Finally! A Friday Fragments Post!

 Mommy's Idea

It seems like a long time since I have participated in Mrs.4444’s Friday Fragments, but I hope you all have been reading the others who have been! 

***Sam tried out for and got a solo part in the annual Patriotic Program for school.  He is also one of a trio, and I couldn’t be prouder.  His big debut is on March 10th-but do you think I can get him to practice?  Maybe his future as the next Jim Carrey isn’t set after all.

***After several of my friends recommended I watch Sicko, I finally did.  It didn’t so much make me angry as it made me incredibly sad.  I think I need to watch it again to get the full effect, and then I need to get a new passport and move to another country.  Heartbreaking.

***I am doubly glad for have gotten a full eight hours of sleep the night of the day I was sick-because I haven’t slept for shit since.  Part of the problem last night was our backyard neighbor; she, um, how does one tactfully put this, “entertains” a lot.  Different men.  All.through.the.night.  She is either hooking or dealing, I think (and hey, we live in America, right?  Free enterprise and all?), and even that wouldn’t bother me so much if all of her “visitors” had mufflers on their vehicles.  Or knew how to use their “it is the middle of the night in a neighborhood with lots of kids” voices. 

***I have noticed that men seem to be really attracted to me lately.  The problem with this?  Old men.  Men with no teeth, wi years of cigarette smoke embedded into their clothing, men who smell faintly of urine.  They are all my customers (not to be confused with the “clients” of my backyard neighbor, mind you), and they come in to show me their coin collections, to talk politics (um, a slight problem: they are old, conservative Republicans.  And I can’t really “talk” politics with them here in the office, because for some reason the boss frowns upon calling people bigoted, small-minded asshats.  Can’t figure that one out.  You would think that having to listen and be polite to people who still think it is okay to talk about the n***er in the White House would warrant an ass chewing, but no), to tell me about their grandchildren.  Since I am not a basically kind person as a general rule, the only thing I can think is these poor fellows must just be desperately lonely; it makes me feel sad for them.

***I am back on a self-imposed news moratorium.  On Wednesday morning I had to listen to how funding for our after school programs is not going to be available next year, and yesterday morning had to hear about how something like 44% of the teachers/school administrators in Idaho got raises last year.  This doesn’t compute for me.  This morning, when I yelled, “Hells yeah” when I heard President Obama chastise McFuck by saying,”But we aren’t on the campaign trail anymore, Senator,” everyone in the house turned to look at me and I very meekly turned off the TV.

***And how cool is this?  There is actually going to be a blogging conference close enough to where I live that I might actually get to go!  Plus one of my favorite bloggers is speaking there; I am pretty sure I would have to be a fool not to go, since BlogHer and such is WAY out of reach for me.  Anyone else going?

All right, then, now that you are done with me, head over to see who else is purging today over at Half Past Kissin’ Time.

I said I needed a break but that isn't what I had in mind

God has a really wicked sense of humor, you know?  I had been feeling, as you know, pretty overwhelmed and beaten down on Monday, so as if in answer to an unspoken prayer, I was able to have the entire day yesterday at home.  Of course, that respite was not without its problems in the form of a massive stomach and butt flu bug which swept through the house on Monday night and lingering until last night.  If you have ever had to deal with three kids plus yourself all suffering from vomiting and diarrhea with only one bathroom, you can imagine the fun.  Still-in between runs to the bathroom, we all rested and just sort of hung out together, and it wasn’t all bad.  By yesterday evening everyone was for the most part recovered-I called Steve at work and begged him to please come get me before going to the grocery store so I could at least get out of the house for a few minutes, and by that time both Owen and Sam were getting a little antsy, too, from being basically bed-and-couch-ridden. Still, we were all, Hannah included (even though she slept on and off most of the day), in bed by nine.  In fact, I was planning on reading in bed for a little while and don’t think I made it through a page.  So-I am feeling better, the ominous rumbling in my stomach quieted, having gotten a full eight hours sleep-almost worth feeling like crap most of the day yesterday.

