One-Star Review (1/365)

I am on the path. I know the start weight.  I know the score.  The feeling.  The muscle memory of January 1.  This is the easiest day of the whole thing.  The simplest to find the Fitbit and get it charged.  To look up a few low-carb websites.  To add a couple glasses of water to your morning.  To eat some cheese and be distracted by the newness of it all.

This is the day for all of that to happen.

I have gained weight over this year of undocumented emotional indulgence.  The roller coaster of are they, aren’t they, will they, won’t they, do they, don’t they has taken its only just now acknowledged toll.  I’ve pretended that I feel the same, even if stairs leave me slightly ought of breath, if I feel slightly overclocked sometimes, a mind and heart racing without any particular stress to trigger it.  There are signs that are subtle and not that double orders of chile cheese fries have an impact to the body.

I don’t feel the resonating thrum around the idea of providing this page with yet another, probably annual at this point, mea culpa.  I don’t feel like a public face palm is all that valuable to me, personally.   I was mad earlier, overlooking the scale, not shocked, but disappointed that I thought that the magic in my magical thinking was hardcore enough as to invent a workaround for the Law of Conservation.    That I could eat violently – eat against imperfection – and end up perfect.  End up unmarked and not carrying all of the impact of adding dessert at every meal, of cravenly eschewing anything remotely green in color (the chile was mostly red in hue). As ever, the value to me, or to you now, is in the path forward where either we do a little better at not fucking things up, or we don’t.  I mean, as much chatter as I can provide us both about it and we all know I can chatter with the best of them when I’m of a mind, the things I do today are what the rest of my life will look like if I don’t break the chain.

I have my plans.  My flexible suggestions that I am going to be writing into law once I am sure I am not going to spend every day breaking them.  I am writing them down, but not here.   Again, not until I am doing something I can comment on.  Day One, as has been explained to me at my new corporate job, is energy and excitement and press releases and the whole embodied concept of LAUNCH! It’s important and necessary to cast your boat off the shore hard and get moving.  But it’s Day Two, it’s the realization that people – perhaps you, dear reader – have moved on.  The excitement for them is already behind them, scratched out of their bullet journals, and it is on you to design and sustain your own passion and maintain it so you can sell it back to them all the way down the road.

So I have done the Day One Showing Up.  I have provided myself the rationale.  I have not eaten a single marshmallow of the bag of marshmallows that have sat next to me on the couch all day long.  I have joined the hordes of perpetual failure: I have started a diet  and I hope I achieve my goals with it.  But this is the same group that is winnowed out into those who get somewhere, who do make it.  It has to come out of the pool of everyone who is willing to say, goddamnit, okay, maybe my Id can’t run me from morning to night and I have to put my foot down.  All of us tryers standing at the shore, taking the shove into the waters we know, pulling ourselves into the waters we don’t.



Whatever It Takes



The sound of a woman who just began some sort of odyssey only she doesn’t quite know it yet.  She just knows that today, the mental work she had to do, was rough.  At least, at its root, which is the place she will eventually have to go.

This is day one.   This is sort of my chance to reintroduce myself, my mission (it may seem laughable, but it feels like a mission) and what I’m dealing with.

I began the diet as planned.  There was no reason or happenstance to prevent a good first day.  I had all my food, I had no work to encourage me to stray, no place to go that would remind me, really of what I might be avoiding/missing out on.

First things first, I got on the scale.  175.  175 at one point would have made me pass out, crack my head on the bathtub.  Now, it just s what it is.  It is where we start.  I don’t care if you think 5’1″ and 175 is “fat” or “not fat” or “healthy” or “unhealthy” or whatever semantics for the dieting world feel comfortable for you, because looking at that, for me, for my self-esteem issues and problems emotionally attaching to folks in the outside world, it’s just too much.  As I get older, it’s also just starting to creep up on me how 30-50 extra pounds is going to feel on aging, bones.  The things we get used to, if they’re wrong, eventually, they take their toll.  Usually when we’re too vulnerable and tired and set in our ways to see an easier path.

