Miss Impatiens: Day 20

So, part of this journal is this earnest desire to deal with shit as it crops up – inasmuch as one can deal with their own personal emotional baggage in 500-ish words.  So what’s happening now is that I am doing really well with the self-control aspect of this.  I’m not eating much carbs at all because I’m being pretty careful about what I’m eating overall.   I’m drinking more fluids, and working on more water.  I’m not doing 100% genius eating – with iron will – and the First Lady’s plate (albeit lopsided for my purposes)…I didn’t eat at all at the market today just because every impulse I had seemed just not quite right.   Like this amazing brick oven pizza they cook onsite and everyone was eating it and I didn’t feel crazed or anything.  I didn’t feel like a junkie needing a fix.  But I guess it was in that area.  I guess it was vaguely like an addict trying to figure out how they can negotiate in their own heads to justify having a little bit of what they’re addicted to and I had just enough backbone to say, well, if you’re not where you want to be and you said you had these goals and you’re frustrated as hell with your non-sensical scale – let’s not.  Just let’s not.

And it’s weird.  My friend was there, who I guess I only have emotional inklings towards when he’s around (classy, very class), and he was, true to form, very gregarious and kind and pleasant.  And I felt like there was something of a revelation that it was okay for everyone (EVERYONE) to know that I’m not eating carbs right now.  That I’m doing this for myself right now and as nice as it is to get free bread and pastries, or to run head first into a chocolate-dipped banana (ahem), it’s not forward motion.  For a long time, that wouldn’t be possible.  I’d downplay it and make it obvious that it was private and secret and nobody’s business.  I’d make it awkward.  This wasn’t overly awkward, even though I feel frustrated about having to have to do it,  it just was.  Like friends talk.

So with all of that as preface, I am frustrated.  I know numbers are numbers and I feel tighter and better and less googly-eyed and helpless to food impulses.  But the scale is wonky or I am wonky and driving me batty.   I want to feel that this is progress.  That this really measured and focused attention to how I eat and getting water and moving myself is not just sloshing the same 6 pounds around.  I want it to work this time.

And it is working.  And I am okay.  And it will take time.  And exercise.  Hard work.  And I don’t want to hear it, but that doesn’t change that those facts are true.

Today (at 6:44am, about an hour earlier than I usually weigh-in) 160.4
Yesterday: 158.6 – it’s either the scale or not enough water/salt.  Again.
Goal: 155 – June 15

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.

Louder Than Sirens, Louder Than Bells

A++ would blog again.

Thanks, random spammer, for that considerate opening line.

I am in the midst of my new four favorite hours.  Goodness knows I love my sister and I don’t want her to have to work obnoxiously spread apart hours which makes for a much harder schedule than, say, just an eight hour work day, BUT, these four hours, holy shit.  This quietude is remarkable.  Not that A and I spend a lot of time reviewing the day and chatting and shooting the breeze which is fine, it’s just…this is Tibetan Buddhist Monastery Quietude.  This is let’s plan for and make change quiet.  Writing quiet.  Personal, deep, salving aloneness.

I am very grateful to have this right now when my brain is buzzing all the time from work and I want to be more conscientious and thoughtful about my projects and plans and future and clean up and not feel that eternal, but unintended consequence of cleaning or working when others are not…eventually, it just becomes an excuse to stop.  I have missed being alone.  Reminds me of college – in a good way.  It makes me feel energized in a way I have allowed myself to recharge in months.  Seriously.  It’s only four hours but I feel so much more human.  I still need to sleep, but yeah, better.

But other things did happen today aside from me salivating over being alone.   I asked and was kindly granted leave to take off three hours early for my nephew’s birthday which was a pretty low-key family thing since he’s having another friend party later.  It was at a local hibachi restaurant and it was really wonderful.  It was just a couple hours and I had spicy garlic chicken, but it was nice to see everyone.  I was reminded, unpleasantly, that my nephew is turning sixteen and that my 10 year high school reunion is in two years.   That’s a fact that I find almost offensive in its veracity.  I always felt like that would be out there in the distance, but like a horizon, a rainbow’s end, it wasn’t a place that one could actually reach.  But kids grow up.  My niece is 11 and taking guitar lessons.

I necessarily think back to my blue guitar that I bought and my big plans despite the fact that my singing could set cats to wailing.  There’s a certain parallel to my current situation, something to be gleaned from that memory.   I stopped trying because a.  I had no teacher and b. I couldn’t bare to build up the calluses.  It felt like running my fingers across a lemon zester.  I was sure that I was doing it wrong to have such pain.  And I quit.  I certainly don’t wish that kind of agony on my dearest niece, but I also hope that if she feels it, she pushes herself through it and is able to determine if she likes playing guitar on its own merits.

It also makes me want to take lessons myself.  That, I know, is a passing fancy that was nothing to me yesterday and won’t mean anything to me tomorrow.

Water.  Check.  Big ol’ glass drunk.

We’ll pay the candy no mind.

Nevertheless

Purpose.

This blog has a purpose beyond being a medium and vehicle for my venting.

When this began, early on, I was watching vlogs rather voraciously and it spawned a huge desire and urge to work on losing weight.  More than that, it made me feel full of purpose.

I’ve started to do that again.  This has started with one video from one vlogger.  I really like her ideas, but I know that when someone who is my age seems to have it all together and has a viewpoint and a sense of themselves in the world that doesn’t involve a bowed posture…they grate on me.   I get all green-eyed monstery and competitive and on some levels that’s a good thing and I just try and stay on those levels.  So in this video, she says start with one thing you can make a habit.  One stupid thing.

My one small thing so stupid and ridiculous and hopelessly simple (but for whatever reason I’ve never done consistently) is having one cup of water every day for a week. Don’t care what size at this point.  Just doing and proving I can do it is the main thing.  Also, its  almost …just after nine and I haven’t had any actual water today.  Which really is not at all out of the norm considering the morbid and organ-preserving amounts of embalming fluid slash soda pop products I imbibe on a daily basis.  I need some H2O.  Like the real stuff.

So.  Excuse me a minute.

Done.  Genius.

At any rate, I’m starting to drag myself, kicking and screaming, towards September 1st, towards the miniature reckoning come upon me.  I had a strange compulsion tonight at my parents’ house.  My parents had gone to bed, I was watching my serving of liberal media given that our TV hasn’t been hooked up since the great remodel (and I haven’t missed it whatsoever) and a weird old habit creeped up.  I went, solemnly and silently to the pantry and opened it with a certain sense of naughtiness on the brain.  What could be taken that would be sweet and delicious and infinitely more than one person needs?  What could be adulterated and mashed together and microwaved and take me over? My eyes scanned the larder and didn’t see much until a muffin mix swam into my ken and then a tub of frosting.

Something, praise whatever higher power you will, inside me woke up with a start and said WHAT IN THE FUCK?  SERIOUSLY?  ARE WE DOING THIS?  HOW CAN YOU DO THIS? FUCKING FROSTING LIKE YOU’RE SANDRA FUCKING LEE?  ARE YOU A KWANZAA KAKE NOW?  It was very loud and demanding and it was something like a shade of self-respect and it bid me shut the door and go home.  So I did.  I did and I drank a cup of water.

So two little snowflakes today rolling into the big katamari of self-respect and willpower.  Add some thumbtacks and buckshot and you’ve got a gameplan.