Sam and I were able to have a couple of good talks about the ongoing situation with his dad; I don’t know, really, how much it helped, as it is too soon to tell, and I imagine, too, that there will be a lot of reiteration of the same thing in the next while.  I wish I could just snap my fingers and make it all go away for the little guy, but obviously, I can’t do that.  He was finally able to articulate in an email to his dad how he has been feeling, which is a good thing in general.  His dad’s reaction was delayed by several days (which pisses me off, actually, but whatever, I can’t control that), and when it came, was a very dramatic declaration of “I will NEVER hurt you again, I am SO sorry!!” which seems good on the surface but really, didn’t address any of hte specific issues Sam brought up to him.  More of a sweeping it all under the rug with a declaration of remorse and a promise that he really can’t keep-who of us, as parents, can promise to never hurt our kids?  I don’t know.  Anyway, I should be grateful that he is at least communicating, There is just so much that needs to be resolved in order for Sam to be okay that it sometimes seems overwhelming.  And, too, the fact that I really have no control over the situation in terms of how they relate-that is a hard one.  Please keep the whole damn drama in your thoughts/prayers, would you?

In other news, well, there isn’t really any.  Although not only did we get a new camera, Steve also found a new LCD thingy for the old one and was able to fix it; have I ever mentioned that he is my hero?  There were photos on the old one from Halloween, even, so perhaps a photo post is in order.  I haven’t done one of those in awhile, at least since the old camera broke.  Sam has been busy practicing for the solo part in their upcoming Patriotic Concert, Eli spends more time in his room than anywhere with the family, you know, the usual stuff.  Still, in general I feel much better than I did when I last posted, so that itself is something to be grateful for.

I could write about….

Just like anything else, the more I don’t blog, the harder it is to get back into the routine.  I don’t know why I haven’t been “feeling it” lately, but I haven’t-and rather regale everyone with minutiae, it is just easier to not say anything at all.  That seems to be the way of it these days, both in blogland and in real life.

I could write about how Sam’s dad coming back into his life, to what extent I am allowing him, has been a very mixed blessing.  Sam is happy, but just underneath the happiness are three years and more of anger, disappointment and fury all welling up.  Because of the dynamics of the whole non-relationship, I think Sam is afraid to tell his dad how he feels for fear that he will get angry and disappear again.  I could write about how that translates directly into becoming a completely different child at home seemingly overnight, where every night I just breathe a sigh of relief when he is finally asleep, often after having exhausted himself with tears, or I could write about how terrible he feels because he has no one to talk to about these things, or I could write about my stomach clenches in the morning when I hear his voice-because the whole messy drama starts over again.  I could write, too, about how hard it is to be the target once again for all of his considerable fury, and how hard it is for Steve, too, to suddenly deal with a 10 year old who loved him unreservedly a month ago but hates him now simply because he is.  This is not fun for any of us, including the siblings who are also constantly being tormented by the thoughtless actions of a boy who is acting out, and are so tired, just like we are, of the constant conflict.

Or I could tell you all about how a friend from the program was diagnosed with lung cancer a few weeks ago, and though I don’t know to what extent it has spread, it is still a sad thing.  I looked at her on Friday night and was amazed at how beautiful she is, how upbeat she remains, and am basically in awe at the grace she is showing through this.  Early days yet, of course, and no doubt there will be days where she is less than graceful, but life is messy and ugly sometimes.  she is young, too young to be going through this, but then people much younger have to as well-I don’t know why I think any of us might be immune.

Also at the meeting, we have a new member who is a registered sex offender; this is not new, we get all kinds, and mostly I really don’t care.  My job is simply to support those desiring to stop drinking, and mostly that isn’t all that hard.  After all, there is a difference between supporting someone’s recovery in meetings and being best pals with them outside the meeting.  This one hit close to home, though, and I know too much about him outside the meetings.  I could write about how hard it sometimes is to walk the fine line of anonymity, of knowing that the guidelines of AA tell me that I am not allowed to tell anyone what I do know, but how my beliefs as a person who has been deeply affected by the actions of a sexual predator are warring with those guidelines.

