And Now...

Edit: I have created a separate blog for my new venture. Check it out at: http://andnowforthedifference.blogspot.com/.

Whenever I self-evaluate, and think about the things in my life I would like to change, I find the answer is always the same. My weight, my weight, and my weight. In that order. Every time.

I've really struggled lately, and found myself sinking back into that same loop of desperation. Binge. Feel guilty. Purge. Lather, rinse, and repeat if necessary. And it's always necessary. I could say that I've done everything to overcome this, but that's not true. I think there's an ebb and flow to getting over something of this magnitude. I'm waiting for the ebb.

That said, I've been thinking of ways that I can better myself in the new year. I'm not one for resolutions, because I feel like there are plenty of ways I can accidentally disappoint myself. Why add to the list? But that's sort of the definition of self-defeating, and that's just not working for me anymore. So, as a sort of simultaneous thought-chain, I've been thinking about re-tooling this blog. I feel like I set out to tell my story, but that story unravels every day, and I'm finding that it's hard to be the narrator of my own movie.

Ok, so getting back to the original self-evaluation, and seeking to better myself. In sort of exploring the issue of changing my body, I usually wind up in the same place. Find a restrictive diet and exercise in abundance. Because that has totally worked the last 762 times I tried it, so why not give it one more whirl? Because. I said, enough already!

So instead, I have decided to embark on a new journey for 2009. Call it a resolution, call it a diet, call it playing with fire. But I'm calling it research. I think a lot of the issues I have had with food and the abuse thereof has to do with a lot of built-up pressure based on all kinds of information I have learned from the various diets I have attempted in the past. Should I eat pasta? Should I eat an apple everyday? Should I avoid apples? Should I eat after 9? After 8? After 5? Is it better to exercise in the morning, or at night? Should I use the 2/3 rule? Should I? Can I? Will I?

My project for 2009 is simple. I plan to attempt a new diet each month of the year, starting on January 5. I will follow the plan as closely as possible, and document my journey - what worked, where I struggled, how I felt emotionally and physically, etc. And you, dear readers (reader?) will get a front-row seat.

I know this may sound ridiculous. Why on earth would someone who has struggled so much with diets and self-image and food and exercise do something like this? And I'm not sure I have an answer to that question. I do know this. Taking on this project will allow me to focus on one thing at a time, so I won't feel the overwhelming wave of dos and do nots when I try to cram everything I have ever learned into a diet. Also, I have established some ground rules, so I won't be embarking on anything restrictive, overly expensive, faddish, or generally destructive. I've set these guidelines.

1. Each plan must include both a diet and exercise regimen.
2. Each plan must consist of at least 1500 calories a day. I have based this on my doctor's recommendation.
3. No plans that eliminate fruit or vegetable groups.
4. No plans that require mail ordered or prepackaged and shipped food items.

Since I'm still kind of working out the details of this, I haven't really decided what the determining factors will be for success or failure. Since weight loss is my immediate goal (with a broader and more important goal of health and well-being), I will be reporting any gains/losses at the end of each month.

I have a few options in mind for January's plan. I will be posting more details soon. Oh, and I would like to keep this blog as a sort of separate log of my journey. I still plan to write on other topics, so I'll be splitting this into two channels. Stay tuned!

Your Exclamations Mean Nothing to Me

People who mark all of their emails as 'important' or 'urgent' are like the boy who cried wolf. After awhile, I will realize that your emails are only important to you. Not to me. And really, not to anyone else.

So then, I will answer your important emails after I've answered everything else. Even forwards from strange family members who I avoid during holidays.

Is It?

I try not to think of what I would do if the unthinkable happened. What if I lost a member of my family, or my house burned down, or everything I had worked hard to achieve disappeared? I guess I avoid thinking about these things because I fear that I would just wither away and never be heard from again.

The unthinkable happened to Horatio Spafford. Several decades ago, Horatio lost almost everything. His business and home were destroyed in the Great Chicago Fire. Two years later, he sends his family on a European vacation, and his four daughters are killed when the boat they are travelling on crashes into another boat. When Horatio's wife notified him of the tragedy, he hopped the next boat to Europe. And what did he do during the lengthy journey across the Atlantic? He wrote a song. Not a song of lament, or anger, or bitter resentment. Not a song becrying the tragedies of the years past. No, instead, Horatio writes what is quite possibly the most peaceful and praise-filled hymn sung today, It is Well With my Soul.

