With a Taste for the Melodramatic



Dear Sugar didn’t really take me where I wanted to go this week.   Maybe.  Still spiky.  Still full of a headache.  Feeling really okay with being 7 calories over.  Not subtly adjusting things where maybe I over-estimated to make it “perfect.”  Today was just a seven calories over sort of day, but I feel full and not deranged.


A sort of written tapping.  I used to do this a lot with my first therapist and it helped me quite a bit.  I tend to stop doing things that work.

I just want to feel good right now.  In this time.  Without any glancing forward or backward, just now.  As I am.  In this body.  With this brain, these hands, this touch.I am going to take a breath and release some of these past few days’ negative emotions.   Some of it has a basis in reality, some of it is just self-punishment for imperfection.
I am going to stop dragging myself through the worst possible scenarios.  They almost never come to pass and even if they did, I can survive it.  I have survived things that have knotted me up for months.  I have been brave in so many ways so many times.
Nobody benefits from me hurting.  Nobody thinks more of me or more about me for taking on all the pain I can reach.  It doesn’t take it from anyone else, it doesn’t ease anyone else, it just hurts me.
I’m doing good things with my food and this means that I am not being run by it.  I’m learning and trying it out and I’m not afraid of getting to play around and fine tune and go over calories
I get to make art with my writing.  It doesn’t have to come to anything, to anyone’s attention, because it is real and of my heart and it’s going to happen anyway.  Regardless.  I think so many things are glorious and beautiful and worthy of elevation.   The way the sky looks in late January now that we’ve turned towards spring, seeing a new road and all the ticky-tacky houses all in a row, imagining what it is to live life as they must at that angle, what it would be to know that right turn on Meade St. would be the right turn towards home.
I have a small case of who knows what might happen.   Out of the shadows of insistence, someone flew a little flag that says you can’t count me out yet.  I might like you.  I don’t know you, but I might.
I like the stories I’m working on.  I like the characters I’m learning about.  I like getting chance to create everything they need.
I have a several larger mysteries I can soften into, that I don’t have to resolve, just explore.
I really love incidental music for self-help videos and public access tv shows.   I love birthday wishes from kind souls who couldn’t ever know what they mean to me.  I have chocolate oranges.
I have a future that I’m interested in seeing play out.  I have Tribe episodes to live tweet.

It is okay.





We are looking ahead.  We are liking our new fonts.  We are building mysteries and unpeeling others.  We are going to go.

Step One.

Convince yourself that even if you are a Lovecraftian horror, you’re not the single worst Lovecraftian horror on the block. You don’t need to name names, but there’s somebody out there, face-wise, who you would not trade places with. Recognize that no matter how long you stare into the mirror and gingerly, physically alter your own self-perception, tomorrow morning you’re two steps backwards. Different body chemistry, different demand on your brain, a weird-ass dream when you’re pregnant and decapitating villains from a rope invisibility affixed to the sky is in your mind. You wake up and feel fucking awful. This is okay. You are building a muscle. It’s going to be weak for a good long while and it will shake when you use it unexpectedly for a more than a few moments. It will shake when it shouldn’t and you’ll think it will fail, and sometimes it will, because that sense of yourself in a positive light will fail. You’ve got all these terrible habits that tell it to be quiet, still, to not scare you with the failure that feels such a part of it, such a part of you.  

 But once you start to stretch it and work it, it wants to stretch and work. It activates and suddenly, self-esteem isn’t this joke you tell yourself about beauty queens and models, it’s this being that involves his or herself in how you experience the world. The time spent worrying about the negative impression you might be making on others – the self-esteem leans in and reminds you, gently, sometimes with a soupcon of snark, that you’re never going to see that jerk in the grocery store again. Or, you might, and if they have an opinion on your mismatched socks and want to share that with you, you can survive the encounter. You hear that and you straighten your spine and you let your shoulders fall free and you just got fifteen minutes back that you didn’t have to spend skulking and simpering and calculating a stranger’s untold disdain for you.

It’s sort of like having an administrative assistant for your inner bullshit. And so often, I think, when you have someone other than yourself involved in a problem, you take better care of it.  It keeps falling to front of mind. You force yourself to step up. You want to avoid disappointing them so you fight back.  If you can separate threads of personality inside, you can listen to some of these voices and take up some of their causes when you pretend they’re not my own. Maybe that’s not the best impetus for internal change.  Maybe you should be able to enact change because you deserve it.  

Ideally, yeah, you can synthesize the self-esteem AA and the motivation coach and the creative muse and the squishy stuffed animal of friendship and the Crone Who Knows and the WASP Who Won’t and all the parts and pieces of your psyche into a single, consolidated you. But first, I think, you need to know who is up there rattling in your attic and invite them for some imaginary tea. Or imaginary coffee or even just an imaginary census-taking. Try it.