Or wait, maybe I could tell you about how Hannah is wavering about going back to a boyfriend I was so proud of her for breaking up with, or how we had a huge family gathering with the other side of Steve’s family over the weekend and actually had fun.  We got pictures done, including some of our fmaily, the four kids, and Steve and I together.  I could write about how in one of the pictures I snapped of Eli with our new camera shows how he suddenly has the hands of a man, and how that makes me feel.

So you see, there is much going on here, things I could write an entire post about but just can’t seem to gather my thoughts together enough to do so.  I am still here, still plugging along, but I am feeling very, very tired and discouraged in general these days.  Still working out, still eating better, still taking care of myself so far as I can, but still, just kind of beaten for the moment.  This, too, shall pass, right?  Because feelings are just feelings, and none of them will kill me-and if I have learned nothing else over the past few years, I have learned that the flip side of the negative feelings is simply joy, and that is worth slogging through the shit for.

Looking For Balance

I just started re-reading the book Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert; I read it, I don’t know, last year or the year before, and liked it alright, but didn’t love it.  Funny, though, how my perception of the book has changed in reflection to how my life has changed.  If I recall, there were a lot of good things about the book but it wasn’t life-changing for me in any way-I was too busy being resentful because not everyone has the opportunity to travel for a year after a divorce looking for spiritual enlightenment, right?  So she wrote about eating pasta in Italy and in my head I was thinking,”Oh goody for you, let me go heat up another box of generic macaroni and cheese,” which wasn’t an attitude conducive to reading a book about spirituality.  So this time, I don’t feel that same sense of bitterness that I did way back when-which means that I may or may not like the book any more than I did last time, but that at least I am becoming softer and more gentle with time.

Tonight we go to the Shrove Tuesday pancake dinner at my friend J’s church.  She is Episcopalian, and I am not but sometimes think I would like to be.  Besides being especially liberal as an organized religion, I find I like the sameness, I like the rituals, I really like and enjoy being around some of the congregation.  I have been to lots of churches where I couldn’t say the same, let me tell you.   Shrove Tuesday is the day before Ash Wednesday, of course, which also signifies the beginning of Lent-which is a time of introspection, a time to look at your life and submit to the will of God and basically give you a chance to make positive changes in your life (and this is completely my take on it; I have no expertise in this at all, I promise you).  Which is pretty much what I *try* to do on a daily basis, thanks to my AA 12-step work.  Still-I love the idea of symbolically taking part in these age-old rituals of fasting and making myself right with God, so to speak.

Traditionally, I think we are supposed to “give up” something for Lent; maybe chocolate or swearing or chewing gum or sleeping with the neighbor’s wife, I don’t know.  I don’t normally do anything like this, because it smacks of New Years Resolutions, which I avoid like the plague, and also because I am not Episcopalian or Catholic. In my mind’s eye, I can see some man in a robe knocking on my door to tell me that I am in trouble for stealing one of “their” rituals, practicing religion without the proper qualifications (hm, feel unwarranted guilt much?).  This year, though, I thought I would live dangerously and actually give something up.  Not food, not swearing (puh-leaze.  Are you fucking kidding me?), but something small that really does affect my life on a daily basis.  And I have heard from several people lately that this is, in fact, something I need to be working more diligently on, daily.

What is this thing, you might ask?  Negative self-talk.  And you wouldn’t think that it would be a sacrifice to give that up, would you, but I think for me it is.  Not just the shit-talk like when I get dressed in the morning and tell myself how fat I am, or how much I hate the way I look; those are surface things that have to do with appearance only, and while I am completely refusing to give in to the negative vibes as far as THAT goes, my primary negative thoughts are about who I am, not how I look.  There have been a few problems lately that have ended with broken friendships, and while of course I have a part in that, I refuse to take all the responsibility-which means I have to stop telling myself what a shitty friend I am, what an awful person, how fucked up I am.  Those things are all true to varying degrees, of course-they are in ALL of us.  But what I have to stop myself from doing is letting that become who I am rather than a very small fraction of the panoply of things that is me.  This is just one example-there are a thousand others.  When I lose my temper with one of the kids (lately, Sam, very much so), that doesn’t mean I am a shitty mom-it means I had a bad moment.  When I make a mistake at work, it doesn’t mean I am a shitty agent, it means I made a mistake.  Stuff like that.  I get tired of the constant negative feedback in my head, in a voice that sounds so much like my mother’s that I want to scream-so THAT is what I am giving up.  Maybe it is a small thing, and maybe not much of a sacrifice in religious terms, but the thing is, when that negative shit is gone, I have to fill it with something-which means I have to consciously practice positive self-talk.  And THAT?  Will be hard.