I can't imagine the kind of internal serenity Spafford possessed to be able to write something so prolific at such a tragic time. I can't imagine having a faith so deep, strong, and all-encompassing that I would have the clarity to know that my soul was ever going to be ok. I wish I had faith like that. I wish I was able to take enough stock in something greater than myself. Enough that all of the minutia of the day-to-day details became just that. Details. So that everything of importance; my mind, body, heart, and spirit were saturated with tranquility. So that minor inconveniences, careless friends, or missed deadlines weren't enough to flush my cheeks.

I have a hard time with faith, mostly because I can't see it or touch it. Disappointment occurs more than fulfillment, and I just assume the status quo. I don't say this to be self-deprecating, but more because I am so baffled by those who choose to believe that it really is going to be ok. And not just for the next five minutes.

I wish it could just hit me over the head. Some life altering moment that causes me to take action on this faith thing and really feel the peace Spafford so fondly put to words.

No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life
Thou wilt whisper thy peace to my soul

Owning It

I was really excited to catch Adele last night on Saturday Night Live. Her songs have been the soundtrack to my commute back and forth from work for the past few months, and I couldn't wait to hear her live.

Adele definitely did not disappoint. She sounded as amazing live as she does coming through my car stereo speakers. What also impressed me was that she chose to wear a short dress. As a woman who sometimes feels like my breasts are the only part of my body worth flaunting, I was excited to see another plus-sized girl showing some leg. And you know what? She looked great. She was sexy without displaying six inches of cleavage, and she rocked the mic without performing some sort of overdone booty jiggle.

Self-criticism is a hard habit to break. I keep thinking that at some point, I'll run out of negative things to say and think about myself. That at some point I will truly stop caring about the way my arms look in a sleeveless shirt and how well my jeans appear to fit.

It's easy for body image to become an obsession. It starts with something small; a pair of pants fitting loosely, having someone comment that I appear to have lost weight, or even going to bed hungry. It doesn't take long before I'm counting every calorie, calculating every meal, examining each piece of food that passes in front of my lips. The problem is that it starts to feel so good. It literally and figuratively starts to feed itself into control. It's like there is this separate being that hovers over me and weights until the ultimate point of vulnerability. And then...WHAM! I'm trying on my skinny jeans every morning before work and eating little else than vegetables and peanut butter. All of this, only to come full circle within a matter of days/weeks/months.

This is my most difficult habit to break, and I think because it's so multi-faceted. There is guilt, coupled with a sense of responsibility for health, multiplied by my burning desire to be thinner, and then iced with the fact that I cannot escape my drug of choice. So here I am. In the now, and trying to just take it day by day. And today is not going so well.

There's never gonna be a moment of truth for you
While the world is watching
All you need is the thing you've forgotten
And that's to learn to live with what you are

So freak out if you wanna
And I'll still be here
Don't call me for years and when you do
Yeah, I'll still be here

Flowers, Flowers, Everywhere

Dear People who Sell Stuff on Craigslist:

Laura Ashley is not exactly interchangeable with Shabby Chic. That flowered couch your mom gave to you before you left for college in 1996 is not vintage. Nor is it worth $50.00.

Sincerely,

Me.

I Just Live Here

So, this morning I stopped to pick-up a newspaper from the little grocery around the corner from my house. As I was paying, a guy in his late forties came in and whistled a tune that has replayed in my head all day. I have been racking my brain all afternoon to remember where I know this tune, and finally it hit me.

I suppose you're never too old to get your Smurf on.

His Ego may be Larger than Alaska...

but his stingers are hotter than it's governor. Karma, meet Sarah Palin.



I've avoided making any commentary on this election for a few reasons. First, that's not really the purpose of this blog. And no, I can't tell you the actual purpose of this blog. Second, I'm nervous to take a stance that creates a historical stamp. It's like people driving around with those Gore/Lieberman stickers on the bumper of their Chevy's.'

But Sarah Palin disgusts me. And not because she is a cliche, or a woman who clearly substitutes 'cute' for substance. No, the reason Ms. Palin tickles my gag reflex is because she makes us look bad. Or, at least the us that have a vagina. I am disappointed with a woman who has accepted the position for one of the most powerful positions in the country, and possibly the world. I'm disappointed when I watch her falter and stumble and ineffectively try to manipulate her way out of any situation that requires her to be everything that she is not. Bold, strong, intelligent, controlled, deliberate, and confidant. Oh yeah, and that whole leadership thing. I'm sad because I've watched her turn into in a wannabe bully. No original thought, no original purpose, absolutely no creativity. Just riding the coattails of the smart kids and makings quips that end in an -in.

