clothes that represent the side of me I don't want to admit is there? Again, I've never bought clothes like these, either. The first outfit, which I HAD TO HAVE was a pair of mauve walking shorts and a white, v-neck, cable-knit sweater. VERy Martha's Vineyard. VERy "Welcome to my yacht." VERy, "Hello. I'm wealthy and I wear sweaters with shorts. Welcome to my yacht." I don't know. I'm actually a little afraid of this outfit. The next outfit is a cotton shirt, in a kind of western-ish floral pattern. It's too big, I have to take it in, but I want to get a pair of white capri's and wear them with it. It's my, "Hello, I'm a hip 30-something mother who doesn't wear cleavage any more. Isn't this top cute?" It's a little tragic. Maybe I need to tap my tragic side, too.

The last think I bought is a black cotton/spandex shirt dress, with slight puffing a the caps of the sleeves, and some detailing on the chest. It's got a slightly southwestern feel to it, and I think it would look super cute with a big chunky turquoise necklace, a brown loose-fitting belt with one of those big silver southwestern belt buckles, and some red coral accents. With a pair of cowboy boots. If I can get myself to wear that outfit at this weight, that will be truly amazing. For I truly feel that that should only be worn on thin, attractive bodies.

OK, that's enough for today. I feel like the outfits were important purchases, purchases that are saying who I am. For the first time in my life, I feel like I am dressing for myself, and not for keeping up with the latest fashion trends, keeping myself acceptable to my friends and family, or for what would make people on the street put me in the "fancy" category. This is truly, for the first time in my life, when I simply bought clothes based on the sheer fact that they would be fun to wear. Regardless of my size or how I pull the outfit off. Good taste is good taste, no matter the size, and tragic is tragic at any weight, too. Thanks for listening. Until next time.

Today

Today I realized that maybe my weight is my teacher, and I respect what my teacher is trying to show me.

Code entries:

1. Laughing hysterically with two male co-workers yesterday. I realized I would laugh like that with them whether I was 250 pounds or 125 pounds.

2. There is another guy in the store I am like oil and vinegar with. That would also be the same whether I weighed 250 or 125. However, I do think he would be nicer if I were thinner. Or not. Maybe we'll find out.

3. Another guy likes talking with me, and this would be the same at any weight as well. However, he feels like a needy guy, so I envision him as wanting us to date and not understanding why I wouldn't.

4. I do not have any girlfriends right now that I call up to talk with. I am internalizing all this or blogging about it. It feels more right to do it this way - or rather, more directed. If I just blab about it to all of them, I don't feel like I make movement on it. I just spin the same wheels. Not speaking of it causes action; for the energy of what is going on must be released somehow.

5. I ate some cookies last night before meeting with my manager for a part time job I've started. I was really silly and funny during the meeting - and I realized, the cookies put me in a bit of a sugar high. In essence, I had had a drink before our meeting. I felt so guilty leaving that night. I felt it was another step toward my own cookie sobriety.

The last thing: today is the day the rainbow connection line was drawn in the sand. That will make more sense as we go along.

Thank you for listening. Until next time.

Forgiving Dad

This probably should be posted under my money section, but in all honesty and practical application, my money habits fall under a fasting and feasting pattern, too. Yesterday was a prime example of this - and in the midst of this tumultuous day, I realized I had some forgiving to do.

I had the day off from work. Normally on a day off, and especially right after a paycheck Friday, I run errands, and buy all the stuff I need - primarily groceries, toiletries, cat food etc.

However, since I have this census job, I feel like I am supposed to do that every day as well. Which, is not far from what they want us doing. So - yesterday I get up, and I think - ok, I need to get fabric and I need to get my sewing machine fixed. Get that done, get back here, do a little census stuff, and that's really all I need to get done today. Oh, and dishes and laundry.

Well, I go to the thrift store to get fabric. It's not quite what I'm looking for. My goal was to find a matelesse comfortor to complement one I already have that I want to use to make a slip cover for my sofa. Hence, the fixing of the sewing machine as well. In my head, I'd have that all done and be back to my place by noon.

Of course, it didn't happen that way. I ended up not getting the machine back until 5:45, right before they closed. Which resulted in an odd mixture of accomplishment and wasted for the day.

I realized how passive aggressive I am when it comes to checking in with authority figures. My census crew leader assistant texted me about calling him to set up a time to meet yesterday. I didn't want to have to work on census stuff aside from the bit I had to do with my building manager on some remaining units that I needed information on. So. I never called him back.

The truth that I will tell him is that my cell phone was not holding a charge yesterday. Which was true. However, the real truth is that I didn't want to work that day, and I was afraid that if I called him, he'd make me. Reality is, he can't make me, but I feel obligated, so i tend to avoid obligations until I am ready to commit to them. It was an interesting realization.

Then - while waiting for the machine, I shopped. Here's where I had some very bittersweet results. On one hand, I went and simply took pictures of things I normally would have purchased. This I have found to be a very satisfying substitute for having to buy the item. This is probably why many places do not allow photography - when you have it in your camera phone file, mentally, you have it as well, and don't necessarily have to make the purchase.

So, I flitted in and out between responsibly not purchasing and recklessly purchasing. I think the biggest reckless purchase yesterday was a printer - which, is not that reckless because I needed one. However, it was an unplanned purchase, which made it feel reckless. But there was only one left! :) Yes, I fell for the limited quantities tactic - oh, which made me just realize that technique at my own work. Also, about shopping for products you don't know much about, but know that you need. It was a good reminder.

Anyway, I did get the census stuff that I intended to get done yesterday done; however, I never called my crew leader assistant. Passive! Aggresive! Pa-ssive Aggressive! Pas-Sive-a-g-g-r-e-s-s-i-v-e Aggressive! Pa-ssive Aggressive - Woo! (kick)

Overall, it was an undulating day - I was very much back and forth on how I felt I was doing. At one point, I was in a panic over some socks that were on sale at Wal-greens, and I thought - man, maybe I do have a type of addiction with this shopping thing.

Anyway, I also saw just how feastish and faminish my spending habits are; I was in the spendy mood because my first paycheck hit from my part-time census gig. I realized yesterday just how those was how we were on the farm growing up. Our main paycheck came every week with selling pigs which become the bacon on your cheeseburger. Then, in the fall, we'd get big checks for selling corn, soybeans and wheat. This is when the big spending would happen. All the things we'd been lacking all year got made up for with the fall bonus, if you will. And you had to hurry up and get it while the getting was good, or you didnt' get nothin'.

Yesterday I saw myself falling into this pattern, I was going to buy a pull-down spice rack cabinet insert, and i stopped myself and said, "Hold on. Let's wait on this. It's not critical today, and maybe you can trust yourself that you will allow yourself to get that if you really want it. Let's just hold off for today and see how you feel about it in a week or so, and then we can always come back and get it. Trust that you will do that for yourself."

That was a big break through for me. I realized I could come back for a purchase because I AM IN CHARGE OF THE MONEY NOW. My past behavior, I realized, I was still operating in grain-check mentality of WE HAVE TO GET EVERYTHING WE WANT RIGHT NOW WHILE THE GETTIN'S GOOD OR THE OPPORTUNITY WILL BE GONE!

Not only was I acting that way this this little bit of extra cash I'm getting, but I get that way EVERY PAYCHECK. Every paycheck, in my mind, was going to slip through my fingers without me being able to use any of it. I realized this is why I keep racking up credit card debt - to make that true.

It was a pretty heavy duty day. I shopped from 7 am to 9 p.m. that night, with aobut a two-hour break for census stuff. It was quite a day. Although I didn't do it perfectly, I felt i did pretty good. Although, the saying the path to hell is paved with good intentions did fill my mind often yesterday. But, live and learn is another good cliche too. Thanks for listening. Until next time.