It’s a good, visceral reminder that I don’t stay steady when I try and eat “when I’m hungry” or “listen to my body’s needs.”  My mind is the one steering the rudder and my mind tells me, yes, Chipotle, Starbucks, Totino’s Pizza, Chocolate Bar, Diet Dr. Pepper in combination will make me full and happy.  Well, not really.  It made me full.  And gave me panic and jittery sensations and left me awake at 3a.m. watching Rifftrax’ Fun in Balloonland and thinking I had actually lost my mind.

Right now, that same mind is telling me it would have been better if I had just saved a little bit of that chocolate bar because today, having suffered such deprivation, I would appreciate it times a thousand.  No.  That’s just sugar addiction trying to pretend it’s not here.   It is.  It is, also, going to get much worse than this.  This makes me nervous.  I know there’s a place beyond this worry, I know this is part of the bargain, it just helps to say it out loud.  So to speak.

I also stomped around for fifteen minutes of actual exercise.  We’ll make sure to match that tomorrow – and I hope – for the next three hundred and sixty-five days.

I am excited to do this, glad.  It just takes a lot of focus to make me realize those are my feelings rather than the constant star of wanting to approach my life through distracted, emotional eating.  Like, a lot.

Tomorrow: possibly buying a new Fitbit like the rest of this disgruntled nation.  It doesn’t feel like a new year, just like we flipped the book over and started writing on the clean pages in the back.

Whatever it takes.

Duhn Duhn!: Day One Hundred Fifty-Five

998492_31489131More Law and Order for us lawless and disordered folk out here on the range.

I am standing strong in the face of a scale that will not move no matter my effort.  For what a turn around the park will not resolve, persistence might.   That and I have all the stuff to be good so I’d have to be kind of an asshole to go out and buy something full of rice and toast right now.  I have to drink at least 6 days worth of shakes now and it’s a total waste to drink a shake in the morning and go on and eat something that undoes all that.

That said, I’m thinking about this vacation.  I’ve arranged for the hotel – one I’ve been to and isn’t fancy but will serve our purposes just fine – and everything seems to be going ahead.  I know backwards and forwards that using travel as a justification to eat to excess in the context of trying, very very hard to lose weight is a recipe for disaster.  I know that researching restaurants and salivating over their menu is not a great idea.  I know that I am absolute shit at compartmentalizing vacation time so that I don’t give up the diet afterwards and let it bleed horribly into the current future.   I know that I have a hundred thousand years of experience with this.

I also know that I’m probably going to spit into the face of my best intentions anyway and try.  Maybe something will happen in the interim that will cement me onto the path of my better angels, but that seems equally as unlikely.  Not that I’m fucking around at the moment.  I just know that what I should do is to get excited about keto foods right now (my mother made a keto cheesecake for me today, which is great, but I have no idea what she put in it, or in what amounts and then I’m sure there were excess carbs in the sauce for the chicken I made and sometimes it feels like you can’t win for losing.  At the moment, I certainly can’t.  Probably shouldn’t even enter the contest.

But, I did not stop doing 30 minutes of activity a day just because we’ve accidentally fallen headlong into June.  We took a long walk today and I must have looked like I was trying, in a very 80’s way to be incognito with a white visor, and baggy, offwhite canvas jacket to cover my roasted arms so they didn’t re-roast and turn leathery and cancerous and even more painful.  That’s something I should have taken a picture of and posted except for this shred of esteem that tells me I’m ridiculous to contemplate it.  However, I still got the sun beaming down on my head and I didn’t douse my crown with aloe vera so I think my post walk exhaustion has to be due in part to that.  And that means I am doing this half-crazed.

But none of that matters, because I think I may have broken my story!


Tonzura Koite!: Day One Hundred Fifty-Three

751398_35167431Aaaaaaaaah, so much.