I don’t know; the idea of getting right with God in a religious sense is a concept I have a hard time with-but I believe that God loves me and delights in me right where I am.  I think (and this is just a feeling, as I haven’t gotten any major signs from The Big Guy proclaiming this) that God wants me to love myself, because isn’t that what his true manifestation is?  Love?  And of course we are supposed to love other people, which most of the time I do, but I also think God wants us to be happy with and USE the gifts he has given us, and when I am constantly talking down to myself, I am only putting limits on those gifts.  I don’t expect this to make sense to anyone else-but it makes sense to me.

None of this is new stuff to me, either-but this is the first time I have made a conscious choice to love myself out loud.  I am reading that book because I am still on a path toward enlightenment, and I hope I always will be-but I might learn something new in rereading it.  I am taking good care of myself physically, which is necessary, and emotionally (as a whole, at least), I am in a far better place than I was a year ago; now I think it is time to work toward finding a balance between all of them.

Friday, Finally!

Although it is Friday and my week has been fairly fragmented, I just don’t have it in me to do the Friday Fragments this week.  Still, don’t use that as an excuse to prevent you from heading over to Half Past Kissin’ Time to see what her other, more valiant participants have to say today!

Already I findmyself regretful of having told Sam about his dad.  They emailed each other over the weekendlast weekend, and on into the week, but now Sam hasn’t heard from him in three days.  I tried to explain to Sam that not everyone obsessively checks their email and replies immediately, but he is still disappointed.  Of course, I think that if his dad is sincere about wanting to be in his life and cares as much as he says he does, he would be waiting with baited breath for an email from him, and wouldn’t hesitate to reply.  Or now that he HAS Sam’s email address, he shouldn’t even be waiting to hear from him first.  I tell Sam that maybe he has gone somewhere where he doesn’t have easy access to the computer or Internet (where might that be, under the ocean somewhere?);I can tell he wants to believe me but doesn’t, not really.  And I don’t know that he should, either.  I know it is still early in the game to completely give up, but.  I hate that Sam is so vulnerable, and I hate that I can’t make his dad be any different than he is.

While we are on the subject of Sam, I took him back to the asthma doctor yesterday for a follow-up visit.  The good news is that his lung function has increased considerably in the last three weeks, which is excellent.  He has been feeling a lot better, in fact began to feel appreciably better within a few days of starting the new treatment regimen, but oh, how lovely to have proof that he is actually getting better, not just feeling better.  The downside is that he has to start getting allergy shots beginning next Thursday.  Thankfully, his triggers are not nearly as bad as when he had to have the shots before; he will only have to have one shot.  However, the time involved makes it hard-he has to go two times a week for ten week, then once a week thereafter for some time-and that is going to be difficult in terms of my job.  Still, I guess it will HAVE to be managed, right?  All in all, though, I am pleased; it is never fun to see your child in such dire straits, and the fact that he is already markedly improved makes me hopeful that he will soon be back to his former self.

Just finishing up with Week Two of Curves; I haven’t noticed any difference at all in how I feel physically, and I don’t think I have lost any weight (though they only weigh/measure once a month), but the funny thing is that I am not at all discouraged.  I mean, I am smart enough to know that all of this is going to take time, but even knowing that I think it is easy to start slacking if results are not seen right away.  Talk about instant-gratitude mindset!  But that hasn’t happened yet, and I am glad.  Mostly I just feel like I am just beginning-I am expecting nothing at all this first month other than getting onto a normal routine and learning the machines well.  That’s it.  The rest will come, and I just feel remarkable unworried about it.  Hm-this is a new feeling for me, the sitting back and trusting that as long as I keep doing what I am doing, the results will eventually show up.  Kind of like staying sober, actually.