Happy Trails to You

Things about today:

1.  I had a very random and unexpected social anxiety flare-up.  We had a networking thing for work which was not very well attended because I felt it was not very well publicized by staff and just was sort of slapdash simply because I think they’ve stopped trying…I have other issues, but this is a public blog and not really about that, at any rate, I was stressed on behalf of us all and empathically bearing the spark-throwing going on in all of our minds.  Suddenly, I couldn’t talk to anyone and I needed to get out of there.  NEEDED to.  I wasn’t sick.  I wasn’t feeling bad.  It wasn’t quantifiable.  But, I sat there, with my phone and I smiled and suddenly, the feeling wasn’t gone…but it was manageable.   That smile pasted on until I calmed down enough and had some food and the sugar from our volunteer lunch worked its way out of my system.

2.  I did run out the door like a bat out of hell, though as soon as I was released after seven.  I was going to drive equally fiercely and rapaciously and get to the burrito store because despite the fact that I had Mexican food not yet thirty minutes before – a really delicious chile relleno – because, I felt, that’s what you do.  Even if just two or three days before I had this really great epiphany when my sister was talking about enabling me and saying out loud how I started the year doing so well and my poor arteries and it left me so deflated and miserable that I was sure I was going to explode like a health-nut rocket.  I’d show her!  But the days have been stressful and time kept escaping me and the plan went whoosh out of my head and all the justifications seemed to Magneto a bridge for me out of thin air and metal plates.   It didn’t matter that I didn’t need this burrito bowl, I didn’t even matter that I didn’t 100% want one, I just was going to have one because it would make all the frangible, tattered emotions and disappointment and everything I felt being in that big event hall go mute.  Who knows if I even had that explication laid out in my mind?  For me: right then, inevitable as death and taxes.

BUT, all my exempt immortals, Jesus must have taken the wheel, because it occured to me that my frustration with the event is that we never do anything new or different and we wonder, dope-like, why the universe isn’t turning up to kiss our feet.  And it’s the same with the diet.  I keep staring like I have no comprehension whatsoever that if I eat a burrito everyday and a red velvet cupcake and an omelet and hashbrowns and a apricot bar like I did today, I might get blockier and stockier and less happy about it.  That if I choose to change, something actually has to change.  Hear that, Congress?  Sorry.  So I drove home.  Had some oatmeal.  Not hungry.

I walked last night.  Considering doing that again.  Need less considering and more doing.

So let me finish here and we’ll send me on my way.

To Ward Off Evil Spirits

I am motivating myself towards actually putting the ravioli in the boiling water.

Alright, done.

Here I be, enjoying the fruits of a long week and a quiet night, after a relatively drama-free day.  I didn’t get all the issues that I really, REALLY needed to resolve today resolved, but I’m in a decent place and I know I worked very damn hard.   Right now, that’s enough for me.  I have a lot on my plate so to speak and getting through the day without having anyone intimate they’re going to quit or blow up or murder us all is pretty substantial.

It’s funny, but I’m deeply, deeply enjoying the diet right now.  It tells me when to stop.  I track, and it provides the two red lights flashing that it’s time to wrap up and I can check where I’m at and go, huh, I could still eat something, if I was hungry but it needs to be small and composed of this.  Do I want that?  Eh, maybe, eh…I need a little more water, first.  So I drink the water and I go about getting the business I want done done and then, maybe I eat that thing or maybe I don’t and I know I’m done.  I know the morning will follow and I can have more then and the time basically runs away from me.

Also, this water thing?  Very effective as far as not letting me gorge myself.  It’s ridiculous to contemplate how I eat when I don’t track.  I completely, wholly, and utterly delude myself into believing that somehow if I don’t write it down, it’s just voided.  It doesn’t count towards anything and it doesn’t do anything.  But clearly, when you do track, and you see that the whole bag of chips that absolutely must be had for some weird completist thing at chipotle is pretty much what I should eat at any given meal.  500 calories.  For chips.  I mean.  On the one hand, that’s patently unfair that something pretty delicious can be so out of whack for you.  On the other hand, gorging yourself on a burrito bowl, and stretching your stomach with a load of salt and fat and adding the chips on top of it is probably not what anyone intended.

I like the whole idea of just eating enough of something to enjoy its taste and feel like I got a meal out of it and enough other good things to fill up the hunger gap (vegetables, drinking water, little snacks like pretzels) so that there just isn’t room to eat more calories at a sitting than I need.

Another good thing I’m doing since this is such an honest and forthright account of how I’m doing in the food department is I’m having pop only at work and only once a day.  This I think will help me cut down tremendously.  If it’s not here, I can’t nurse a bottle of it all the live long day.  So I think that is helping.

I don’t know about our scale.  We will not speak of the crack in it which I assuredly did not put there.  Kind of not excited about getting a new one, but kind of interested in seeing if there’s other progress than just mental.

