The Thing With Feathers



Ah, all my lovely friends and blog readers.   It is Friday, Good Friday for some, Great Friday for others, and just today for some of the rest of us.

I wanted to talk about the fact that while I am not losing my job…I am being given the all-clear to look for another job.   This is a complicated thing that I’ve been talking about with the people involved – some of them and wrestling with for a while now.  A thing that’s causing a certain amount of stress in my brain.  It’s made me feel a bit like I am floating, it’s made me want to be told point blank what is to be done, it’s made me want to not do anything – read, write, exercise – that even yesterday made me feel good.  Like a flash flood of depression.


What the hell.

The impulse to whine about having to deal with this doesn’t get me anywhere.  I have a weekend.  I have plans and things to do.  I have a story to work on.  And I have a story to let go.

I so often use this blog for the reiteration, the focus, the underlining of things I tell myself I can’t do.  I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.   It is walking water torture.  It is a little beastling that runs ahead down every hallway and locks doors and windows.  It pulls down shades, turns out lights.  And for the longest time, I have just wandered along as though I turn corner after corner in these darkened rooms and just have to turn back out again.  Telling the story of my life and casting myself as the Little Match Girl is a profound addiction for me.

So, we climb out of that shell.  I am a thousand different women, a different one every day, but there’s a ribbon that runs through us all and knots us together.  This soul that exists without a name, a fire that burns for no witness, this river that feeds itself.  It is metaphysical, but it matters.  I matter in my own life.  Imagine that.

What does all of this mean?  It means I have to do some shit I don’t want to do.  Own up to things I don’t want to own up to in terms of food and negativity and my own flatout destructive laziness.  The damage I do by behaving like I don’t matter.  Because there is a very real cost to stress hiding, to living with an aim to stay invisible.  I pay it in health, I pay it in peace, I pay it financially, of course, when things get left undone because there’s emotional pain tagged to it – oftentimes, deeply irrational levels of emotional pain bound up in stories nobody knows but me.

Totally had go back and edit out the 2nd person there – POV matters, too.  I live in this floaty, 2nd person stance here.  As if the shit that hurts is just happening, not necessarily happening to me.  The woman who does this in writing group (she uses this rather aggressive form of 1st person that somehow requires her to refuse to use articles) kills me.

I am alive and in this body.  I have real desires.  I am not just my words written to meet a quota.  I have to deal with paper.  I have to deal with phone calls.  I have to goddamn grow up about this because laying back and wishing has not served me well.

So, more truth, less chatter.  Throw open windows, light candles, bust through doors.  Level up.

It is never so terribly impossible once we I begin.




Why do I want to lose weight/get healthy/change my lifestyle/change myself/change at all?

I don’t know if this will help me settle down or not.  I don’t know what I’ll even say, so we’ll just have to see what happens.

1.  I really love how it feels when I start to get my house in order.  In control, alert, wiser, healthier, sharp, progressing.  When it doesn’t feel like I’m just going to eat Chipotle for every meal until my arteries clog up and die.
2.  So that  random women do not ask me when I am due.  This only happened once, but once is surely enough.
3.  For a sense of self-care that I can keep with me all day long.  Even if I don’t find myself beautiful or lovely or seductive in any way, at least,  I will have a feeling that I am doing everything I can for myself and that I don’t have anything to beat myself down about.  I’d love to progress from that to just finding myself awesome at all hours of the day, in all states of face and dress, but at the moment, we start with that.
4.   To not feel like I’m going to wake up in 5, 10, 30 years and go – there was the window – there was the time to have done it and I didn’t and now I have health problems and the option will be gone.   I feel, genuinely, like I have all the time in the world and equally as acutely, that I have but minutes to make the right, permanent decision.  So I do, like so many do, and stand still waiting for something to emerge or occur that will force the choice.  I want to just choose health, moderation, myself and not fast food, comfort, the immediate relief of no longer being put at the edge of the blade and asked what I want anymore.  I just want to know what I want and get rid of all the temptation of backsliding.  Crazy, I know.  Arbitrary line in the sand, obviously.  Still.

5. To not have random tears or random clothing that out of the blue one day just doesn’t fit anymore.

6. To not feel like everything is slipping away from me.  I can’t control work too much right now, I can’t control the drama and the stress.  I don’t mean this in a eating disorder-sense where I want to control my food intake down to the last grain of rice or salt, but training this internal no could be huge in the rest of my life.   Finding the kind no, the no that respects that things are hard but there is a larger goal, the no that sticks…that could change my life more than any absent 20-40 pounds.  It could make everything else possible.   This blog has been proof that I can say yes to making something happen every day, no matter what.  The diet has to show proof that I can say no.

Isn’t it weird to think that right now…in my head…I question my ability to do this, say no to anything?  But it would be lovely to give this a year.  A serious year.  A beginning, an end, a slog.  A fight.  A deadline.  We’re not promising that now.  We’re just contemplating that.  First, I have to give you a day.