Friday, May 4, 2007
No, that isn't my current weight
(hence the one foot) that is the thinnest I ever weighed as an adult. It was a couple of years ago, and only for several months.
My scale did play a joke on me earlier this week though, it read 105 when I got on it, for a moment I was confused, I couldn't figure out what the numbers meant. "Does it say 125? That doesn't seem right. 115? Oh, it says 105!!" And I burst into laughter knowing my scale was playing with me. " Bad scale!". It was sad to have to get off it, and get back on and deal with the real numbers.
I miss being thin, truly thin. Knowing I was a thin person. I know that sounds petty and stupid, but I am never going to be pretty ( I keep hoping, but realistically my face will look the same tomorrow), so at least I could be thin. It actually bothers me when heavy people complain about others saying to them "it is such a shame when you have such a pretty face" because it doesn't matter what I weigh, I wont be pretty (I know the point is supposed to be, that it is a devaluing comment. But instead I think, well at least you are pretty). ( I am not proud of myself for such low thoughts, I am just admiting I have them).
I would like to go back to my ideal range, what I have weighed for most of the past 5 years. My clothes are for that size person (I am at least one size bigger than they are. I hope not two sizes). Someone else my height and weight could look fantastic and not be at all overweight, but I don't look good, and I am overweight. (maybe if some of it was in my breasts it would be different. But it so isn't). Maybe if more of it was muscle, but it is mushy gushy. I am exercising. And I haven't been having a fabulous time with food as of late, so I am frustrated. My stomach did finally reset though (from whatever it was that was wrong with it), so now I am no longer afraid of food, which I am really happy about, weight issues aside.
It was so hard to get dressed to leave the house today. Everything looks so bad on me. My clothes are for a thinner person. Muffin top, muffin top, what are they feeding you?
Bigger clothes would have to be better. Bob, for the past year, has been telling me, I look fine, "don't worry about your weight". Then I say, "Well I need bigger clothes" and he says "you aren't buying more clothes". If I liked the way I looked in sizes bigger, I would buy some, but though they aren't tight, nothing is flattering. Bob could not hide his glee, when I announced I could buy nothing, as everything looks horrible on me (best news he heard all week. That was last month).
Bob earned good husband points yesterday. I was being verbally childish, boldly saying out-loud thoughts I usually would have kept to myself (because such thoughts should be kept to oneself). A thin woman in form fitting Levi jeans was walking by. "Ugh, I am so sick of all these women who are thinner than me, all walking around eveywhere" I whined. Bob said "her? You mean her? She isn't thinner than you". I rolled my eyes "yes she is". Bob "You're nuts, do you see how big her shoulders are? She is a lot bigger than you". (I'm thinking who the heck cares about her shoulders?) "Yes, she is taller than me, but she is thinner" I say. Bob "No she isn't, her body size is all bigger, her hips, everything". (Now, I admit at this part, my ears/and spirit perked up a bit, hips bigger than mine? That would be good.) I didn't say anything else. About an hour later, Bob says to me "I can't believe you really thought that woman was smaller than you". Me "Taller, but thinner". Bob "You have no concept of spatial relationships, she is at least a size ___, probably even an___". That may be so, but she is still thinner than me, in better shape, has a flatter stomach, better tone. She may have a bigger frame, but she has tauter stuff on it. But the point is, not whether or not I am bigger than this woman, the point is that my husband insisted that I was smaller. Which wins him huge points. And he responded without insinuating in any way that only one with smallness of character would concern herself with such things. He gets major points for that too.
I know I can weigh 110, it is possible, I have done it before, but I also know what that takes, it becomes my life, exercising, and counting calories, I live by numbers, and if I eat more than 1,500 calories I am back on the treadmill. I used to jog 5 to six miles, do floor work, (I would lift weights several times a week), shower, eat, and then sometimes have to get back on the treadmill, or go roller blading, or biking. I don't want my life to be all about numbers and exercise, I want there to be time in it, for other things. I want to write, I want to paint, I want to garden, I want to play with my son. I want to read books and watch television. I want to go for walks and enjoy the view, not track the miles. I want to eat good food and enjoy it, not measure it out by the half cup, and tablespoon.