I think Anne Lamott has a better idea. I think that as women, we should support those who possess the fire. There are enough women out there who incite support from being dramatic, mean, "sassy," and otherwise useless. We all could stand to channel a little Molly Ivins.

I still believe in Hope - mostly because there's no such place as Fingers Crossed, Arkansas.
- Molly Ivins

I Sure Hope That's It

So I was talking with a coworker last week and catching up on the happenings of him and his family. He told me that his wife and youngest daughter had started a MediFast diet earlier in the week, and jokingly mentioned that his household had been rather tense ever since then. I remembered that his daughter was young, and when I asked my friend how old she was, he told me she was 11.

It was rather difficult to get through the rest of the conversation, because this wave of emotion came over me that I hadn't really expected. Dieting with my mom was a staple of our relationship from the time I was 12 until the time I left for college. I couldn't help but wonder about my friend's daughter.

I truly hope that this is the last diet she ever decides to take on. I hope that she gets to a healthy weight and learns some healthy habits and never gives a passing thought to the number on the tag of her jeans. But from what I know, and from what I have learned from other friends and various influences, this is probably just the beginning for her. This is not the first and last diet she will start; it is only the first of many. She will probably lose some weight and it will be positively reinforced by her family, friends, and cute boys in the lunch line. I hope that she decides how to eat by listening to her body, and not to her mom or infomercials or by watching her friends subsist on diet coke and carrot sticks.

My true hope is that this doesn't lead to destructive behavior. And that she doesn't start marking important events in her life by how much or little she weighed. That when she starts dating, she doesn't question why someone would want to touch her or be with her. That she doesn't spend her days counting calories and carbohydrates and sugar content of everything she eats.

Maybe I'm just forcing my own situation on to someone else. The thought of an 11 year-old starting a diet makes me cringe, makes me relive those days of coffee-only diets. I wish I could change it for so many other 11 year-old girls who are about to repeat the same exact cycles.

I knew that to keep in touch
Would do me deep in dutch
Cuz it isn't the rush of remembering
It's just mush
And the signature thing
Is only growing harrowing
I should have no trouble now
To keep from following

Why I Love My Coworkers

My sentiments exactly. Except maybe replace 'socks' with 'bra.'

Check My Flow

So, awhile back I wrote about the Pink and Carey Hart split. A few weeks ago, I caught Pink's video for her new song So What. Or, as my friend Kate refers to it, the naner-naner song.

After seeing the video, I was even more bummed about the dissolution of the Pink/Hart relationship. Clearly, they get along and still care for one another. Why cut down the tree with carved initials and declarations of love? Can't Carey ride bitch on the back of her riding lawn mower?

I suppose I'm longing for a little dose of fairytale in a reality-laden world. What's so overrated about a great story that stays, well, great? Why can't I have my cake and eat it too, preferably with a scoop of ice cream?

I digress. I think I just wanted an excuse to hear this song again. Catchy, ain't it?

Synchronized Slimming

Sometimes I wish that as women, we decided to stop relating and foraging relationships based on diet and negative body image issues. I wish we could compliment each other's brain, heart, and character and not each other's size, dress, and skin.

I have shared many a meal with female coworkers since I started working in a professional setting eight years ago. And I can genuinely say that most of these meals play out in the same fashion. Everyone ponders over the menu for a few minutes, and then announces their meal plans. Except usually the statement is prefaced by declarations that go a lot like:

"I'm being good today!"
"I'm having a bad day, so I'm having the..."
"I haven't eat since yesterday, so I'm going all out!"
"Today is a cheat day."

How about we just eat? If it's a hamburger, a salad, a muffin, a potato chip, an oyster, a taco, or a jelly bean. How about we just do it? And we don't excuse it or justify it or mull it over once everyone else has made their decisions.

And I'm having seconds of that.

And before the might
of all that’s seen
I’ll raise my head
and wake to dream
with a clean pair of eyes

Inaudibly Irrelevant

I'm a big fan of words. I love consonants, syllables, contractions, similes, and everything in between. That said, hearing someone use incorrect tense, ending sentences with prepositions, or making up words makes me feel like I'm trapped in a phone booth with Fran Drescher and Bill O'Reilly.

Stop using 'mute' in place of 'moot.' Those words have two vastly different meanings. I promise. Look it up.

I opened my eyes
While you were kissing me once, more than once
And you looked as sincere as a dog
Just as sincere as a dog does
When it's the food on your lips with which it's in love

Reality

I will never be described as exotic or mysterious. I'll never be able to get a suntan without first having a sunburn. I'll never have a proportionate hip-to-waist ratio.