OH - I never got to the title of the piece - forgiving Dad. So, part of my shopping exploits included trying to find an appropriate father's day card for my Dad.

I usually buy him a funny card, but I recently found some old cards and saw that my sister sends him very deep cards - cards that say things like, "I'm glad you're my father," and, "I appreciate the love you've given and continue to give to me," and "I love you."

Nowhere in her cards was mentioned anything about his farting prowess or nap skills. It struck me - I never send those cards, because ... I realized I don't feel that way about my dad.

I am not a person who just grabs a card and slaps it in the mail. Actually, I have done that, and I felt the difference. It felt icky. So, even when I'm not happy with someone, I try to get a card that reflects the current mood of our relationship.

The last few years have been hard for me to buy Father's Day cards for my Dad, because I quite honestly have not been happy with his behavior since my mom died five years ago. Nothing major - he just started dating a woman way faster than I was prepared for. Which also would have been OK if it had looked at all like my dad grieved the loss of my mom. I'd like to think he had, but man, I tell ya, he's been looking pretty happy since my mom died, and prior to her death, I thought they had a happy and healthy marriage of forty plus years. Maybe not.

Anyway, I decided this year I would try to find a card that fit my current feelings. But everything I picked was snarky and while it looked funny on the surface, my feelings underneath it were not loving.

I was bothered by this. I looked at the deep-sentiment cards and thought, well, the problem is, I never felt those sentiments toward him. "I always knew I could call you for love and support." Um, no. "You have always been a rock for me." Nope, not accurate. "I'm proud to say that you're my Dad." ABORT ABORT ABORT - no that's not quite right either.

I came close to buying a sarcastic card but decided to wait. But it was bothering me - why didn't I feel that way and my sister did? Did she really feel that way, or just want to? Was she doing the classic tactic of "fake it till you make it?" Should I be doing that?

As I went about the rest of my day, I continued pondering the strained status of my relationship with my dad. I felt so bitter towards him - he never had a talk with me about boys. He never told any boy I dated that I am loved dearly and need to be treated respectfully. He never held me or helped me when I was sad or upset - just a "Here's your mom" if I'd ever call home crying - and that was rare, I've really never felt I could go to my family for emotional support.

So what the hell am I going to do about this, I kept thinking. And then I thought, I mean does he even ever think of me? Does he even hope I'm doing OK? Does he ever say a prayer for me in church on Sunday?

And then that Billy Joel song, "Only the good die young" came into my head. "Oh, she never cared for me/ But does she ever say a prayer for me. Ah woah woah woah woah..."

It kept running through my head. But does she ever say a prayer for me. She never cared for me. But does she ever say a prayer for me. And then, it occured to me.

Do I ever say a prayer for my Dad? I've been angry and bitter and felt rejected and lost, but have I ever said I prayer that I hope my dad is happy? No. Nope. Noonens. I've just been mad because he's not been the dad i wanted. Well, he's not the dad I wanted anymore than I'm probably the little girl he expected to get when I was born.

And then, I felt some peace. Oh, I'm not over it, I'm not all forgiven and life is peachy. But i'm in the direction of forgiveness. Ok, in all honesty, I'm not quite there either. Let's just say what's true: the concept of forgiving my dad for being who he is instead of who I want him to be has entered my realm of consciousness. I'll keep you posted on the results of either letting it all go or talking it out with him goes.

Ok, this time I mean it. Thanks for listening. Until next time.

However Do You Want Me? However Do You Need Me? (How) However Do You Want Me? However Do You Want Me To Be?

The lyrics to that Salt 'n Pepa song are running through my head today.

I called in sick to work today. I have a nose that won't stop running and while the rest of the world calls that a cold, I call it the after effects of eating nothing but pizza and cookies yesterday.

I'm laying on the couch, with a large bottle of water to cleanse myself out, and decided it's time to watch the Down The Rabbit Hole portion of the What the Bleep Do We Know series.

I've had the film since it first came out. I've never been able to get myself to watch it. Today, however, seems to be the day that I can wrap my head around the concepts in the movie.

They are talking about time travel, about cells being in two places at once, about chickens and eggs and observers and those being observed, and just when I'm just about ready to shut the whole damned thing off, this occurs to me:

They're talking about how our experience in this world is a reflection of memories and interactions with other people. How our physical body's main goal is to be safe, and that our brain learns to act accordingly to what our brain tells us will keep us that safest. Basically, that our physical body becomes a manifestation of our thoughts and beliefs, that we manifest our view of the world, whether it's safe or unsafe, based on our memories and what we've been told by others.

Safe. I thought about that stab of anger I felt at being called out by a younger male co-worker last week for not being thin. Then I recalled comments from women throughout my life about how, when they could see that I had lost some weight, that "you shouldn't go and get too skinny now." That I sincerely felt they felt threatened by the change in my physical appearance. Then, a time when my dad told me, after I had gotten down to about a size 8, that I was getting too skinny; but a few years and about 50 pounds prior, he said it was too bad I couldn't become anorexic for just a little while.

I thought about my sister being so happy that I had lost weight; and yet how mean she was to my other sister for being "more attractive" than she was. I thought about friends of parents who looked so happy when I took the weight off, and yet others who seemed completely uncomfortable with me in a new possible role of "attractive female."

All of these memories and interactions came flooding to me. What also came flooding to me is this feeling that people want me to be how they want me to be. That guy that made the comment about me being too heavy - well, he would prefer it if I were thin, I guess. His comment is jumping out at me, because in all honesty, his was the first comment where I ever felt that my decision to have my body look the way I have it looking seemed to be a personal affront to him. Kind of like, he wants me thin - why aren't I thin? In all honesty, I've never felt a true expectation from someone else for me to live within a healthy and attractive weight range. Which is probably why his comment hit me so hard; because it goes against EVERY bit of feedback I've ever gotten about how I should look in my life.

The fact that my weight seemed like a personal affront to him is what intrigued me. How can that be? How can one person's weight so personally offend another? It made me think about a conversation that I overheard my "I have to be thin to be loved" sister having with an equally "I am fit and healthy and that is how I present myself to the world" cousin at a family event. In our immdediate family, I am the fat one while everyone else maintains a healthy weight. Their family has a version of me as well; also the youngest girl - she has always been heavy while all the rest of the family stays fit and trim.

What I overheard my sister and cousin say is how much my fat cousin and I look alike. I laughed to myself when I heard this comment - we don't look alike. We only look alike to you becuase we are both carrying around extra weight. The comment was as absurd as seeing two black people and saying, oh, they look so much alike. No. All you're seeing is a common physical attribute. You are not really seeing ME; or HER, at all. You are just seeing fat. And, oh, I hear it in your voice - it just confounds you and makes you so sad!

So: which came first - was I really fat, or did they make me fat? I look at pictures of me when I am younger, and while there is some baby fat, I don't see a child with a weight problem. Which came first, their reactions, or my own mixed feelings about what happens to thin pretty girls? What's the reality: me being fat or me being thin? Maybe the question is not which is the reality - maybe the question is: which reality do I want to live in?

I've clearly chosen the fat reality. I sincerely feel that this is the reality in which i get the most love - I can talk and laugh and play with anyone, male or female, without any accusations of flirting, of wanting to break up someone else's happy relationship, of asking for it. In a fatter body, it has been my experience that I can just ... be. And be as close a version of what I think I am as possible. And to be safe.

