The first anniversary of my mother's death is coming up. I am completely in a funk.
The first anniversary of my mother's death is coming up. I am completely in a funk.
I dropped Matt off at school the other day and as I was driving away I noticed a (not size zero) athletic looking girl walking into the school. I thought to myself "Did I ever look like that?" and the answer was yes. Suddenly, I started thinking about a time when I was 14, in my first year of high school when my mother brought me to a "doctor" who put us on an orange juice and tomato juice fast and gave us "vitamin shots" twice a week.
Had my first official physical therapy for the sprained ankle from HELL today. I got evaluated last week and naturally, the dude who happily accepts my co-pay and efficiently bills my insurance company thought I was an ideal candidate for physical therapy. Something about torn tendons and ligaments. Whee! The chiro keeps telling em that most people would have broken their ankles. Also that torn stuff hurts more than broken stuff. Yay me again!
Situation: We are in the truck going over to join the family of one of Evan's camp friends for his communities holiday bbq dinner. Just like us, the other family happens to have a summer house not far from utopia.
On my journey up and down the scale, I think of my weight in decades. Every ten pounds represents another decade, and naturally, time and time again, I welcome with delight the new decades on the way down and sneer in disgust as the decades mount on my way up back up the scale. Some decades slide by, wether it is up or down, without too much fanfare, but other decades somehow seem more meaningful more symbolic, more emotionally challenging. It doesn't have anything to do with round numbers, or where I was before or after kids, (since I never saw my pre-pre-pre-pregnancy weight in the 16 (plus 9 months) years since before Matt anyway) or even where I was at some other point in my life, because to be honest, my weight has fluctuated at such a rapid speed up and down and up and down and up the last 10 years or so that I couldn't keep track of what I weighed when without some sort of complex kind of graphing software. Or maybe I just don't want to remind myself of the ups, and how they out number the downs as far as time spent at that particular weight (or pant size) goes.
I've been on a down trend lately, and I was just on the cusp of a new decade, and it happens to be one of those more noticeable decades. For some reason this was a scary decade. I think maybe because in this decade there is a noticeable change in my face fat. My features become much less bloated from here on in. So scary, was the prospect of dipping into this particular weight decade, that I ended up bingeing first on corn chips and then granola bars last weekend.
So I sat down and I asked myself WHY??
********This is the part where you can either pull up a chair and commit to the long haul or click over to gofugyourself and enjoy something lighter and maybe more uplifting. (If to you uplifting means making fun of fashion challenged celebrities- which it totally does to me.) *****************
And I came up with a whole potpourri of triggers that happened the week before the weekend binge. Honestly, I don't think one outweighs the other, I think I was set up by the powers that be and I succumbed. What is important for you to know here, before I even begin, is that I am back on the wagon.
First thing I paused and took notice of one day last week was my apparant lack of invisibility. I'm not even sure what day it was, but one day last week I felt like where ever I went people asked me if they could help me and store employees acknowledged me and even cars stopped when I needed to turn left and waved me right on through. Now, one who does not have a weight problem might assume that as a larger than life person I would be even more visible than most, but oddly enough it is the opposite that is true. As a larger than life person there are certain situations where I barely exist at all. And I take great comfort in the invisibility of obesity.
My first attraction to invisibility came as a senior in high school when I got my first ever knee length coat. I could hide the pounds I was putting on while all stressed out over the whole applying for college debacle that would end up in the unfortunate and bizarre story of me, nice jewish girl from NYC spending my freshman year at Georgia Tech, of all places. I shiver from the memories. What a trip that was. shiver.
Then I came home to NYC (dropped out, but just temporarily) and discovered the art of dressing head to toe in black. As a kid my mother wouldn't let me have black clothes because she thought they were too dreary, but as a drop out I was in charge of my wardrobe. Between my long coat and my invisibility black clothes I was in heaven.
So, anyway, this one day people were greeting me left and right and I felt (totally altogether naked) like I had this big old aura (exposed) and it scared the shit out of me. Seriously. I wasn't prepared for it. So I sucked that aura right back in (it's gone like the wind) and now it's a teeny tiny (easy to ignore) aura and to prove it just today I pulled right out of a gas station (indignant!) when the emo teenager pumping gas didn't at least make eye contact with me to let me know he'd be right with me while he took his sweet time filling up Mr. Mercedes Benz/stupid looking overpriced sun glasses. My relief in being invisible again was palpable.
I got an expresso at the Bucks and the lid was covered in sugary sweetness. Instead of removing the sugar coated lid I licked the lid until every last drop of sweetness was on my tongue and the lid just tasted like plastic again. Addicted much? Who me?