But I will always be able to shake it to those who do.

August Disgust

I came across this today, and I have to say that I'm not entirely opposed to an August succession from the calendar. August just seems superfluous; an extra month of heat, oppressive humidity, and 31-day tease of crisp, leaf-changing existence.

But I couldn't help but think of my baby brother, who will welcome his 23rd year on Friday. My other brother and I celebrate our birthdays in April and October respectively. Each spring and fall, we would skip to school in our birthday duds, laden down with trays of whatever confectionery delight our mom whipped up. Our classmates would gather around, vying for the biggest, softest, and most well-frosted cupcake. We were the prince and princess of our classes for one day a year.

Meanwhile, our resident August Baby celebrated birthday after birthday with just our family. No classroom celebrations. No leftover cupcakes for the bus ride home. No hand-decorated cards from the entire second-grade class.

So maybe instead of ending the summer on a sticky and saturated note, we should celebrate the lazy, ethereal, and undying days. We should lounge poolside, drink in hand. We should sport sundresses and crisp linen shirts and strappy sandals. We should travel, and eat, and dance. And most importantly, we should overcompensate for our friends who never got to partake in classroom birthday celebrations.

Daisy summer pipers come to town
Piping people out of doors
To see the magic all around
Listen now you'll hear his sound
Stare into a mirror pool
And laugh so princely vain
The skies become kaleidoscopes
With no two turns the same

And Then There Was One

Last week, my mom came into town for a few days to help me after I had some minor sinus surgery. She left on Sunday, and I haven't been the same since. Nashville has been my home for the past five years, but within the past few months it's gotten harder and harder to say goodbye to my family during our respective visits to each other. Just the mention of the word 'mom,' and I can hardly keep my eyes from welling with tears.

Sometimes I worry that my personal contentedness is too dependent on the influence of other people in my life. I find myself seeking validation, comfort, and assurance from my friends and family. This feeling is especially evident when I experience uncertainty. When I question my career, my relationships, my finances, I just want to lie down and be rescued.

But the thing about human beings is that they are not guarantees. I know that even if my mom lived next door to me, there are a million circumstances that could take her out of my life. I know that friendships often have an expiration date. I know that people change their minds. And more importantly, I know that I have to be OK with myself regardless of the people who are (or are not) around me.

It all comes down to reminding myself that I am strong, capable, and resourceful. That I am able to deal with adversities even if I was the only person in my life. And that even if I wake up with only myself for the rest of my life, I will be OK.

When I'm trying to outrun you
you won't leave me alone
When I need you to be with me
I end up on my own
Oh, I wish that I could move you
Faster, be still, or rewind
But it's a matter of time

Adam West

I slept through my 6AM alarm this morning and ended up rolling over to a clock that read 8:17.

Oh, hell.

So I raced around and somehow managed to be out the door in just under 30 minutes. I spent the short drive to my office chastising myself for being so hard on my body. I spent the rest of the day scrutinizing calories and gulping water to rehydrate.

I fell pretty hard this time. Last week I felt like I was an actress in the starting sequence of every Batman TV show from a few decades ago. I was zapping, kaplowing, and bamming my way through a bunch of gnarly situations. Then came the crash. The burn. The incineration. Getting back up is still causing me some issue, but I don't feel like I'm lacking in clarity right now. Just having trouble reaching the bootstraps.

I'm starting to wonder if maybe I'm going about all of this in the wrong way. For the past couple years, I have been trying to seek out every form of medium that relates to my present situation. I keep thinking that I'll get better if I can build up this army of books, songs, and movies that tell my story, that make me feel less insane. But I don't know that it's necessarily about that right now. I think that maybe it's about focusing on who I want to be, not swimming around in what I am or what I used to be. Maybe.

A thousand fires burn out of control
And no one's ever there
To see them
We're dyin of thirst our voice is lost
From all this screaming
I came down in a lonely state
And now everyone is leaving
Our souls so charred beyond recognition
And I'm trying to find the reason

Small Victories

Who was able to check three major projects off her to-do list by noon?

That's right.

Me.

You Know the One

I grabbed dinner with some friends tonight after work. Midway through the meal, I realized that I was counting the calories in practically every bite I was taking. I promptly put down my fork, took a deep breath, and waited for the feeling to pass, but it didn't ever really go away. I counted all the way home.