But, what is that version of me? Today watching the movie, it occured to me that we create our realities around weight all the time: the mom who can't lose her baby fat finds her own inner fitness diva and becomes new Fit Mom. The guy who drowned himself in fast food suddenly decides it's time to take it off and becomes Healthy Self-Love Guy. We accept these changes all the time. So why is it that I haven't been able to accept the changes myself?

I had the realization the other day that I haven't been able to talk to my sister in a long time because I feel like she has expecations of how I should act and be that have nothing to do with how I really am. She saw me as being this rag doll of sorts, being manipulated and scolded to fit the desire that she had for a little sister. And I've always tried to comply - I've always felt like a camelion, adapting to my environment quickly and easily. However, I now realize taht I don't have any real concept of how I am as a person. Today I saw how much the weight played into this. And the question became: who is running my reality? Do I continue trying to guess the realities that other people feel comfortable with me at and trying to live those versions for them? Or do I figure out my own? What reality do I want for myself? Which version of me is the reality I want to live in?

Deep thoughts today. Thanks for listening. Until next time.

There's no way I'm ever going to lose all this weight

We are doing the 8 pounds in 8 weeks challenge. If I can even lose 1 pound and keep it off it will be amazing.

That's it for today. Thanks for listening. Until next time.

Time to Enter the Fireswamp

First things first: I want to give a health update.

Yesterday morning I weighed 240 pounds even. My health is generally fine, the skin around my finger nails and on my toes peels off regularly; it, I've come to learn, happens when I'm eating carbohydrate heavy foods. I'm not eating as many carbs these days. But I'm apparently eating enough to keep the skin peeling. My face is quite broken out. My body has acne on the arms, chest and a few on the thighs. My belly. My belly is so big - I used to have pretty strong stomach muscles, as I just kind of naturally walked around holding my stomach in. Now, it's not worth it. I have a belly, and now it seems my stomach muscles have given up and are pushing that belly out to the world. It is huge. I find myself putting the elastic of my pajama pants up over the top of that belly, which begins just below my breasts. I used to have a waist - even though I was heavy before, I had a distinct hour glass figure. I am past the point of an hour glass. Now my body has no way of holding that shape. It's like it just has to put the extra fat stores somewhere, and that small section was lacking, so they started piling it there.

I feel a little more than depressed. I feel like there's no way out. Even though I started this journey planning on touching second base if you will by gaining the weight, I've been stuck here for quite a while, unable to see how to round third - ie, losing the weight - to go for home - living a healthy life.

Enter yesterday's day at work.

I have mentioned before I have been named Wellness Captain for the Home Depot that I work at. I have also mentioned that the irony of me being Wellness Captain and weighing 240 pounds at 5'7" tall is not lost on me.

Yesterday started the first day of our corporately-created weight loss challenge, "8 Pounds in 8 Weeks."

I timed the meeting to coincide with our Fresh Fruit Friday. I planned on having people come into the training room, which is right next to the break room, to have a private conversation about their weight loss goals. Because who would want to say outloud that they want to lose weight, or say it around horrible thin people who just want to mock you for needing to lose weight.

There are about 20 people in the break room. I announce we are going to have the meeting for the 8 pounds in 8 weeks in the training room, but that first I would let everybody kind of eat the fruit. Well, everybody's just hanging out in the break room. I say again, well, we'll have people come into the training room next door.

Finally, one of the guys says, "Let's not move. Let's just have it in here."

I look around the room. There are about 15 to twenty people, and to my judgement, many who don't need to lose the weight.

To cut to the chase, I handed out the information to everyone in the room. They all listened. They all wanted to be a part. Some said they just wanted to get back into the habit of daily excercise, some said they had a lot of weight to lose and needed the jumpstart. But to my surprise, everyone in that room, at least in that moment, wanted to participate.

It was my own judgement about who or who should not be participating that I had to get through to get us started. Just interesting to me, that's all.

Here's the part about entering the fire swamp: It's a self-weigh-in program; and in all reality, people don't get points for weigh loss. They get points for daily physical activity, for eating their fruits and veggies, and for drinking their water. That's it.

People are laughing about the self weigh-in part of it, at how much room there is to fudge results with it being self monitored. One of the guys says, "So, if it's self weigh in, you must weigh about one hundread and five, Ann?"

It hit me like a bullet to the heart.

My knee-jerk reaction in all situations is to laugh and say, "Oh, yeah, you got that right!" It's amazing how well that comment works to diffuse people from seeing any show of emotions; or, at least, I always thought that it worked. I was clearly hurt by his comment. I pushed through that, and continued with the meeting, and it broke up a few minutes later.

I went to the bathroom to clear up my teary eyes. So, clearly, there is no way that I weigh 105 is what he said. Clearly, I am no where near a picture of health.

It hit me so hard - in my mind, I am clearly a physcially active, an outdoorsy, a let's-go-on-a-walking-adventure around the city type girl who is currently simply wearing a fat suit. Other people can't see that? I was seriously shocked.

I sit in the bathroom for a minute; I don't know what it is about bathroom floors, maybe it's the stillness of a bathroom that I'm drawn to, maybe the tile makes it feel temple-like to me, I don't know, but when I'm truly troubled that tends to be my thinking place of choice - sliding down the wall to sit on the cool tile of the floor.

I cried for a bit at the realization that I am not presenting my true self; my true, active self. Then I went to anger - I'm doing this for safety, you little shit! i thought. I would gladly be thin, I vented internally, were it not for stupid little shittin' guys like you who decide they want to date me and relentlessly pursue because they just can't understand that a person, and an attractive person, and an attractive person who is single, could possibly just have fun talking to you and not feel the need to fuck you. YOU are the reason, you little asshole. YOU. I have met your kind a hundred times, and I can tell you right now you little fuck that you'd be the one who'd be all like, let's go out let's go out let's go out and when I repeatedly politely say no would continue let's go out let's go out let's go out and when i start getting bitchy would continue let's go out let's go out let's go out and when I get angry in an effort to get you off my back would then say well jesus why you gotta be such a cunt about it?

I sat in the bathroom and pondered that. I realized that maybe it's time to make some changes. Maybe it's time to face my fears. It might even be time to have the strenght to be considered a bitch.

I set a little deal with myself yesterday. A deal of exploration. A deal that I felt I could work through. I hope you will see it reveal itself as we go along. That's all for today. Thanks for listening.

Lovable

This morning the scale read 236 pounds. And here's how that plays into two big revelations from yesterday:

The first one: I had to go out to one of my client's houses to check on their kitchen cabinet installation. They had some cabinet issues, and since I was the deisgner and person who sold them the cabinets, myself and the kitchen cabinet sales rep went out to inspect their now installed kitchen and bathroom cabinets. I just want to say, "cabinets," one more time. Cabinets. There. I'm done. Back to the story.

The client is a guy in his mid to late 20s. He and his girlfriend/soon-to-be-wife have just bought this condo here in downtown Chicago. They are gut remodeling it, and I think they are individually and as a couple just as cool as the place they bought. They, to me, seem to be working on this remodel really well - they both have great design taste, and are creating an A-MA-Zing downtown condo together. I love them. I love them individually and I think they are great together as a couple. I liked working with them, and I'm pretty certain that they were happy working with me. I mean, as far as I could tell; we just all seemed to get along really well and all felt excitement about their remodeling project.

So getting to the point: I'm standing outside their building with the cabinet sales rep, and out of the corner of my eye I see Jon, the client, approach. And here's the moment: When Jon got socially acceptably close enough to us to greet us on the street, he said "Hi!" And for a split second, I felt him reach out to hug me.

