Wednesday, September 22, 2004

The weighting is the hardest part

Total. Systems. Failure.

Last night was a big old meltdown. Fortunately, not the kind I've read about, where the subject in question freaks her beak and eats everything in sight. That's rarely been my M.O. No, I just had a complete freak-out about how much I have to do. I'm leaving town tonight for a month. And I just got home on Sunday. I feel like I haven't spent more than ten minutes in my house since I got home in April. I can't settle in to a routine, because the routine keeps changing. Because I'm always on the road.

And did I mention that I have so much to do? I have to call Ikea customer service, and Aliant customer service (and I use the words customer service very, very loosely, you understand). I have to call my bad contractor about how bad he is, how he still hasn't come to finish the job on the bathroom. I have to clean the house, and pack to be away for a month, which means hauling my winter clothes out of the basement. Plus, I have to show my new roommate how to use the furnace, and the VCR and how the recycling system works. And I have to do the dishes. And clean my room. And vaccuum out the vents so that when my new roommate turns the furnace on, he doesn't drown in drywall dust. And I should have the furnace clean. And I need to buy kitty litter. And I have to make healthy snacks for our roadtrip, which we leave on TONIGHT. And I have to figure out what programs they have at the Y in Mississauga, and what my new workout schedule will be, because by the way, did I mention I have to lose a hundred pounds?

I mean, jesus wept, how am I supposed to get all that done? Before 6pm tonight? It's JUST NOT POSSIBLE.

So I did the only thing that seemed productive. I had a major freaking tear filled cryfest. Sobbing, sobbing on Professor Taco's shoulder in the car. Weeping, weeping when he fell asleep in his clothes with his contacts in spread across the bed. Weeping! As if it were a tragedy! Crying, crying and saying, I'm so tired, I'm so tired.

And the truth is, I am so tired. I am so tired of my old ways, whatever those are. I told Kravitz last night about my new project and she, like the professor, immediately said, but you don't have a problem with food. This is how well I've hidden it. That the people who know me best don't know, don't see it.

Because I know how and what to eat. I know that with my brain. But the lizard part of my mind wants and wants and wants. And while I've never mindlessly eaten a tub of ice cream, or woken up with chocolate drool drying on my face, I will mechanically eat nuts or chips, without even really savouring the saltiness that draws me there in the first place. I will take seconds, too many seconds, till I feel uncomfortably stuffed. Not because I'm still hungry, but because I want that taste, that mouthfeel again.

And though I worked out last week, I also went to Banff and ate many, many desserts. I ate bread on Sunday at Mom's, and pie. Ice cream last night at Johnny and Julie's, though not much of it, and it was light, apparently. And one tiny square of chocolate, though the dish of them was in front of me. There, at least, I worked hard and succeeded. I could have eaten all of them. I had one, really tasted it, and was happy with that.

I don't want food to be the enemy. I don't want my body to be the enemy. I think if I get on a scale today I will discover that I haven't lost a thing. Well, that I haven't lost any weight. But I think I've lost my ignorance about the situation. I've lost my ability to pretend I'm not fat, to pretend that the reason I can't do things is because I have weak ankles or I'm afraid of heights. Both those things are true, but not as true as I make them out to be. I've lost my desire to maintain the status quo.

And maybe that's the most important loss of all.


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