I think it is fair to say that the holidays are extraordinarily difficult for those who struggle with disordered eating. I think it’s an even safer bet to say that summer is like one long and steamy holiday. A holiday full of barbecues and beer and forced socialization in minimal amounts of clothing. Right now I’m just treading, trying to keep my head above water and not get pulled into the tide of Body Hatred and Lack of Self Esteem.

In a few days, I'm heading to Michigan for what is supposed to be an escape and a chance to catch a ball game. Instead, I'm worrying about how much weight I have gained since the last time I saw my family. My brother and sister-in-law have spent the bulk of their marriage on diets of some description or another. They yo-yo back and forth between sizes, and spend a great deal of time talking about losing weight. My sister-in-law has even gone so far as to post a countdown of sorts on her MySpace pages. My mother provides me with a weekly update on how much weight the family has lost or gained. And while I love seeing my family, and laughing with my brothers, and shopping with my mom, sometimes I just wish it were different. I wish my visits home weren't filled with such trepidation, and I wish I didn't feel scrutinized each time I walked through the door. I mostly wish I didn't have a "let'sjustgetthisoverwith" feeling every time I came home.

So, as much as I want to just give in and listen to that voice that tells me to makeup for all of the hot dogs and beer I've had in the past few days, I know I need to keep fighting the good fight. And that no matter how hard my mom stares at my waistline, it's still about me nurturing and taking care of myself. I think.

I am colorblind
coffee black and egg white
pull me out from inside
I am ready, I am ready, I am ready
I am taffy stuck and tongue tied
stutter shook and uptight
I am ready, I am ready, I am ready
I am fine
I am covered in skin
no one gets to come in
pull me out from inside
I am folded and unfolded, and unfolding
I am colorblind
coffee black and egg white
pull me out from inside
I am ready, I am ready, I am ready
I am fine

Living me Softly

I realized today, that as I was traipsing down the office hallway for the 72nd time, I was making this odd sigh/motorboat sound with my lips. And I thought to myself, "what the hell are you doing?" And I really had no answer.

I watched a movie this weekend with a fat, red-headed woman, who portrayed an overbearing and slightly psychotic mess of a boss to the movie's main character. She wore a lot of polka dots, ate jelly donuts, and carried on office banter in a shrill, earsplitting tone. The movie actually opened with an office celebration of her birthday party, and her little beady eyes glistened as she cut herself a Texas-sized piece of cake.

Really? Seriously? Is this material still funny and cool and trendy? Is the overbearing, overeating, overweighted, shrew of a woman still a necessary cinematic staple? Are we really still buying the mentality of the fat person's agony? Hiding sugary snacks, over-compensating for a bullied adolescence, wearing tentlike fabrics to hide abdominal fat? Really? I was annoyed before the plot was ever introduced.

Fat acceptance is something I struggle with, mostly because I can't seem to accept myself. At any size. It's been almost six months since I've had a bulimic episode, and I can't say that I feel any sense of accomplishment for it. I guess I just thought that if I stopped all of that behavior, I would just start losing weight. I thought the 'next step' would be so natural, that I wouldn't even realize it was happening.

What I seem to forget everytime is that this is not going to be an easy fix. In the past, when I wanted to lose weight, I would stop eating for days, weeks, or even months at a time. In the past, I could drop weight by starving myself and then having one big binge and purge session to work out my hunger. But my reality today is that those things have stopped working for me, emotionally and physically. Forcing my body to react to my actions just doesn't fulfill me any more.

That said, I have realized the only thing I can do at this point is be gentle with myself. Restricting, obsessing, forcing, overhauling; all these do is send me into a crash that takes me longer and longer to retreat from each time it happens. I want serenity. I want peace. I want to know that I am ok no matter what the tag on my pants says. And even as I read those words, I still can't quite convince myself that it's true.

Elbow Room

I'm tired.

I've tried to write here several times over the past few weeks and nothing is really happening for me each time I belly up to my desk. Part of it has to do with another creative endeavor I am attempting, but the rest of it has no real cause, destination, or plot. I'm just tired.

I'm feeling that oppressive, crushing, dark feeling again. My heart feels heavy in my chest. My limbs seem to be moving solely of their own volition. Brain set to autopilot. I'm reacting. Responding. Smiling when it's appropriate. Forcing myself to accept outing invitations from friends. Convincing myself to stay awake just one more hour. Then laying in bed for two.

I looked at the calendar today and realized it's been nearly six months. And while I want so badly to be happy for myself, I'm having trouble mustering anything beyond cautious nervousness. What next? Who am I without being the Eating Disorder Girl? What if I still can't get it right?