Physically, I felt this, I felt all the excitement and anticipation he was feeling about their project being almost completed, and I think it manifested itself into the form of an attempted hug. I am saddened to say that I am uncomfortable with hugging random people, and generally speaking, I don't feel I should be hugging my male clients; so I responded by extending my hand for him to shake. He seemed to realize in the split second that all of this took place, that maybe hugging his cabinet designer is not necessary, and pulled back himself and shook my hand outstretched hand. The moment passes, I introduced him to the cabinet rep, and we all go inside to look at the jobsite.

That was the big moment I wanted to tell you about; that feeling that he wanted to give me a hug. Now, it's totally possible that I misread his intention. However, let's just explore the possibility that he did want to hug me. Because, in that moment, in that split second that I felt he just instinctively wanted to express his happiness and excitement and release that energy, I felt something that I've been seeking to feel and understand my whole life; that is: people like people who like people. Like is love. It is natural it is instictive and it is what makes us happy and healthy and feel lucky to be alive.

I realized that am loved. I'm not loved for being a size 2 and unloved for being a size 20. I. Am. Loved. I am loved because I am lovable. I am loved just because love is our grounded, natural state. And, I am loved for the things that I can accomplish with and/or for others.

I learned, in that split second, but with a rush of all these other moments I've had when other people have physically expressed what they were feeling in the moment, that people can love other people and it doesn't split up their marriage or infringe on the love they feel for their spouse or other loved ones. That we are immensely capable of love, capable of feeling love for all the many people in our lives. Because we love. It is our condition as human beings - to give and to receive love. It's all any of us want, yet for some reason we push and push and push it away.

Whether we know it or not, everything that we do, including every purchase that we make, is about love. We are either selling love or buying love. But it's all love. Advertisers know this; it's only us as the buying public that aren't fully aware that we are choosing this or seeking this in every dollar that we spend. And when I sold them their cabinets, I sold them love for their project. And they bought love for their project. And what makes us happy is that we feel it, regardless of the dollars being exchanged.

So, in that moment, I suddenly realized I don't have to wait and be loved by Mr. Right or Mr. Right Now or even Bad Date Number 862. I am now and always am ... loved. For being who I am and doing what I do. I am loved. Because I exist. I am loved. I am loved and I am capable of giving love and I am capable of receiving love. In every moment. With every person I meet. That's it. That's all there is. That's all there is to everything.

So, I'm going to share this: there have been times in my past where I've been working with a couple, and I felt maybe a spark with a husband - or hell, even with the wife - and that spark, that feeling, I didn't know what to do with. I realize now that all that spark is is telling me that we would work well together, or that we have something to offer or learn from each other, or that I need to pay attention to something that this person or these people have to say or do. Or not; and sometimes that's part of the lesson, too, I suppose. My point is is that that spark is not a bad thing. It's just an indication from whatever Universal Conciousness that's out there, that this person/people and I have something to do together. In our current understanding, we connect attraction with sex. I'm starting to see that it's probably not sex. I mean, sure, it could be sex - but there's a lot cooler and more public things that can be created than jumping into bed with everyone that connection is felt with. Maybe we have had to go through a promiscuous phase as a society to get to the level of understanding that while sex is often like pizza; that maybe, there's more dishes to enjoy in life than pizza. There's pasta. There's cannoli. There might even be dishes out there that haven't yet been and are just waiting to be created. And maybe we are at a point in our understanding where we can, pardon the expression, stop fucking around, and maybe happily work together to create those unknown dishes. Maybe we have hit a point in our evolution where we can grasp and explore the possibility of that unknown.

So, this entry is terribly long winded, as usual. Thanks for your patience. It's feeling like a very big deal to me right now because it's finally making sense to me; maybe we are to meet people, lovingly create whatever it is we are to lovingly create with them, and then to lovingly move along. That we can hold that creation and interaction dear to our hearts, but let it go and keep ourselves open for the next creation as well. Makes sense to me.

Here's the other and final revelation I want to share. It will be much quicker, I promise. It, too, falls under the theme of lovability.

As I was leaving work yesterday, one of the supervisors did an overhead page for me. "Ann The Kitchen Designer! ann the kitchen designer. Do not get on that elevator ann. ann. kitchen designer. call 328. ann. 328. right now. ann. 328."

I thought, well, holy cow, what could be that important that I'm getting paged like that just as I'm walking out the door? I thought I knew the voice of the person doing the page, but I wasn't sure. I go over to the service desk. I call the number.

The supervisor answers. I say, "Hey. What's going on? Did you just page me?"

He answers. "Yeah. I was just playing around. You didn't have to call."

I laugh and sputter out, "You jerk!" Which was a shortened, inept attempt at Sally Feild's Oscar speech, "You like me! You REally LIKE me!"

We all express it in different ways. But it's all love. He's got a girlfriend, too, who I love and love talking to. I realize now that I needed to gain the weight, to get to 236 pounds while being 5'7" tall - which, for those of you who can't do the math that quickly, makes me quite heavy, and, in my mind, completely unattractive and unlovable - so I could find out that, in fact, I am. Regardless of my size, I am lovable, and that people like to give and receive love. To everyone who wants to give and receive it back. And, that love is pretty harmless. In the past, when I had my moments of thin-ness, and in my mind, attractiveness, I would find these guys' displays of affection as troublesome. I'd be all stressed out, worrying Do they like me? Are they hitting on me? OMG their girlfriend will hate me! And now, I get it. I bless the weight for giving me the eyes to see that we can all love everybody. All love all the time for all people. We just have to learn that it's possible, and that that's what it's all about.

It's a pretty awesome world. That's all for today. Thanks for listening. Until next time.

Lighter

This morning I woke up, and something just felt lighter.

I got on the scale. 239. OK... that's good, I'm down about 4 pounds. But not enough to feel as light as I do.

I feel like I'm not really of my body. I feel like I'm hovering near this body, but not as connected to it. Like I'm learning how to feel thin. I've been so connected to my personal image of being the fat girl, of feeling heavy and dense an weighed down and a drag. This feeling today is rather new.

I. Feel. Light. As. A. Feather.

It's not possible, I know, but I really do feel that someone could come by me right now and just tuck me under their arm. As I write that, I feel a change, a shift, and now I do feel heavy and burdensome. I'm flitting in and out of that now - energetically, I can make myself feel *light*! And I can make myself feel * H E A V Y * . . . Just like that.

Light doesn't feel so bad. I've always feared light. Light makes you less substantial; light makes you easy prey.

But I'm learning, as I carry all this extra weight around, I'm easier prey at heavy. The trick is, I think I'm deluding people - presenting myself as heavy in an effort to fend off attack.

It is a pretty good trick. Get ugly like rock so I blend in and don't stand out. Cuz I'm not braggin, but something about me makes me stand out when I get thin, and it makes me very uncomfortable. I am learning to navigate that.

Anyway, just wanted to share that i feel light. And happy. And terrified: I have got so much credit card debt, and I am so tired of the debt, and I am desperately afraid. I have joined Debtor's Anonymous to help me, but I've been resistant to get their help. I think I have to now. I feel like it's my only way to safety. I also think I'm going to be blending conversations about money in with this blog - because it's the same thing. I fast and feast with my money, and they all play in together. When I'm spending too much money on food, which contributes to my weight gain, and my fear about lack of resources, which then gets me eating again to comfort myself ... it's all related.

But today I feel light and happy. I hope and I can keep myself that way. I hope it impacts my physical weight and my emotional viewpoint on thinness. Anyway, that's all for today. Thanks for listening. Until next time.

Sugar Rage?

Yesterday I was at training for my new, part-time Census job. I'm looking forward to this little gig; but, back to talking about weight.