In other news, I got Hannah and Eli both signed up to take Driver’s Ed.  The class starts on March 1st at (gulp) 6:45 am.  The idea of either of them learning to drive terrifies me, but it has to be done.   I wasn’t prepared for all of the paperwork involved in getting their learner’s permits, though.  Birth certificates and social security cards, of course, but I also need to provide a clear chain explaining why my last name is different from theirs.  Which meant getting certified copies of my Divorce Decree from their dad AND my marriage license for my 2nd husband (I just kept his name to spite him after the divorce).  They form they have you fill out requests a date, right?  But holy god, my divorce from their dad was over 16 years ago; who the hell knows what the date was?  What a mess.  Still, I think we have everything we need, and within the year both kids will be driving.  Yikes.

Otherwise, not much else going on, at least not things I can really write about here.  I am still battling this terrible cough, so am awfully tired-but it is the Friday before a three day weekend, so with hope I will have time to rest.  The big Valentine’s Day is coming up, but we don’t have any plans that I know of.  And I will try not to be hurt, because the proof is in the day to day stuff, but I probably will be a little hurt anyway.  *shrugs*  It is what it is.  With hope, though, the long weekend will be a happy and restful one, regardless of V-Day.  And I hope yours is, too.

Strange Days, Indeed

I have sat down at the computer several times over the last few days, unable to find the words I want to write.  I hate that feeling, knowing I have things to say but also knowing that I don’t have the words to write them the way they beg to be written.  It keeps me from writing at all, because better to write nothing than write something small and shabby, that doesn’t do justice to the situation.  Still-I can’t NOT write, so I have to, at some point, make an attempt.

Last week was very surreal.  As each new thing transpired, it got to the point where I could only laugh-not because anything was especially funny, but because I really just felt like I was in some strange dream and kept waiting for the monkeys wearing tutus to show up and start performing a hand-puppet show.  When things get that crazy, what choice is there but to sit back and laugh?

My ex husband showed up at the office on Thursday.  The biological father of Sam, the same person we haven’t seen in almost three years, the very same person who has moved from place to place so rapidly that we have had to rely on rumors and conjecture and fleeting sightings (kind of like aliens, no?) to even have the faintest idea where he was, pulled up outside my office.  Truth be known, for a moment or two, I actually had no idea who he was; mu cubicle is right next to the big window that spans the entire office, so I can see most of the time who is coming in-I watched this person walk toward the door thinking there was something vaguely familiar about him, the shape of his body or the tilt of his head, but it wasn’t until he was actually in the office that it hit me who he was.  He walked into my cubicle and wanted to shake my hand, and perhaps predictably, all I could do was laugh and say,”I am not shaking your hand.”  He was visibly nervous, tentative in a way I have never seen him be, and I freely admit to feeling glad that he was afraid to confront me-he should be.   Easy to say,”Water under the bridge,” but when said water has been roiling and tumultuous and filled with garbage and debris that has caused damage as it hit, that cliche takes on a whole new meaning.

We went outside to talk, because I truly did not know what might happen-on either side.  You see, from his viewpoint, he has had all sorts of valid reasons for staying away and for not paying child support and all that stuff, but from my viewpoint, I have witnessed daily a damaged son who is only okay due to an incredible amount of hard work on my part, and on Steve’s part, and on the part of every other adult in his life by whom he has been loved.  And since we are coming from completely different places on the spectrum, I was unsure as to how the conversation would go.  Well, that isn’t entirely true-I had an idea of how his part of it would go,  this not having been the first time we have gone down this road.  I just wasn’t entirely sure what might come out of my own mouth. 