Part of me wonders if all of this therapy and self-exploration has turned me into someone very selfish. That maybe in the process of trying to find myself, I really just lost the girl I was meant to be all along.

I talked to absolutely no one
Couldn't keep to myself enough
And the things bottled inside had finally begun
To create so much pressure that I'd soon blow up

And I heard the reverberating footsteps
Syncing up to the beating of my heart
And I was positive that unless
I got myself together I would watch me fall apart

Callous

I learned the art of sarcasm from my best friend in junior high. Her name was Laura, and she had long dark hair with a sweep of bangs and she wore topsiders nearly every day. We would make prank phone calls during our sleepovers at her house and we made a killing from scamming CD companies out of those 10 CDs for a penny deals. Her father used to beat her with a belt and she would call my house in hysterics asking me to have my mom come over and get her. Her mom was as aloof as the wallpaper in the hallway of their family home, and her brothers showed love by letting Laura and me smoke their cigarettes.

Laura and I drifted apart our freshman year of high school. She wanted to drink and have casual sex with college boys. I could barely stomach half of a Zema and couldn't figure my way out of a blow job. It was strange watching our friendship end. I knew she was completely awful for me, and that she was holding me back socially, emotionally, and academically. My parents practically threw a party when I came home one day after school and announced that our friendship was no longer. And even more strange was I didn't miss her. I didn't skip a beat, I just moved on to different friends and new activities and ended up having an awesome time in high school.

What is it about getting older that makes moving on so much more difficult? What makes the Laura's of adulthood so much harder to shake? In high school, I knew Laura was completely toxic to me. I think I even had an idea that our friendship would not stand the test of time. I don't know that I go into relationships any less aware now, so I'm not sure what has changed. Part of me wonders if it is because I want to believe that people aren't as fickle or flippant in relationships as they get older. Or maybe I just think that if I show enough love, support, and care, I'll be able to eclipse any hurt that might be imposed.

My worry is that I'm starting not to trust people. I'm starting to get paranoid that I'm being lied to; that everyone really is out for themselves. I don't want to buy into that. I don't want to be skeptical all the time. I don't want to carry past hurts around like some sort of preemptive badge. Mostly, I don't want to miss out on an opportunity to meet someone amazing because I can't stop looking over my shoulder at proverbial reminders.

But you can't will yourself happy
You can't will your cunt wet
You can't keep standing at the station
Pretending you're being met
You can't wear a sign that says 'yours'
When that ain't what you get

It flows and flows away from me
My love is a stream
Your love is a vaudeville show
So charming and obscene
We both had our moments
We both had our fun
And then I hated to prove 'em all right
All those who said I'd run

Dracula Moon

I'm starting to wonder if there are any genuinely good people left. I know this sounds very dramatic and dare I say, whiny, but I'm starting to lose hope. Perhaps it's just that everyone (like myself) is riddled with insecurity and self-doubt. But where I internalize and just abuse myself, other people project their stuff on to the people around them. Or maybe everybody just gets beat up all day long; by their kids, their spouses, their ex-spouses, their coworkers, and food service employees. And maybe they gather all that up and exploit the one shred of power they have over someone else.

Or maybe I just need to get over it.

I turned 27 a couple weeks ago, and I've been crafting a to-do list of things I want to accomplish before I turn 30. I realize that 30 is three whole years away, but since I barely noticed the past 27 years I figure it's time to get crackin'. Sadly, I have decided to omit my goal of learning to skateboard. I realized that I don't really want to learn how to skateboard. I just want to be automatically good at skateboarding. I don't want to go through that fall-all-the-time-as-you're-learning phase. So here it is, in no particular order.

1. Learn Spanish.
2. Learn how to operate a sewing machine and successfully sew things for myself.
3. Start reading books about world history.
4. Travel to Italy.
5. Travel to France.
6. Travel to Greece.
7. Learn how to make a cheesecake.
8. Lose enough weight so that I can go down two full dress sizes.
9. Buy a couch.

I think I'm going to start by learning Spanish. My friends got me a bookstore gift card for my birthday, and I'm going to put it to good use.

Don't worry mother, it'll be alright
And don't worry sister
Say your prayers, and sleep tight
And it'll be fine, lover of mine
It'll be just fine

I Know Where It's Not

Got back from vacation yesterday. Wish I was not back from vacation. Wish vacation never had to end.

