Humans are funny aren’t we. If you think that you’re more than an ape with a really big head you’re wrong. That doesn’t deny the collective conscious, the magic of this big blue spinning rock growing life. But it does make it awfully inclusive, never forget that you are among your peers just in animal or plant form.
“Do unto others as you would have them do unto you”.
I’ve thought a thousand things today. Said a hundred. And then I sat.
I drove home tonight listening to My Sweet Lord, my personal anthem for the past few weeks. Hands at ten and two. Through the familiar dark streets, green light, green light, green light. At least I’m pretty sure they were all green. I feel myself hovering outside of myself, like I was watching the opening scene of a movie. Well one that’s actually quite boring I didn’t slide off of the road or come to a screeching halt. Just observing how incredibly blank that I was.
And then just this: Tough love.
I realized that this is what my therapist is referring to when he leans back in his seat and matter of fact-ly says, “Well sure given your history”, and, “Let’s not forget your history”. We spent three hours on said history, and tonight it all came crashing down in two words.
A week ago I made a visual representation of my sexual “blueprint”. I pinned it to the wall. I’ve been looking at it seeing if anything new comes up.
A couple of things did, one of them is this idea that we (women) seek out our fathers. In the broader sense that we seek to recreate our early attachment relationships. So what does that mean for a girl who never had a dad? Does it mean that we seek out our mothers?
In that case. I have sought out ambivalent attachment and a whopping dose of tough love. Mission accomplished.
For two hours tonight I tried to find words to put to what do you want?. I realized that I don’t have any idea. I want comfort I think. Security. But all of this is a big maybe. What is obvious, tactile, is that I want instability and that’s what I find every single time. First I make this very elaborate bed and now I lie. The rest isn’t great let me tell ya.
Yes I’m talking to you:
It has been brought to my attention over and over again since ummmm about puberty that this needs to be said. It needs to be screamed from a mountain top. So here goes.
If you’ve recently gained 10+ pounds read here:
IT IS 1-0 MOTHER FUCKING POUNDS. I CAN GAIN TEN POUNDS IN ONE WEEK. STOP!!! Not to say that I haven’t been there 18000 times because I have. For some reason when you’re losing weight for any reason (adderall, exercise, stress, poverty) life is good. It’s like the one thing that is there in the clutch, at least I can tie my shoes in these jeans. Something good is at work.
But, when the tables are turned and everyday you notice more and more dimples on your ass and your fat clothes get rotated to the front of the closet (and suddenly nothing can be dried because “Damn it babe, you keep shrinking my clothes….”), there’s a cloud over your head. All of the justifications (I’m bloated, I’m stressed, the scale FUCKING lies!!) are perfectly fine. If they help, good, use them, blindly follow them. You do not need to spend one more second of your life feeling like crap because of __ amount of pounds you gained. It’s not helping.
In a prefect world we would be able to look in the mirror and say I’m a human and this is what humans look like. But we’ve been conditioned to look in the mirror with various shades of horror. Put down Shape magazine right now.
Here’s a little story: No one ever said a dog was ugly or unworthy because she has a sweet tooth *cough Meena*. But I do look at her round behind waddle in front of me every day when I walk her and I take stock of how up or down the scale she is. Dang, Meena’s getting really fat, I should probably stop using her as the garbage disposal. Damn, Meena’s lost a lot of weight, probably because our house is COVERED IN URINE and she’s too disgusted to eat off the floor. (Wanna come visit???). But that’s it. I don’t think of her any more or any less, though I am still quite angry about the spite shit.
That beautiful parable was to say that yes you are going to notice when you gain weight and so is
everyone else (see below). And that’s okay. If any one of those people (your/myself included) think less of you as a person because of it then they are an asshole. Remind yourself of that often. Hey *insert your name here* stop being such a fucking asshole to me.
If you’ve recently lost any amount of weight, yes 3 pounds counts, read here:
Let me tell you about a time that I lost a solid 25 pounds last year. I weighed 138 pounds at one point, which is basically Reagon as Kate Moss. A few random women commented. J said nothing. Literally nothing. Until Christmas after I’d gained at least 10 of it back. He says, “Have you lost weight or something?” Pretty sure a fuck you for never noticing, I’m getting fat again, pass the kringle blurted out of my mouth. And I meant it. I bared my belly in public and you didn’t even notice. And now I’m on the one way train to fatty-dom. WONDERFUL!
The meaning of that story boys and girls, is that life is unfair. No one ever threw anyone a parade for losing 10 pounds. BECAUSE IT’S JUST 10 POUNDS. Legit one of my ass cheeks weighs at least 25 pounds. And not in some sexy Kim Kardashian way… well actually, yes in a sexy Kim Kardashian way because fuck it. Celebrate what yo mama gave you girl. You may have noticed that we are getting old as fuck. I have an angry furrow wrinkle between my eyebrows, it’s only going to get worse. And I’m probably going to need to eat my emotions one of these days, on the first of the month to be exact…. fuck a monthly pay cycle p.s., and I will gain weight again. This is life. You’re rich and you’re poor. Your fat and your skinny. You’re in love and your lost. You’re navigating life. It’s not easy.
Don’t make life harder by launching a one man war on yourself. Please. There’s a good chance that I personally (hi Mom and my two best friends that read this religiously) love every single ounce of you. And if you don’t know me personally (shout out to that one dude in Amman that reads my blog) there is someone in your life that adores every single thing about you (even if it’s your mom). They/I always will, regardless of the size pants you fit into this week. Meet us there won’t you.
The stars have finally aligned (aka Julius replaced my computer charger that the rat dog ate and Ev is out of town for 6 weeks) for me to start writing on a more consistent scale. Coincidentally I am also going to go to the gym every day, become a vegitarian, train my dogs to not be assholes and change the world. All in 5 and a half weeks and counting……..
My mouth is full to say the least. I here by declare though that coming to a screen near you soon will be the spewings of my inner dialogue and maybe a couple of credible bits of information.
My Kindergartener is 4 feet tall and 85% legs. Jesus.
Ev is a realll big fan of 6:30 in the mornin’.
I work in a coffee shop full of delicious beverages and confections. Artisan donuts, berry coffee cake, carrot muffins so delicious that you’d barter your own soul for a bite. And ‘health and vitality bars’ aka Congo Bars. These are some sort of sinful concoction of coconut, chocolate chips and butter. Dear Lord. I coined them health and vitality bars to be completely ironic and to make myself feel better about woofing them down. It eventually evolved into me telling customers tongue in cheek that they too were purchasing health and vitality bars.
One lovely afternoon an older, fuller woman who had previously asserted that a frappachino was mostly ice and therefor had a negligible amount of calories, decided to have herself a health and vitality bar. Yup, your whip cream covered sugar goo caffeine slurpy is basically water and yeah butter and chocolate are only the first two listed ingredients on this ‘power bar’ followed by coconut (health food) and walnuts (again health food). Shit eat 3, it will probably give you super powers. SOLD. I’m really good at closing deals.
So, today the day came after 3 lonnnggggg months of Congo Bar hiatus for me to eat my feelings. I ceremoniously unwrapped it, heated it for 20 seconds and cut into theeee brick? Da’ fuck? Ahhhh it appears this was a particularly healthy batch of health and vitality bars. Less butter and more oats or some shit. Maybe they were cutting costs so they skimped on the chocolate chips. Mid way though gagging down half of it I realized the universe was listening. It really is a health and vitality bar…or at least it tasted like it. That’s no fun. I’m no longer interested. I’d rather be eating kale.