Wednesday, October 8, 2014

225

225.

That's my weight right now. It's a nice round number.

It's 25 less than it was a year ago, but that 25 pounds lost has made a tremendous difference in how I feel. 225 feels better to me than 250 did. I have more energy and my pants fit the way I like.

One of the things that I find so fascinating about our society is our obesssion with weight. We talk about dieting, the best foods to make us lose weight, the best times to eat to lose weight. We discuss celebrity diets, friend's diets, diets we read about and try, and diets we wouldn't try for all of the money in the world.

But rarely do we mention the actual number.
Most people don't want anyone to know the actual number.

I have watched my mother diet my entire life. She has turned down more desserts than I can remember, and spent weeks on end eating nothing but fat free turkey sandwiches on fat free(and nutrition free) white bread. She has measured her food, eaten diet dinners galore, and subsisted on diet shakes. She goes to the gym, goes to Weight Watchers, and dutifully writes down every bit eaten into her little blue notebook.

Every family gathering begins with the conversation about who has gained weight, who has lost weight, and what diets they are using. I remember one year where Thanksgiving dinner was fat free turkey slices with lowfat canned gravy(yes, its as disgusting as it sounds), instant mashed potatoes with fake butter, and chunks of baked pumpkin instead of pumpkin pie.
My father took pity on us and took us to Hardees so we could have burgers for Thanksgiving.


The funny thing is this: She still looks exactly the same to me as when she started. Exactly.

She has spent the last 36 years losing and re-gaining the same 30 pounds.

And she has never, ever told anyone what she weighs. The number she obsesses over is a number that nobody will ever know. She's too ashamed to tell anyone the number.

Kinda silly, isn't it?

Monday, September 29, 2014

re-booting

One of the things I have learned in the past few years is that I really need to write.
It calms me down.
It helps me get my thoughts out.
It helps me process my emotions instead of bottling them up.


But I don't do it. I think about it, I plan to do it, I tell people I'm going to do it....and then I don't do it.
I watch television. I read. I play on the facebook, getting lost in other people's drama.
But I don't write.

So one of the things I've been researching lately(NERD ALERT) is our body's natural cycles, and how our outer environment and inner environment don't match up the way they should.
I've also been reading about cycles of extroversion and introversion and how they relate to our surroundings.

One of the biggest things I've been working on is learning to listen to my body. I tend to disconnect from myself and focus on other people's needs and wants much of the time, so paying attention to myself is scary.
Listening to myself is scary.
Putting my needs first is fucking terrifying.

One of my goals for this winter is to allow my natural cycle of introversion to happen.

Generally my first instinct when the weather gets cold is to spend time outdoors. Alone.
But what I do is socialize and volunteer and go to parties and throw parties and join groups and spend time on social media, all the while wishing I were sitting quietly in a room thinking and writing.

I need to work on this. And I plan to.



Sunday, January 5, 2014

Snow

Snow! Snow! Snowsnowsnowsnow!!
I'm very excited about the snow. It makes me feel all peaceful and happy inside. 

Sunday, November 24, 2013

Close Object-Scarf

A beautiful pink,
Soft as silk. 
Fringe at the end
That flutters in the wind. 
Planned Parenthood logo, 
Carefully embroidered on the edge. 
An unexpected thanks
For a day answering phones. 
It's a soft reminder of why I do what I do. 

Broken Heart


The first time it broke I was 17. The boy all of my friends told me I should date had started dating another girl. I didn't particularly like him, but in the manner of most high school girls, I felt like I should have a boyfriend. I cried for a week. 
Six years later, I ran into him. He was working at Taco Bell and living with his mom. 

The second time it broke I was 19. My first girlfriend had gone back to her ex. I sat waiting for her, as the dinner I made her slowly got cold, until midnight on valentines day. The next day, she called to tell me that she had realized she was still in love with her ex and that she would be by later to pick up her things. We would get back together three weeks later, then break up again. It was a pattern we would continue for almost two years. 
Fourteen years later, I'm friends with the ex and the woman I thought I loved is living in Montana with an abusive man and their child. 

The third time it broke I was 27. The woman I loved wouldn't stop drinking and getting high. I begged and pleaded, bargained and cajoled. She spent all of our money getting high and drained my savings account to buy tequila. She told me she didn't like drinking but that she didn't want to stop. On our anniversary, I told her the only thing I wanted was for her to be sober for a week. She agreed and said she really wanted to change. Her sobriety lasted less than a day. 
Seven years later, we are friends on Facebook and she has been sober for five years. She said when I left she realized she needed to get help. 

After three heartaches, I wrapped my broken heart in barbed wire and poured a layer of concrete around it, and made sure nobody got close enough to hurt me. 

Four years ago, my niece was born. My heart broke open with joy, and I felt a kind of love I never knew was possible. I became softer, happier, and my heart, broken by lovers, was healed when I held her. 
Two months after that I met the woman I call my wife. The barbed wire is gone, the concrete has been broken down and my heart is free again. 

Fences

Inside Looking Out

Standing by her best friend's car
She looks in his angry eyes
And wonders why he's here

She hears him yelling at her
"We'll help you and your baby"
"You don't have to do this"
"You're going to regret this"
She knows she is hearing lies. 

She finds herself judging him
Wondering why she's here. 
It's none of his business anyways. 

She turns to walk inside. 
Just another Saturday at the clinic. 


Outside Looking In

Standing on the sidewalk
He looks past her sad eyes
And knows why she's here. 

He starts telling at get
"We'll help you and your baby"
"You don't have to do this"
"You're going to regret this"
He knows he is telling lies. 

He looks at her and judges her.
Wonders why her boyfriend isn't here, knows it isn't his business anyways. 

He turns to harass another woman. 
Just another Saturday at the clinic. 

Thursday, November 21, 2013

Fuck

"Fuck" ,she cried in pain. 
Looked up at the cliff. She knew
she'd never be found. 

"Fuck!" She pushed again. 
She heard the baby's first cry, 
knew it was worth it. 

"Fuck" he shouted. 
I told you 'Don't touch my guns'. 
Smiling, she shot him.