Mental.  It’s all mental anyway.

Sexy Redundancy

Food is just not sounding good today.  It’s sounding like…overmuch. I have a tupperware bowl of chicken salad on the night stand that I’ve been picking at, but it’s not doing anything for me. So I’ve been occupying myself with other things.  Like cleaning up my room.  I got started right away in the morning as the sun came through the new curtains that sister bought for me which are the perfect shade of dusky rose.  You have to get started first thing otherwise you drift out and start playing computer games and look up and it’s almost four o’clockand you’re no closer to fixing anything. It’s not sparkling, pristine, military clean.  But it’s walkable, which is what I was going for with one swipe.  I’ll keep working on different areas and get ready to get my clothes washed tomorrow at my parents and get myself ready for work with clothes and food and it’ll be the best Monday I can make it.

Sounds like a plan.

Weighed in on the negligibly accurate scale: 153.  Who knows?  So long as we slouch downward, I’m happy.

It is Halloween.  Usually, we go out to dinner or something to avoid the rather obnoxious event that is Halloween for pretty much anyone who is not a child.  My parents work terrible hours tomorrow so they’re going to bed too early to take part.  I don’t know.  I’m thinking we just go Code Jehovah’s Witness and close the blinds, turn off the lights and wait it out.  Like a tornado or nuclear winter.  I have like a negative desire to go out anywhere and deal with that energy today, that manic, sugar-seeking, I’m free to be a little monster (which definitely is not limited to children) since I can glom onto it so easily.

Sometimes the best way to stop a problem is not to start it.

Instead, I’m reading fanfiction (what.) and admiring the fact that I set out to do something today and I managed it.   I’ve been thinking about this project as whole – blogging every day, at least five hundred words, for a whole year.  For a long time, it seemed to me that I could not commit to my writing at all.  That everything I had was a fragment, destined to die on a hard drive somewhere, unfinished, unread, forgotten.  But this project is showing me that I have the werewithal to write every single day.  I can keep a promise if I demand it of myself and when I’m wobbly, slow down and correct myself so that I can keep it going.

This diet has been the same way.  I can carve the time to do something every day.  It may not be an overnight work of genius, but the work will reveal things as it always does.  It will create its own insights in the doing.  Just backing down and collapsing into cravings ruins the experimental, future self.  Starts her back at square one.  And she’s been to square two now and is very interested in the looks of square three.

So we agree to carry on, carrying on.

The Weepies make darn good music.

Camelious Hump

I should stop starting these entries with the word so.  I like to give you a certain in medias res type of feeling since so much of this is on the fly and in the middle of the process, but sometimes it feels like I’m catching you through an open window as I slide down a long, polished hallway in my gym socks.

Today was pretty dang excellent, diet-wise.  I did what I wanted to do and provided I don’t eat something marginal before bed, I can be pretty happy with the low-carb aspect of it and with feeling in control of what I’m choosing to eat.  Vegetables, as always, seem to be the last thing to add and the first thing to go…but as this is day two of knuckling down, I’m not going to start stabbing holes in my dream balloon with asparagus spears.

We also went to the gym and I worked out on the stair stepper thing for thirty minutes.  I could probably use more ideas about how to better utilize the gym, but for now, this is fairly monumental given that 10 minutes on the bike has been satisfactory until now.  I’m trying not to throw myself headlong into this and say that I’ll go to the gym 3-5 times a week and do exercise videos the days I don’t because wow, all I have to do is be tired and have a few post-work functions and all of a sudden I’m the asshole who never works out anymore despite promising the few souls who happen on this blog that I would.   But I think I’ve decided to do three months at the gym if I can swing it the way it looks like I can.   That will take me through August and then if I have an exercise whim, I can freely address it and go whereas now, I don’t always have the space or the equipment to do it.

I do need to figure out stomach and arms instead of beating on my legs when those are actually my trouble areas (ugh, I really dislike even blogging about that phrase – “trouble areas” – it makes me feel like I’m 45 and scanning a Cosmo mag for tips or googling washboard abs or my arms and stomach are newly annexed from 1800’s Ireland, which is not entirely untrue).   We’re learning.

We also took a glorious long walk and I had my ipod and it shuffled extraordinarily and it was peaceful and good.  I didn’t feel slighted when we came home and I didn’t have a fruit smoothie (fruit’ll come back in 2 weeks) and while I’m slightly tinged with emo-ness just because it’s quiet and I am at home and typing this and therefore, have time to think about the vastness of this challenge and the solitary nature of both trying to lose weight and my life in general, I’m okay.  I gave a damn today.

The horoscope for today said I should lay low and not take any calls tonight.  I think that sounds heavenly.


Today: 151.  Working at it.  On it.  Kicking down that wall.