Grumulous

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Yeah, so it will not be news exactly to anyone that I was a bit of a waste again at work today.  I don’t know if I am pushing myself too hard or if I’m just unable to complete tasks because the things I need to do are bound up with other things I can forge ahead and conquer like I used to, but I feel a bit thwarted.  Not that was the issue today at all, when I was, after lunch, half-dead after staying up until 2:30 after reinstalling the Sims 4 and playing it like I would die if I stopped.  This addictive personality of mine. Filling the Void as fast as I can so it can’t scare me.  I was good for a few hours, but then productivity went in the toilet.

Work has some stress to it.  It’s a non-profit, so there’s always money stress.  It’s a lot of money stress, too, but I am at least grateful that I am not resorting to food. Mainly because it’s just not around to tempt me. I haven’t had any soda since New Year’s, and I haven’t gone to Chipotle.  These are small things, but I like to affirm them because I feel like I am doing something for myself.  With so much equivocation and worry about dieting perfectly and throwing it and smashing it into little pieces if I eat something a carb out of bounds, I have a couple watermarks I can’t fall below.  I also know that sometime in February, I will get another planned deviation and I can pizza or whatever it ends up being, so I am not lost, adrift, needful and alone.

I’m doing it okay.  It’s not everything going on right now, though it is a lot of it.

I was reading for half a second about plus-size model Tess Holiday and for every yay body positivity comment (don’t read the comments on anything ever, except here) there was someone of no great concern who snidely commented that even though she works out with a trainer, she definitely (read: DEFINITELY) must eat 10 pizzas regularly and that explains her body.  Because if she did all that and ate the right things she wouldn’t look like she does (which is beautiful, by the way.)

And it just leaves you sighing and even more tired because I don’t ask for attention like that at all and bodily attention leaves me shaking in my boots.  Because it feels as invasive as a scapel, these casual comments about how someone can diagnose your inside by looking at your outside.  That they’re doing it all day long, these micro-diagnoses about who is attractive and healthy and acceptable to contemplate, what, breeding with?  And you can’t opt out of their opinions.  Only, I suppose, reading them and it leaves me feeling like this is a long row to hoe, and I’m not comfortable with the place I’m trying to go.  This beady-eyed harpy, this dead-eyed “bro” who thinks they can look at a picture and dismiss a person’s entire life and worth rather than engage with those parts of themselves that don’t want to dehumanize and dis-associate from heavy people.  Who do so with glee and gusto and are the playground bullies all grown up.

That is exactly the generalization they’ve made, though, for “us” and I want to do better.  I just don’t want to find that I’m clawing my way towards the hope I get to look down on others.  Or, equally jarring, the constant expectation of failure that sits in the back of my mind, as cruel as any anonymous Facebook commenter, this voice that knows I’ll never have to worry about internal transformation because the external change is impossible.

Still, I’m eating less.  Drinking water.  Rolling my eyes for exercise.  I’ll just fail my way to the top.

I’m hoping to find other healthier distractions.  I know my exercise bike is sitting there, Eeyore-like, awaiting my attention.  Not today, I’m afraid.