I do not do self-care well at all. We've been in training all week, and the first two days I went out for lunch. Which is what I normally do at my main job. It finally occured to me that I am spending WAY too much on eating out. I decided I would bring my lunch the third and last days of training.

Well, I went to the store, got the ingredients for this really yummy salad that consists of soaked raw cashews, fresh basil and tomatos (sun dried are best), tossed with a little bit of olive oil, lemon juice, and sea salt. It is totally to die for, at least in my world, it might not be in yours. I was really looking forward to this meal.

I went and got the ingredients late Tuesday night. I considered making it right then for the next morning, and then thought, oh, I'm tired, I'll just get up early and prepare it.

I don't know who I'm kidding when I say these things. Once I go to bed at night, i am out. I have the hardest time getting out of bed once I get in. It's like the bed had little suction cups in it that are just oh so snuggly to me, I just get right in and never want to leave. Schwloop! There I am, awake at six, but if I have no where to go until 9, I don't leave that bed until 8:10. Dont' know why.

And so, I had no lunch the last two days. Those tasty ingredients just sat in my fridge, waiting to be prepared into a dish. They sit there still.

So what did I eat those two days? Well, on Wednesday I brought a can of wax beans. Mmmm. That was satisfying, she stated sarcastically. On Thursday, I had bought a bag of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies from the grocery store bakery. Ate those for breakfast and lunch yesterday.

Interesting thing, since I've erased so many foods from my life, I instantly see how foods affect me. When I ate the cookies, I started sneezing after about 20 or 30 minutes. My nose started running. The wheat? Not sure.

Then, that afternoon after we were let out for the day, I went to Taco Bell to get something quick to eat. Again, since I didn't have any food prepared at home, I ate out. I was craving a cheese quesadilla and the Nachos Bell Grande, no meat and no beans. They served it with beans. I had ordered through the drive through, and although I checked it before I pulled away, I noticed the beans and thought, well, I haven't had their beans in a while. I'll just eat it this way.

I ate my Taco Bell. And I spun into a rage after it was gone. And not because I was hungry for more. I think that it is possible that our food choices affect our moods.

I have been quite happy - nothing has been happening to bother me. Then, I ate this meal of mostly corn, wheat, and processed cheese items... and suddenly I'm furious? Is it possible there's a connection? And if there is, how can we find this out accurately?

If I were to say, Taco Bell Food Creates Rage in People, can you imagine the backlash in that statement? As well as the reaction from say, oh I don't know, Taco Bells lawyers? OK. So I won't say it creates rage in people. All I can say is that it created rage in me.

Even at that, can I really blame the food? It is awfully coincidental. But maybe I had been storing up some anger, and it happened to present itself at that time. Maybe I had something hormonal going on that coincided with the ingesting of the food. And maybe, just maybe, having the beans on my Nachos Bell Grande when I didn't want them to be ... well, maybe that was just the straw that broke the little boy holding his finger in the dam's finger. I don't know.

What I do know, is that on Wednesday, the beans weren't all that satisfying, but I didn't go off into a rage. On Thursday, I was fucking LIVID. About EVERYTHING. It was quite a show.

I still haven't bought my dehydrator. I am taking a look at my bills today, and figuring out when I can buy that. The deal is, I used to make food on Sunday and take it to work with me all week; I need to get into that habit again. Especially now that I'm working my full time job and doing the census thing in my spare time ... no time to cook. Thanks again for listening. Until next time.

Now What?

Hello, my lovely Blaugdience.

So, here it is. Mike left for his new job in Louisville yesterday. My main source of social company, social finance, and sponsor of creative endeavors is gone. I'm not quite sure how I'm feeling about it.

On the one hand, I think - I'm free! This must be how it feels for a mom when the kids go off to college; a bittersweet mix of thank god I have my life to myself again and what the hell will I do now? It's relief and fear wrapped into one.

Because I am in charge of my time again. Not that I wasn't before - it was just really easy to go to his house after work, lay on the couch, order food and watch movies to erase the day.

Now, it's just me myself and I. And I'm not sure who's in charge. Father Son and Holy Spirit. I just don't know what the eff to do with myself.

How does this relate to the eating? Well, now I have time. I have time to go work out, I have time to do food prep.

blah blah blah puke.

It's all whining bullshit. The fact of the matter is that I went to bed last night thinking of all these great things I could do today before work. I wake up at 5 am, get up, do my Artist's Way morning pages, meditate for ten minutes, and then go back to bed by 6 am. Woke up at 9, do this blog, then it's get ready for work. I'm not even ready for work. I can't stand this.

My belly is big and round like I'm 9 months pregnant. Sometimes I wonder - do I want my belly to look this way? I like being able to rub my hands on it, like rubbing a lamp hoping a genie will pop out. I like the feeling of heaviness, like it's a big fat protection, or insulation, or buffer, from the world. I like feeling it sit on my lap when I sit down. It's like having a built-in kid all the time, only it doesn't cry, and there are no labor pains. Maybe in a past life I got out of a lot of work by being pregnant all the time, and so I'm recreating that feeling of pregnancy now. It does feel like I'm pregnant. These days I could definitely pass for pregnant.

My belly protruded before when I was overweight, but never the top belly. The belly below my belly button was always protruding,but my upper belly was always fairly under control, very little extra weight went up there. Well, it's up there now. Now when I sit, I have a definite ball of flesh that sits just below my breasts and the only way to describe it is like that of a pregnant woman's body. That's how it looks.

And I've come to love that belly. I think that's the next thing I need to look into - when I have lost weight in the past, I felt sadness when my belly went away. Like I was losing a friend, an ally, or protective services. Could someone really have such a relationship with her gut? Could someone really be in love with her own fat? Like a love-hate relationship? Could I have a Sonny and Cher thing going on with my own fat stores?

All I know is that being overweight is all I've ever known, and when I go into the unknown territory of being thin, it's very unsettling to me. How do I get past this? Just do it, right? Well, I have, many times over, and each time I go running back to being heavy. And when I gained the weight back the last time, and didn't know where to go from there and decided to try getting heavier, I didn't think I'd come to love it. It's like I'm in relationship with it; like I can't date anyone else, because I'm already committed to my fat. I, Ann, take you, Fat, to be my lawfully wedded body. We are already one. I think about taking off the weight and I feel like I'm killing it. I really do. That's part of why I felt I needed to get to 250 - if I cut myself down to 125, then I am allowing that other 125 pounds that I've lost to possibly stand on its own. I take half of myself to keep, and the other half to bury. When I had only 60 pounds to lose, it seemed like I was cutting off the deformed surrogate twin and leaving it to die, gasping and struggling for air. If I give the weight it's own fully formed body, then maybe I can kill it and get it off of me. If I cut it off from me, if I stop feeding it, maybe it will be strong enough to survive on it's own. In the ether. In the spiritual realm. In the air.

I don't know.

Maybe I shouldn't be posting these blog entries. This latest development is too strange ... even for my standards. Well, that's where things are at today, April 25, 2010, in my life. Maybe my psychologist and I can master this strange new development. Thanks for listening; until next time. If there is a next time. I have to admit, even I was surprised by that find. Thanks again.

A Realization

This morning I woke up, and realized I've been keeping myself about an arms length away from the life I want.

The question is, how do I bridge that distance? That short distance from where I am to where I want to be?

That's all for today. Thanks for listening. Until next time.

"You'd Be Too Skinny!"

Yesterday at work, a couple things of note took place.

The first: I had a customer who completely gave me hope about aging. I've often had customers I meet trigger reactions in me, some good and some bad. The first time this happened, I was working in a grocery store deli in college, and I met a couple who were in their 40s who still had the playfulness and banter of newlyweds; and I thought, that's how I want to be when I get married. Haven't found it yet, but I'm willing to hang around long enough to find it - and I won't mind a bit if I can be half as youthful as this 76-year-old woman I met yesterday.