I wasn’t wrong about the things he would say.  Really, I have heard variations of the same story from him more than once over the last seven (almost) years: he had some significant life-altering experience that was, of course, life-threatening, and he woke up one morning and realized everything he had walked away from.  He is a changed man.  He finally has his priorities straight.  He needs to make amends.  There were a few tears thrown in for good measure, as well as the inevitable “There is a part of me that still loves you deeply, and am so sorry for everything I put you through…” and believe me, this is all stuff I have heard.  I almost could have told you verbatim what he was going to say before he said it.  The part that ended up surprising me was my own reaction.  In the past, when those same sentences would come up, there would be a small leap of the heart, a quickening of breath-because this time, maybe it would really happen.  Maybe he really meant it, maybe he really DID have a soul change.  The part about him still loving me didn’t give me hope, but it did make me gloat a little bit inside-because at first, all I wanted was for him to regret losing me (Well, that and that his house would burn up, with him inside it, but bygones, right?  In my defense, THAT feeling only last the first couple of years or so).  This time, all I could really do is look at him with raised eyebrows and shrug-because his words?  They mean absolutely nothing to me.  I have no reason to believe him, no reason at all to think that this time is any different than any of the last times.  And as for the part about him still loving me, I was able to recognize that for the manipulative tool it was and not feel anything one way or another.  His promises of paying his child support and also paying me back for all of his bills I had to pay?  Well.  Let’s just say that I will belive that when I see it.

What this all boils down to is that he wants to see Sam again.  Because of course when he had this life-threatening experience it made him really realize just how much he has messed up and how much he has missed and well.  There you go.  I can and have handled anything he has thrown at me, the incredible hurt and pain, emotional and financial and any other “-al” you can think of-maybe I have handled it poorly at times, and maybe in many ways I am still scarred, but still.  The one who can’t is Sam, nor should he have to.  My first instinct was to tell him to bend over and fuck himself up the ass, because I wasn’t going to let him anywhere near that boy.

But.  Yes, the ubiquitous but.  I keep remembering a phrase my friend J. who is a deaconess in the Episcopal church says: that if she is going to be preaching forgiveness then she needs to start in her own home.  So I let that roll around in my mind, knowing that he may or may not have changed, and my bets are on not, but that I can’t find out whether he has without actually giving to him the opportunity to do so.  Therein lies the problem: because to give him the opportunity to prove himself also means I have to give him the opportunity to hurt Sam yet one more time, and everything I have done to this point has been to protect Sam.

But we talked, and I told him exactly how I feel and think about the whole situation, and we have come to this agreement: that Sam can contact him via email, and email only.  After one month of contact through email, he may graduate to phone calls, and depending on how each of those phases go, we can talk about a face-to-face visit.  That is as far as I am willing to go, and I also get to make the ultimate decision as to when each phase will end and the next one begin.  Is this the right thing to do?  I don’t know, I really don’t.  I just know that my son is hurting, and has been for a very long time; I don’t think it would necessarily be fair to him to deny him this opportunity just in case his dad really has changed.  I know that I thought about it and talked about it and prayed about it for two days before I even mentioned to Sam that his dad had been by to see me-because I was not entirely sure whether it would be the best thing for him.

I am still not sure, and I am afraid.  When I finally talked to Sam about it, all he could do was cry-he has missed his dad terribly.  I gave him the email address and he promptly went in to email him (another condition is that I read all outgoing and incoming emails, at least for the time being), and the look on his face was heartbreaking.  Reading the first email, though, I realized that Sam is not unaware of how his dad is and had behaved in the past.  Three things he wrote about were how he (Sam) will know if he (C) is faking, that there will be no mocking of his (Sam’s) belife in God, and last, but certainly not least, “NO BRIBING IN EMAILS.”  The fact that Sam knows these things about his dad are a good indication that he is not the same little boy who hasn’t seen his dad since he was nearly 8-and that alone makes me feel like I did the right thing by allowing this.  He is smart-and perhaps a little more able to understand the reality of who is dad was and is.

None of this stops me from being afraid for him, but I don’t know what else to do.  Yes, there has been a tremendous amount of pain inflicted by this man; I don’t trust him, and probably never will.  In fact, I don’t trust anyone.  With him, though, it goes deeper than the generalized distrust I have of people; it goes clear into my heart of hearts, and I don’t imagine that will ever change.  I don’t know if it will change for Sam, either.  I don’t know jack, really, about any of this, other than this is what has happened and these are the steps we are going to be taking, for today. Beyond that, it remains to be seen.