So I've been sad for the past 24 hours. Crying and pacing. Attempted to read/watch movies/talk to friends to no avail. Took a bath. More pacing, or maybe just more roaming aimlessly from room to room. Finally went to grocery despite having no appetite.

I really want to talk about the great times I had last week, and I will very soon. Right now, I'm just a little raw and emotional to give a rundown. So instead of dwelling on that, I've decided that I need to remind myself of all the people in my life who I'm grateful for. I haven't done this in awhile, and it seems more productive than reminding myself how much I miss something I just can't have right now.

1. William. For being my best friend and the greatest travel buddy a girl could ask for.
2. Bigs and Beeler. For serenading me with what was quite possibly the greatest rendition of the 'Happy Birthday' song.
3. Mom. For being there, always.
4. Chris. For reminding me that I deserve better than I allow myself to believe I deserve.
5. Andrew. For smart-ass birthday cards that never cease to crack me up.
6. Ryan. For being the most angelic and precious little boy I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. I can't wait to see the person you grow up to be.

Lumina
Come and wrap around me
Lumina
Take me through the snow

Eve took a fruit, Eve picked a fruit
Juice ran down her chin
Babies will put things in their mouths
Never heard of sin

Lumina
Open like the sea
Lumina
Sing me in the dark

Eve had to ask, Eve had to ask
What is wrong with this
Here is the place, now is the time
Let's invent the kiss

What it all comes down to

I purged last weekend, but not in a bad way. I was doing some spring cleaning, and reorganizing my bookshelves to accommodate a bunch of new reading material I've purchased over the past six months. And while not alarming in number, I did notice that I have quite a few books on diets. And by diets, I mean fairly restrictive eating and exercise plans that are nearly impossible to maintain over a lifetime. I was struck with the realization that this may be one of those 'garbage in, garbage out' kind of things. Those books peer out from their shelves at anyone who uses my living room. Perhaps it is not the healthiest thing to have all of my past fails at diet attempts staring me in the eye when I'm trying to relax.

I contemplated boxing up the books and donating them to the library. But then it struck me that perhaps this may just perpetuate the problem. Maybe I'm just adding proverbial fuel to the proverbial fire by passing along material that is essentially weight loss propaganda. So, instead I took my box of books to my local recycling center. I was thrilled to see that my books could be recycled into something that may actually benefit my fellow citizens.

I'm still in this really weird restless, kind of mopey and contemplative place. I'm hoping my vacation next week will help me relax and clear my mind.

There's really no hope for me
And that three second rule
Somethin gets dropped
And still I'm the slowest damn fool
Slow to realize what's really going on
Slow to know in a moment
Who or what has gone wrong

I wanna tighten down on the lag time

Your consonants were buzzing
Around your head like flies
Your true colors were showing
And your shape and your size
You were drinking your way though it
I was shrinking right there inside of my clothes
My eventual twenty/twenty
Arms crossed
Tapping her toe

Girl, Corrupted

I've had a really tough month, so I am incredibly grateful that April is just a couple hours away. Not that flipping a page in my calendar is going to solve everything, but I'm hoping I will get some inspiration from my upcoming vacation.

My last session with Dr. Gray left me feeling deflated and defeated. I think it's safe to say that I've made a lot of progress in the last year. The problem is that I keep hitting this cement wall every few months and there just doesn't seem to be some tangible way to push past it.

I love to dance. I danced for 11 years, and even now, over a decade after I've left it behind, I still can't find a high that compares to dancing. I've been taking a hip-hop class once a week for the past few months, and for that hour every week I leave feeling like I can take on the world. Yet somehow, there is still that resonating voice that tells me I don't deserve to feel good and like dance. I don't deserve other pleasures because I'm not good enough. And I'm not good enough because I'm not thin enough.

See, the problem is that I'm fighting a voice that is almost as old as I am. A voice that has a lot of back story on me. A voice that knows every weakness and guilt and sorrow I've ever felt. And most of all, a voice that is vengeful and vindictive. Of what, I don't know.

I know that I don't want to stop fighting that voice. And I know that I need to convince myself that I do deserve to have a hobby that is fulfilling, relationships where I feel loved, and a career that is rewarding. I want to be able to hold on to what I have right now, even if it's not what I want to be right now. I'm tired of holding my breath and waiting for my life to be different.

This is probably the point where I should make some self-proclamation and declare that I'm going to take a course action. But I'm not, because I don't know what that looks or feels or acts like. What I do know is that I'm not ready to quit fighting. I know it's going to be sad and angry and probably lonely, but I can't keep falling down because of a shame I don't deserve to feel.