The woman comes in to the store and asks for some product. We chat a minute about her project, at which time she mentions how she's 76-years-old and had no idea that a kitchen remodel had so many details to it. She continues talking, but all I can think is "76? There's no way she's 76!" So I tell her that, I really would not have put her more than 55 or 60 - a dubious compliment, I know, but I meant it as a compliment and she could tell the sincerity of my statement.

She got flustered at this compliment, saying oh my gosh, with this sagging skin ... but she was clearly happy to have been pegged for younger.

In all honesty, if her body weren' betraying her age, I would have put her energy around 27 or 28. She had such vibrant and enthusiastic energy. She was carrying some extra weight, but that didn't matter. She had so much life in her. It was something to strive for, in my eyes.

Next, the title of our blog today, "You'd Be Too Skinny!"

Yesterday at work we had our weekly meeting. During it, we got talking about the "8 Pounds in 8 Weeks" challenge that I am running. It's a corporately-created program, and as the Wellness Captain, I am going to start it May 7, and it'll run through the end of June.

We got talking about the things different people wanted to get out of it. One girl said I want to do it, but I don't want to weigh in. She is thin, there's no reason for her to not want to weigh in; she said she's going to be lifting weights to tone up, so she might end up with a weight gain. I said that's fine, whatever she wants to accomplish.

Then, everybody starts talking about what the doctor's office says is a healthy weight. My manager shared, with incredulity and a bit of a smirk, that her doctor told her that her healthy weight, being five feet 2 inches, would be 125 pounds. My manager said, Now, I weigh 250 pounds right now. I'd have to

cut myself in half I said with her outloud. I said, yeah, kind of misty, relating my own need to do the same thing. We are in exactly the same boat, I thought, and it's depressing. Another entire person we are both carrying around on us as extra weight. When my thoughts cleared, my coworkers were having a fit.

WHAT!? 125 POUNDS?! Well, do you know how thin your face would look on 125 pounds!?!? No way! No way should you weigh that little! Mmn-nn. I can't believe those doctors charts! They're crazy!

I listened to everyone else's states of panic around this woman getting into a more healthy weight range. I said, along with the girl who wants to weight train, that well, that sounds about right for your height. I even thought the doctor was being generous - I've always operated on the basis that you should weigh 100 pounds at five feet tall, and then add five pounds for every inch over that. So, at 5'2", her ideal weight would even be 110 pounds.

But I didn't say that here. Everyone was too busy throwing into drama for me to interupt their fun with a sobering comment like that.

I just listened to everyone's opinions, but more interesting to me, was how much the thought of her being thinner bothered them. It was as if they were being personally assaulted by the suggestion of her weight loss.

Then, my coworker Dawn chimed in. She's pretty quiet, but she then said, "Why does everyone have to look the same? If you lost that much weight, well; that's what I weigh."

This interested me. I said quietly, you weigh 125? Dawn said, yeah. I nodded, just taking in the conversation as Dawn went on to seemingly defend my manager's 250 pounds.

Dawn and I are the same height, 5'7", and I went to myself; so that's how I would look if I weighed 125 pounds. Dawn is thin, but not too skinny. Nobody ever says, "That skinny designer," when describing her. They describe her as thin. There's a difference. To me, Dawn's got a healthy amount of meat on her bones, while still maintaining a trim frame.

It was interesting to hear them defend our 250 pound, 5'2" manager. One of the guys said, "Well, I get the same thing - my doctor says I should weigh 165. There's just no way. I think they're crazy." He's probably 5'5", and very fit, except he's got a nice round belly that he seems to love and be quite comfortable with.

And that's what my manager was then saying. She says, "Well, I love the curves on me. I love my breast, my booty, I just really like all this." She smiled like a little girl showing off a new dress for everyone.

I said quietly, "Well then, maybe you don't need to set a goal for weight loss. If you're happy with how you look, then stay how you are."

Well, she and the other guy didn't like that either. Then they went on about ways to lose weight, and at that point, I realized there is no arguing - people are on the journey they are on. I don't like being told I need to lose weight. In all honesty, I don't want to lose weight on this weight loss challenge, either. I feel like I am in the home stretch of going through my eating whatever I want Marianne Williams suggestion in her book "A Return to Love." I read through that entire book, and the one thing that jumped out most at me was the page on our infatuation with weight. She said the only way to conquer it is to let yourself have whatever you want. You will heal a lot of feelings of fear and scarcity around food. And then, your body will find it's natural resting point, you will find your body wanting to exercise to take the weight off, you will find yourself craving nutrient rich foods, because you will have satiated the part of you that felt you didn't get enough. I embarked on this journey about a year ago, and feel that I am on the tail end of it. But, who knows. Maybe I am to stay fat my whole life. I will tell you, now that I am at this weight, I don't feel concerned about my weight anymore like I used to. That much I do know. I feel calmer and more in tune with myself. So, we'll see. That's all for today. Thanks for listening. Until next time.

Date Rape and Taking Off Some Weight

I will get to the date rape teaser in a moment. First, though, I want to touch on my feelings of fear around a challenge that I am facing as my work's Wellness Captain; a weight loss challenge.

The corporate offices give us outlines of what they want the Wellness Captains to cover, and a "Lose 8 Pounds in 8 Weeks" Challenge is one of them.

I've been avoiding this. Mainly, because of my own experience with goal setting - I then avoid that goal like the plague - and then simply, the gaining back of the weight. I don't doubt I can lose it. What I doubt is whether or not I can keep it off.

So the inner turmoil I am experiencing about losing some weight got me thinking about many things. For one, I have been not going out and meeting with old friends and aquaintances. I say yes to their requests, and then push out the dates we set.

On one level, I know I am doing this because I think they couldn't possibly want to be seen in public with me now that I weight 230ish, 240ish pounds. Whether male or female, I just simply believe they must cringe at being associated with someone who looks like I do. It's really interesting to be confronted by my own beliefs. I mean, all I'm doing is projecting my feelings about fat people onto them. And honestly, I didn't think I was that kind of a person.

Then, an old high school classmate of mine, Matt, moved to town a few months ago, connected with me on facebook, and suggested that we get together. Fine, old classmates are great.

Well, he friends me on facebook, a bit later he messages me to go out sometime, and then finally calls me and asks when I'd like to go out and get a drink or some coffee. I say, oh! Yes, that would be lovely! How about next week sometime? I'll call you!

I have not called him back.

That was about three months ago.

Mike is moving out of state with a job transfer, and this is revealing to me how little of a social life I have had. It has dwindled without me realizing it. The fact of the matter is, Mike and I have been like an old married couple for the last 10 years. His moving is making me realize that I am going to have to "get out there" again.

How this relates to my high school friend, and possilby my fears around having to bite the bullet and lose some weight? Last night I was driving around, and I got thinking, you know, I really should call Matt. I've been avoiding him, and I don't want to be like that. So, why have I been avoiding him? Why do I refuse to call him back?

And then it occured to me. Enter Joe.

Joe and Matt and I were all in the same smart kids classes growing up. I wasn't all that close with Matt growing up, but I liked him all the same. I'm not sure how close he and Joe were in high school, but Matt and Joe both went to the same Big Ten college together, and I know they are very good friends still.

Joe and I ... hm. How do I sum this up. Maybe the quickest way is to say that while I am getting facebook friends requests from many old high school friends and aquaintances, Joe and I have not requested that of each other. And here's why: The short version is because we have a sordid past. The long version follows. If you don't want the long version, you can skip to the last paragraph or so for the feel-good lesson. If you want the long version, then continue here:

Joe and I were both in the smart kids classes together growing up, debated politics -he the conservative, I the liberal, already in the 8th grade - and overall, I thought, had a basic like and respect for each other.