There have been other things going on that are also surreal, but the writing of this has already gone on too long.  Perhaps another day, perhaps not.  I know I feel better for the moment, having finally written and processed, to an extent, this occurrence, and as I often say, for this moment, is it enough.

It's wednesday and I'm fhungry

So I promised that this wasn’t going to turn into a health nutjob blog, and it isn’t, but I will tell you that I did join Curves the other day.  The woman, T., who did the intake appointment and all the measuring and weighing and such was really very nice, and also funny, and she “got” me to the extent that someone you just met can.  Very nice.  She is a little bit new-agey, talking about negative energy and stuff like that, which I mentally roll my eyes at, really, but she was pretty low-key about it so it was all right.  We talked about my diet and what I was looking for and what my motivation was for deciding to join-the usual stuff, I would imagine?  Anyway, one of the things I found interesting was that she asked me, several times, about family/partner support, whether I would have any or not, and then she said,”So what about your partner; will he let you do this?” and I said,”huh?” She then said, “You know, will he let you spend money on this, will he let you come exercise, that kind of stuff.”  As is typical for me, the filter between my brain and my mouth wasn’t working properly because I think I might have possibly blurted out something along the lines of, “LET me?  Are you fucking kidding me?”  She laughed, but also made it clear that no, she wasn’t kidding me.  That there are a lot of men who would tell their wives they couldn’t spend the money, or otherwise try to sabotage their efforts.  I just have to shake my head, even though I get it. 

Anyway, I joined, did my first workout yesterday morning and have continued my daily walking and blah blah blah, you don’t want to hear about all of that.  And I am not going to tell you how much weight I have to lose or what I am eating or any of that stuff, because again, who cares?  The thing I am going to tell you is that I am tired of getting ready for work and ending up in tears because even my fat clothes don’t fit anymore.  I am going to tell you that I am tired of going shopping and ending up in tears because I can’t find anything that fits fright…I am tired of looking in the mirror and hating what I see.  The funny thing is, a year ago I wrote a post about body image where I talked about how I loved my body, plumpness and all-but then I started to gain weight and now am far beyond plump, but downright fat.  And I hate it.  I hate the way I feel, not just because of the way I look.  So there is my motivation for finally doing something about it-tired of not feeling good about myself. 

And maybe that is why I have a better chance than I would have had I done it for any other reason.  I mean, I am already in a committed relationship so I don’t need to lose weight to find a guy (which, okay, is a stupid reason to lose weight anyway, in my opinion), and Steve would not ever tell me I was a fatty who needed to unstrap the feed bag and walk away.  I don’t have a wedding to lose weight for, no fancy dress I want to fit in, and I am still able to run and play and swing on swings with my kids (I HATE those commercials, by the way).  I just want to feel godd, physically, spiritually, emotionally- and they are intimately connected.

That said, I am hungry.  H.U.N.G.R.Y.  F-hungry (fucking hungry, in case you didn’t get that). One of the things T. told me was that I am not eating enough, therefore my body wants to hold onto the food I eat rather than burn it.  And I don’t eat enough during the day, so I am starved when dinner comes around, and I overeat, and there you go.  So I have very dutifully been eating a good breakfast, packing my lunch (which I typically do anyway), also bringing to work two snacks of about 100 calories each, and even though I am eating more, I am starving.  With hope, this will pass-because for the moment, I am not feeling any better because I am starving.

What does make me feel better, though, is that I am not simply sitting around and complaining, but I am choosing to do something about it.  I guess it’s just like anything else in life, where taking action kicks the ass out of sitting around letting things happen, feeling powerless over something that I do, in fact, have control over.  God knows there is much in life that I can’t do anything about, but this?  Isn’t one of them.

So there you have it.  This is my life right this minute, and even though I don’t feel so great about ME right now, I feel pretty good about life in general.  I will take off what I put on, I will lovingly slather lotion all over my plump body and tell it I love it, even though I don’t like the way it looks right now.  I will gratefully cut my celery and my carrots, eat my salads and my whole grain breads, knowing that this is not the end of the world.  In fact, outside of my little bubble, none of this has any significance-because life keeps going on.