Really, my therapist is missing out because I’m doing some spectacular things (both for and against my own best interests) while we extend our unplanned therapy hiatus.  I’m intimating to new boss in a pretty epic chat that I want to leave in the next two years, more than intimating, sort of accidentally blatantly explaining.  We also talked about racism, sexism, and things that have been kosher in olden days that we’re not going to allow to be kosher anymore. I’m going to Salida which was something we talked about me not needing to do back when it was a reward for dieting.   My parents agreed to go there overnight for a one-show only travel review where we hit it, the Great Sand Dunes and get the hell back to the safety of our homes (and, apparently, also go to a Rockies game and Celestial Seasonings tea factory- yes, I live in Colorado after trying to obscure that fact for the past four+ years, I do.)  I’m weirded out by the fact that they’re not begging off, though that may still happen, and that this is what they’ve settled on doing.  They actually wanted to travel, to be on the road a bit and not just go to Denver which we could do at any time.   And now, what the fuck, I’m thinking about going to Denver ComicCon for all the Mass Effectery.  Like Kaidan’s going to be there! And Fem!Shep.  Or their people that voice them.  And Ashley.That’s something that wasn’t planned before because we were really sure that we would be going to my grandparents’ and I would be fine doing that, but apparently, it’s not good for her, health-wise to stress out over us coming, so they’ve rescheduled it for the fall and now we’re actually using the vacation time to tonzura koite as it were.   That is so atypical, I cannot even tell you.

Wow, all of a sudden life just broke open like a pinata and said here’s the candy, run around like an idiot and grab some.  I didn’t have to even swing the Louisville Slugger.

All of that, if I was smart and not caffeinated and worked up having just stationary bike’d for half an hour, should be broken down into its own little section to help with my word count. But I feel buzzy and interested in throwing off this literary yoke and getting back to getting excited about these things which feel so nice and rewarding considering how down I was yesterday.    I also saw one of those rarely all that helpful motivational images that actually did remind me that doing this diet is going to take more than two weeks, more than two months for me to get the feedback that is going to make me giddy about the fact that I’ve bothered doing it at all, so I just have to apply this nose to the grindstone again. And happily, I also did not fuck up the diet today! I have also exercised essentially for 30 minutes a day for the whole month of May.  That’s something right there.



How to Gope: Day One Hundred Fifty-One

That’s not what I mean – erase that sentence.

Tomorrow’s therapy and dang, I need it, I crave it.   Feeling run down and it’s only Wednesday.  Luckily, I’ve got a little bit of leeway workwise – not with how much there is to do, but at least with when I have to do it.  Panicking in the car, despite being aware and desiring to overcome it, it’s got me in a bit of a headlock lately.

Here’s my low-carb confession.  I’ve been way too obsessed with Mission Low-Carb tortillas and using them to make quesadillas.  It’s all accounted for in ye olde My Fitness Pal.  I didn’t get more and use those today, though, I got some lower calorie, lower-carb La Tortilla Factory tortillas full of fiber in hopes that I will kick the desire to eat 9000 of these things and I think it semi-kinda worked.  It definitely doesn’t have a faux-flour tortilla flavor.  It’s not all that tasty in that format, actually, but it’s just tortilla-like enough to help me manage.  I’m hoping having some time off on Friday to cook lunch at home will help me get away from the super convenience low-carb items.  I didn’t weigh myself this morning.  I don’t want to have a number sitting around in my mind.  It’s funny how you can feel so strong and confident one day and the next, tired and strained.   Someone I work really closely with is in the hospital getting check out for what appears to be ovarian cancer.   My boss is leaning on me for support over a staffing issue (not me and not the coworker I have in the past mentioned) and I am not in a great or fair place with it because I’m getting super gossipy and, well, this is just between you and me about it and there’s no reason for me to involve myself except for the fact that she’s involved me.  In a very classy, casual, not looking for me to be Queen of the Assholes and tell her to fire ’em all sort of way and what horrifies me is that I don’t care.  About this or a couple other issues that six months ago with old boss, I would have said were the most important thing we do.  Now I wonder why I would ever say that.  That it’s just a job and I’ve given at the office and leave me alone and let me get into my bed and put that bed in a box and let me cram myself against the corner as tight as putty and that’s such an odd impulse I have.

I don’t know why I feel so exposed.  It probably is that I’m worried about my grandmother and given the fact that we’re probably not going to go see her, my vacation hopes are half-dashed since nobody gives a damn about leaving this one-horse town for anything and I’m probably going to be fat for a good long while even if I just start drinking broth and watching Gandhi and every last god-forsaken person I know outside of my family is getting married and sometimes, when I need to eat and need to lay down and need just one person to lay hands on me. I think death is nearer to me than the palest of my dreams.

But then I hear the windchimes and the night noise and my life survives on the beauty of that moment, the gift of coincidence, of a body despairing and a universe providing the softest reminder that so much exists beyond the noises we make to assert ourselves.