In high school, a few months before prom, Joe asks me out on a date. I thought this was great! He would have been who I envisioned going to prom with. In fact, freshmen year, the girls all got together and decided who would go to prom with who. It was determined I would go with Joe. That was good with me, I had always liked and respected Joe, and thought he'd be a fun prom date. Done - at least from the girls' end of it.

Now it's the fall of our junior year, and Joe has asked me out on a date. I think; awesome. We are laying the groundwork for having a great prom together. Yay!

Joe picks me up for our date. I have no idea what we are going to do for the evening, but I'm picturing a pretty standard dinner and a movie. And here's where it all went horribly wrong.

Looking back on the night, he did not get out of the car and come to the door to get me. Maybe I was too excited and didn't give him time to come and properly take me away. I have since that night always viewed this perceived action - or inaction - of his not wanting to meet the parents as an early signal of imminent danger. But that night, I go out to his car and get in. I don't know what we talked about or how we greeted each other. I think we were both a little shy about our little date.

At the end of our road, Joe takes a right instead of a left. Left would have taken him to Madison, about 40 minutes away and where most dates took place in our small town world - at least the good ones, anyway.

Turning right can also get him there; just a little different route. I thought maybe he didn't know which way to get there, as I lived out of town a ways and was going to head back into town to get there. Not necessary - and notice how I don't offer any information or questions? It's how I was taught to be with guys. But I digress. He didn't seem to need any help. He didn't ask for directions. He seemed to have a plan in mind.

We drive around the country block, and Joe pulls into one of our neighbors field roads. Now, for you city folks out there, I know you think the hicks out in the sticks just magically have these paths that nobody uses. But what the city folks don't realize is that there is a reason these paths aren't grown over with weeds. It's cuz we use them. All the time. Somebody owns that path, that field road. And if somebody is on his field road, the owner knows it. Especially if there's a house nearby.

So Joe pulls over on to one of my neighbor's field roads. I thought about saying, hey, we know these people, but I really didn't know what Joe had in mind or why he was pulling over. Joe was an upstanding guy, a smart guy, a football player but not a player with the ladies. It never occured to me that Joe had anything malevolent in mind for me.

Joe stops the car on my neighbors land. We were completely facing the house and although we were probably a quarter mile away, knowing how my dad had the binoculars out at the slightest notice of anything going on on his property, I didn't doubt that the neighbors were doing the same thing now.

Joe suggests we get out of the car and sit outside for a minute. Sounds nice, except all I can think is that people are going to see us, we're on somebody elses land. But I say nothing, I don't know what Joe's got in mind or how long we'll be here. So I decide to just roll with Joe's seeming plan.

He then pulls out a pint canning jar with a clear liquid in it. He tells me its vodka, and suggests we both have a little to loosen us up. We chit chat a little as we pass the drink between us. I remember him telling me how he noticed a slight mark on the lable of the bottle; he thinks his dad marked the bottle, and that he re-marked it after he took this bit for us. It was about a pint of liquor. I thought he was oh so smart for that.

What happened next? I do not know, and Joe wouldn't speak to me after that night to tell me what did happen. He and I both went to school together and worked at the same after school job, and he wouldn't say a word to me after that night. Which made me suspicious on two counts: you know me day in and day out - you can't be that mad at me for not knowing how to handle my liquor. So what happened that night that makes you not able too look me in the eye? What happened that was so wrong that you won't talk to me?

What I do know is that I was so nervous about our date, I hadn't eaten all day, and although I had drank beer at parties, I was not a seasoned drinker; I never did the hard stuff, and had no idea how much vodka - or how little vodka - was needed to catch a buzz. Or get me wasted.

Within less than half an hour of him picking me up, I was completely drunk. The last thing I remember is laughing and Joe opening up my shirt and sucking on my tits. I was surprised by his doing this, but I was so drunk, this feeling so new, that what Joe was doing to me was an after thought. I was just laughing! And laughing! I blacked out after that point.

I vaguely remember being dropped off at home at midnight, maybe; I just know that it was late and very, very dark outside. I remember throwing up in our bathroom, and my mom coming to check on me. Seeing that I was visibly drunk, she says, "I'm not going to tell Dad about this," and sends me up to bed. I remember waking up fully dressed in my clothes, in a position that I must have passed out in. My sister, home from college for the weekend, commented on how strange I was for sleeping in my clothes.

I go downstairs to the bathroom that next morning and notice a big scrape on my forehead. What the hell? A few days later, an itchy rash developed on my forearms. I showed a teacher at school; ironically, it was the chemistry teacher, who was also the football coach. He told me it was poison oak, then said something like it must have been some weekend you had, with a slightly raised eyebrow and a smirk. My mom didn't talk to me about what may or may not have happened; didn't tell me you might want to protect yourself a little bit and not drink or take drinks from boys, for they might have different motives than you do when they do this. It was as if nothing happened at all. I had to get ointment for the poison oak. Nothing. No comments, no concerns. Just tight lips and no help.

Back at school, Joe wouldn't talk to me about what happened. I asked him what went on, and he just said, Ann, you were totally drunk. You were eating dirt. I said, I was eating dirt?! He said no, I mean that figuratively. I went, oh, I couldn't stand up or walk straight ... then that explains the scrape on my forehead ... and the poison oak. Joe just walked away. More silence. I wasn't the one who supplied the liquor! It didn't matter. Joe wouldn't talk to me. I tried getting info from his friends, who I thought were my friends, too. Nothing. The most I got was out of Casey, who said, Ann, you were really drunk. Joe came and got me to help ... You just puked all night. That was it. All night. Just you puking.

So, as I write this now, I laugh at the image of this trainwreck of a date. In all honesty, this is the first time I have ever laughed about this night. I have, for all these years, harbored immense anger at Joe. Oh, I've read the positive psychology books and tried the think happy thoughts clinics. I've told myself to let it go. I thought I had. And it's not like I think about it every day ... but when I do think about it ... it was kind of a date rape attmept. Right? Get her drunk to get a little? How shitty is that? How tragic is that? Sadly, it's a standard operating procedure for a lot of guys. Especially where I come from.

This is what I got thinking about last night; and I realized how badly I needed to let this go. Holding on to the anger was doing me absolutely no good - but how do I let it go? I realized the reason I wasn't calling Matt is because I WAS still harboring a lot of anger about this. And maybe, it's part of why I keep the weight on, as well; a sort of hope that there has to be a point where I get so heavy that no one will try to take advantage of me. Ever. Again.

However, once I got looking at it, really looking at my life and my experiences, I realized Joe wasn't the only guy who fed me drinks and then tried to get a little. Joe was the only one who I got angry about over it. And I realized, the reason that Joe's crime was more offensive than the others' is because ... I didn't expect that kind of behavior out of him. The other guys, I was surprised that they did that to me, but I wasn't surprised that they would do something like that. I felt betrayed and hurt when these guys made their attempts when I was inebriated ... but they had kind of douche bag tendencies any way. Joe wasn't a douche. Or at least I thought.

As I drove last night, trying to clear my angry heart and head, I conjured up images of hurts from the past. I started looking at my own culpability in those occurences. As I look back, there were about five guys I knew from my home town who pulled similar stunts on me. These guys hadn't fed me the drinks, they just tried stuff after I was good and drunk. One guy even did it when I was passed out. I woke up after a night of all of us old friends partying together at a friends house to him sucking on my tits. When I stirred and found him there, he just kind of slunk off me, laid down on the floor, and acted like he was sleeping. He was a neighbor of mine, was in good ol' 4-H with me. I never confronted him about that. His slinking off without a word seemed to tell me that he wasn't up for that conversation.