But I don't know how to do it. How to balance it out. How to be healthy physically and emotionally. How to live in a more balanced way. I can either focus my time and energy on size and like my size, or focus my time and attention elsewhere, and feel uncomfortable in my body.
I don't jog anymore, body protested, hips, knees, and the toes. The black and blue and funny shaped toes. (there was that month when I couldn't bend any of the toes on my right foot). The feet look a lot better now, the thighs? Not so much. I walked on the mill 5 1/2 miles today, but it takes so much time to walk, much longer than running.
The weather is so pleasant, I want to wear light little things, but I can't. (well I can, I can shove myself into them, and spill out and over, and feel gross).
I'm having trouble finding the time for everything, the work-out, the garden, the writing, on top of the day to day stuff. What is my priority? Should I just focus on the writing, and let the other stuff fall and land wherever? The flower beds, are saying, "now now now! Don't wait, you are always behind, always late, do us now. Pull the weeds before they get any bigger, plant the seeds, so they can begin". I feel sort of scattered, and I start and stop different things, and feel like whatever thing I am doing, I should be doing one of the others. And the house is always dirty, a never ending battle against countless insurgents. A battle that feels unwinable, as everytime I turn around, they swarm where I have just left. As I go off to other things thinking it safe, thinking it is done. But it never is, except for in that very moment, that moment while I am walking out of the room.
Soon TV time will mostly be over, I read a lot more at night in the summer. I want to promise I wont watch Anderson everynight, that is too much time. I hope I wont. I should tape it, and just watch bits and pieces. I know I waste time, but I like the feeling of expansiveness, with time, of going slow, and always having enough, I hate to rush. When I hurry, I get flustered and drop things, and forget what I am doing. While I was weeding the front flower bed, I stopped to watch a bee visit the forget-me-nots. It was huge, a carpenter, I suppose, it was just looking. And I was just watching it look. A great fuzzy body, floating about, then looping fast round the bed. Later as I dug out some darn shrub that insists on coming back no matter how many times I think I have taken it out, earth worms burst from the ground and dove toward the upturned soil. I would have thought they would feel the pounding and tearing, and retreat, but instead they seemed to move toward it (I don't think this is usually what happens. I've never seen it before). So, I stopped and watched them. I picked one up and let it wiggle around in my hand, searching. I thought of the time I chased Cheese, around the yard, with one, and how after I placed it in his hand, he tossed it wildly up into the air, screaming, and ran off behind the swingset. "Fred!" I said "What have you done to poor Fred?". And I searched in the grass until I found him and put him back in the soil "honestly, you could have hurt him. Don't you care?" I said to my boy. "No." he said darkly shaking his head, clearly thinking that if anyone was cruel in this scenario it was me.
I was weeding and doing, but I was also just being. I was thinking about how you can't grow something without killing. You try not to, you want to nurture and create, but you slice worms (unseen) as you dig, and you weed things out, and you thin your plantings, and you battle voles, and beetles. Do you kill them, or let them kill your plants? I know I will kill the beetles. But I will do it with those lovely bags they collect themselves in, and really not have to think about it, at all.
I seem to have gone off topic, but not really. I am upset with my body shape, and I am struggling to decide who I want to be, and how that person spends her time.
(it is 12:37 pm Sat. my mom called and I took the phone outside and was talking to her, and looking at my plants. Then I sat down on the warm driveway just enjoying the day, then I remembered that I left my computer on, in the middle of doing this post. So I will finish up and go back outside, the only thing is Cheese has a friend over, and they seem to be up to something, much whispering and sneaking down the hall. I wanted to go to Lowes with Bob, but Cheese acted like such an errand would kill him)
(by the bye,
I think only one of the rose plants is dead. If only I hadn't moved the new ones about so much last year, I might know which one it is. But soon enough blossoms will tell.)