Then it was the (hooray!) last day of religious school and I was so relieved and happy, but sad because I Luh-OVED my students, and I wish I could hang out and enjoy them (you know, once a week but on my weekends which I totally have to reclaim as ME time) without having to prepare lessons for them or be responsible for cultivating their brilliant minds. And I brought some snacks for my kids because it was the last day and the other 2nd grade class, which I will not miss in the least, ended up joining us for the "party", and I wasn't too thrilled about that.
Then the religious school director announced to the congregation that me and the other volunteers who were not coming back next year were only taking a year off and would be back after that. And I was like WHOA THERE NELLIE! (on the inside) and I just sat there grinning and trying to force a smile when all I wanted to do was bitch slap her. After services the rabbi herself came up to me to persuade me that I should come back and teach again, and really, of all people, the rabbi knew my parents and she even did the ceremony at grandma's funeral, so if anyone on this planet knows I need a break I would think it was her, but NO, as usual I am the only one looking out for my best interests and it KILLS me to say NO, but finally in my life I summoned up the courage to do it over and over this spring and dammit! Leave me alone with my non-volunteering self people! I hate the pressure. Hate hate hate it.
In there was a whole lot of deep fried corn chips.
Then I tossed the kids into the truck and we headed of to utopia. And when I got there I was totally exhausted. And the husband had forgotten to get some OJ for the kids , but he did manage to get the party sized bag of fritos, and friends, if I ever had to order myself a last meal, fritos would be the appetizer and the dessert. I was all over that big 3 pound bag of fritos. And then, you know the rest, there was a soda (my personal biggest red flag of binge indicating doom), and granola bars, and even a juice box from the kid's lunch stash.
Then I got all passive aggressive angry when the husband slept in on Sunday and I did some around the house chores that would have technically been much easier with help, but in reality were probably easier for me to do alone, as I wanted them done, to my (anal retentive) high standards, but that did not stop me from being hostile towards the unsuspecting husband when I went back upstairs and found him lying in bed watching television while I had done all the heavy lifting by myself.
It wasn't pretty.
So then I went to therapy on Tuesday and I told my new new undead therapist about the bingeing and the triggers and he said "Why didn't you call me?" and I said that I didn't know I could call him for that and he said that if it happened again I should.
And that just blew my mind.
PS It looks like the whole frito/granola bar binge thing caused a short term water retention issue, and this morning, with all that behind me, I was -2 into the new scary decade. I'm okay with it now. Really, I think I am.
So, I'm still going to the chiro all the time for this ankle (going on two months now) of mine. I have to admit that it does feel the tiniest incrementally better week after week and the chiro does like to remind me that I have not even for a day (but I do think there was one day right in the beginning) stayed of off my severely sprained ankle during the past almost two months, but right about now I very badly need a break from the chiro. I'm at that point where I want to wring his neck when I can hear him chit chatting with another patient in the next room and I am waiting for him. And sometimes I have to fake polite because DAMMIT he isn't as miraculous as I very spastically need him to be.
So this winter has been interesting in terms of how all over the place my weight has been. For the most part, after taking one step forward and two steps back for a while last year, I spent the past 9 months going two steps forward and one step back which (if I can't weigh the same weight for more than a week) I suppose is preferable to the aforementioned reverse method because winter is over (YAY!) and the jeans that I broke a sweat and crushed a hip bone to squeeze into last September because I was determined to loose a hunk of poundgae this winter not only fit now, but the other night I managed to wiggle out of them with out unzipping or even unbuttoning them. So a sweet little success, a hard fought up and down battle of a weight related winter.
me: Josh has had a headache right in the front of his head for a day and half. I think he has a sinus infection.
I've been fighting off a bit of a funk this week. It's my first motherless mother's day, and my first grandmotherless one too. And just for a little bit more salt in the wound, mom's birthday this year? On mother's day.
Because being me totally rocks, I seem to have developed some kind of sensitivity or allergy or something to the ingredients in all the deodorants that work. What happens is that my pits get itchy and eventually I wake up in the morning having slept clawed away at my pit area all night long and I have long red bleeding lovely scratches all around. Then I have to go without any odor protection for 4 or 5 days while I heal and de-itch and then I try another brand. And the pattern seems to be no itchiness goes hand in hand with no odor protection, some of these products are worse than wearing nothing because at the end of the day I smell like pit and perfume. Today I tried yet another new brand (after almost passing out from the scent of myself the last few non-itchy days) and I thought when I put it on it smelled familiar but I couldn't quite put my finger on what the familiar scent was, and then it hit me! It smells like the husbands shaving cream! And that was kind of weird to have smooth man cheek smelling pits, and every time I lifted my arm today I thought the husband was sneaking up behind me. But no such luck, however, the good news is that it's been 15 hours since my morning shower and I might still be fresh as a daisy. That said it was also 53 degrees cold and rainy today and I didn't even come close to breaking a sweat at any given moment, but still, I am a glass half full gal and I have high hopes for the shaving cream scented brand.