I remember talking at my college job about that experience; that experience of being passed out and waking up to find a guy in essence diddling me. I told it in the classic "my friend had this happen to her" point of view. One of the guys that worked there was in his 30s, and when I said how appalling I thought it was of this guy to do that to "my friend", he defended the guy. Your friend was stupid for getting drunk and NOT expecting a guy to do that, he stated. I was shocked. I said, why is she unsafe? What gives the guy the right to think he can even do that? Where is the guy's responsibility? He said you can't expect a guy to NOT do that; your friend is the one to blame for being passed out at a party. I just remember thinking, wow - he and his wife had just had a son, and I remember looking at the picture of that sweet little baby, and wondering what he was going to be taught about what it means to be a man.

Long story still long, as I drove last night, I was finally able to let go of that hurt and anger. I forgave the guys for being taught horrible, um, interpersonal skills (?). I forgave Joe for pulling a trick that other guys I'm sure told him would work. And I forgave myself for having to learn the hard way. To me, getting drunk was just a fun way to let loose. I never ever thought I was putting myself in danger. I now know better, even if it has taken me about 20 years for the lesson to sink in. Strangely, as I look back on that night, me getting as drunk as I did probably was a bizarre protection of sorts - it's hard to go all the way with somebody who's puking.

In my forgiving these acts, I am not AT ALL saying I condone the behavior. I also am not saying I condone my part in these acts. However, that belief that the guy has to get the girl when she's not thinking clearly is definitely in the water where I come from. Everyone just accepts it as fact.

I like to think that this is all part of our evolution as human beings. I like to think that we will grow out of teaching our boys that they have to trick girls to be with them, and that we will grow out of teaching our girls that they have to accept it. At least, I hope so. You might have had completely opposite teachings in your upbringing ... my hope is that it will all shake out in the end to two things: love and kindness. And that's all. Thanks for listening. Until next time.

The Devil and The Corn Refiners Association

This morning I was watching some news stories online, which instantly discredits this entry, I know. After the story about the standing cat, and before the one about the Kardashian Diet, was an interview that a trusted news show conducted with a man who believes sugar needs to be a regulated drug.

It was no secret that the reporter thought this guy was full of shit. And to prove the guy was full of shit, the reporter showed the counterpoint to his argument. Fair enough. That would be called good, balanced reporting. What I have a concern with is that he used The Corn Refiners Association as his counterpoint source.

What would any logical person do if they needed information on the physiological effects of a food on the body? Well, probably talk with a few more doctors, some nutritionists. Maybe even people who have personally been heavy and ask them what they did to lose the weight and keep it off.

This reporter, however, used the Corn Refiners Association as his source.

Anybody think the Corn Refiners Association would p o s s i b l y have a vested interest in assuring the public that their product is safe?

They're not evil, I'm not saying that. I'm just asking that people start living their own lives. Testing things on their own. Making their own decisions based on their own experiences. We can have people debate all day and all night whether or not sugar is "bad." I can't say that it is. For me personally, I have found that I perform better and more clearly without it. Have I completely stopped eating it yet? No. It's not completely out of my diet yet. We hang out less, but I haven't completely kicked him out of my life. But I have realized he might not be as good to me as he's claimed to be. As with people, so too in our relationships with food. Sometimes it takes a while to realize the relationship has no substance. But it gets found out eventually.

Just think. That's all I'm saying. Thanks for listening. Until next time.

Bells; Southern and Taco

Two quick things:

I went to Kentucky with my friend Mike last week. He is moving there and it might be correlated to this but I have been eating like a mad woman. I am back up to 240 pounds. I feel my body trying to figure out where to pile up some of this extra poundage. It seems it is deciding to put a layer of fat onto my neck. I can feel extra fat on my neck; specifically on the front where if I had an Adam's Apple it would be. I feel so huge.

The trip to Louisville, KY, with Mike was interesting. He was looking at apartments, and most of the building manager's were women.

A born and raised yankee, I have never had much respect for Southern women. My stereotype of them is that they are manipulative and treacherous. They are thin but they do it just out of insecurity. They are weak. They are tragic. Sorry, South. But that how I've seen you.

As we interacted with these women, two things jumped out at me. Our first building manager was a young black girl, around 20 something. She was very cute, thin, she had the fake Loius Vuitton purse that is so common for girls in Chicago to carry, too.

What struck me about her was her accent. She talked in a cute, Southern drawl. Hey, ya'll, where ya'll movin' from? Wayell, I think ya'll will like it down here. Yes, that's right. Ya'll can choose the first or the second floor plan.

I. Have. Never. Heard. A. Black. Person. Talk. Like. That. My experience has only had two accents: Northern White, like the Newscasters speak, and Inner City Black. I've never heard a black person speak with a southern drawl.

It occured to me that speech is random, and different regions put different values on different accents. It seemed to me that down here in the south, speaking with a southern accent was Proper Speech. In the rest of the country, not so much, but there, it was business appropriate.

The next place we went to, there was another girl in her twenties showing Mike apartments. She was about a size 4; maybe a size 6, but I'd place her in a size 4. She was dishwater blond, wearing black dress pants, a pale blue shirt, a matching pale blue cardigan, and black beaded necklace and bracelet. What struck me most was here shoes - she looked all professional, and then had on these black, strappy heels. They couldn't be comfortable to be showing apartments in all day long. But they looked sexy. That was for sure - they added a bit of sass to an overall conservative outfit.

Between the cute black girl, who was also about a size 4 or 6, and this girl, I suddenly had a new respect for Southern women. It occured to me that for them, staying fit and in shape is part of being a woman in their culture. Being sexy was expected of a woman, it was part of the deal. In my culture - I'm not saying the North in general, I'm saying in the upbringing that I had - only trampy girls were thin and attractive and wore strappy heels to work. Only girls that were "asking for it" wore such things to work. Only slutty girls made men feel the discomfort that comes from seeing a beautiful woman. And a beautiful woman causes discomfort, not joy. A beautiful woman causes competition. A beautiful woman causes pain.

But not in the South. I could feel an edge to both of these women who had helped us, a deep and sincere kindness in each of their hearts. But also, a distance, an arms distance between us. Not that I'm expecting building managers to be hugging us and inviting us out for the evening. It was just something I sensed, a sort of strength of self-protection. I found it interesting. I thought, hm. Maybe I need to live in The South for a while so I can learn this skill of staying thin. For it was definitely in the air, it seemed to me. The expectation of a woman to stay thin and beautiful floated all around us. Not like up north here, where once you get married you can let yourself go. It was an interesting experience.

Then, I have been letting myself to continue eating what I want. I am simply not able to eat the same things. I bought two desserts for Easter - a fresh fruit tart, and a flourless chocolate cake. Interesting to note: I tried eating the tart, which had a pastry base and a custard filling, topped with fresh fruits. Had one bite, and knew I'd end up wheezing and allergic from the custard. Ate the flourless chocolate cake with fresh cut up strawberries. No reaction at all. Later in the day, we ordered a pizza. No more thick, bready crusts for me. Where I used to be all about Pizza Hut's pan pizza, we ordered their thin crust. It was really good. As we ate it, and I couldn't even eat more than two peices, it occured to me that I might be ready for this raw food life and making pizzas from all natural ingredients. It was a good feeling. It's taken me a long time to run through all my eating, but I think I might be there. Now I just have to figure out how to bring this in as wellness captain. It can be done. Now let's get out there and do it?