Time to tell me the truth
To burden your mouth for what you say
No pieces of paper in the way'
Cause I can't continue pretending to choose
The opposite sides on which we fall
The loving you laters, if at all
No right minds could wrong be this many times

My memory is cruel
I'm queen of attention-to-details
Defending intentions if he fails
Until now, he told me her name
It sounded familiar in a way
I could have sworn I'd heard him
Say it ten thousand times
If only I had been listening

Chocolate Evolution

Last night, one of my friends hosted a party to celebrate the premiere of The Hills new season. My affinity for this show is a bit on the ridiculous side. Part of it has to do with the fact that I relate really strongly to Lauren, the shows main character. Not the whole 4500 square foot apartment, Mercedes Benz, fashion line, and VIP access to exclusive clubs part. I more relate to the way she behaves in relationships.

So last night, we settled in with some (ok, more than some) wine and watched our heroine navigate the mean streets of the concrete jungle. MTV had really outdone itself; the network hosted a huge premiere party at some fabulous location and even coerced Mariah Carey into spitting some rhymes at the end of the show. And sadly, I loved every damn second of it. But here is what I'm not understanding:

1. Why did Brody feel it necessary to act like he wanted a relationship with Lauren before she left for Paris? She wasn't putting any pressure on him to commit to her. And why show up with a different 'girlfriend' and hang around Lauren's roommate? Why offer something that wasn't even being asked for, and then stomp all over it for no reason?

2. When will Spencer realize his own douchebaggedness?

3. Why didn't Lauren hook up with the hottie French musician? Short of finding Peter Krause in my shower, there is nothing sexier than a cigarette smoking Frenchie on a Vespa.

4. What were the repercussions of the burnt gown? And how adorable was the replacement gown?

5. How soon do we get to see more of Lo?

I have to preface my next statement by saying that I love Mariah Carey. My formative years were spent singing her songs to myself in the mirror. I wore her albums out on my tape player. That said, who the H does she think she's fooling? That performance was so not live. Ok, maybe it was live because Mariah was actually standing there, breathing and in person. But those vocals have a definite expiration date. And what was that blathering about the trainer that moved into Mariah's house and was boring but effective? What? Bring the old Mariah back. You know, the girl who wore that black cocktail dress to her first five public performances? The one who really had a seven-octave range? The one who couldn't really dance, but shook her booty anyway?

You'd trade your place for a brighter sun to come your way
Walking contradiction now I'm a mess I cannot say
It's ok, it's ok, I hope I will be ok
So come on I'm screaming now how much I need you to stay

And if the night left you alone
And if the days leave you cold
I'll trade a symphony for a song
I'll leave the light on by your home

Kiss My Ass Just Sounds Bitter

I thought that this morning I would wake up with some clarity and relief from the uncertainty of the past few weeks. No such luck. I do however, think I'm starting to figure out why I'm feeling out of sorts on such a macro level.

I've really been working to process my feelings as they relate to my recovery from an eating disorder. And lately, I've been feeling really vulnerable. I don't know how long it's been since I've had an episode, but I know it's been awhile. I'm trying not to count the days, because it seems that when I start to do that, it brings the purge option back to the table, and I'm really trying to avoid even the consideration of old habits. That said, the past week or so I've been feeling really sad. Not that scary, depressed kind of sad, but a sad like I lost a friend. I know this may sound completely masochistic, but in a way I'm mourning my eating disorder. I'm starting to realize that even if tomorrow morning I dropped right back into every old habit I had four years ago, it wouldn't do the same thing for me that it did four years ago. It's like returning to your hometown after you've grown up and discovering that although nothing has really changed, everything is completely different from how you remembered it. It's a very raw, nerve exposed feeling. And to be completely honest, I hate feeling this way.

There is a part of my insides screaming for me to cover up, to not leave myself open to heartbreak and loneliness and disappointment. I'm terrified of what might happen if I actually let myself lean into my emotions. I'm afraid that I am not strong enough to cope with those emotions and I'll just turn into this shell of a human being. But then, I feel a tug from some place closer to my heart and I just know that I am strong enough to keep going. And that the closest my self has been to a shell was during the years I was drowning in an eating disorder.

So, as much as I want to just relax and maybe lay in bed for the rest of my life, I know that's not an option right now. And I know that would be the worst disservice to myself. Regardless of how many outside influences make me feel less than worthy, I'm refusing to believe I'm anything besides amazing.

These back steps are steeper to the ground
The brightest stars are falling down
I'm walking the edge, walking the tightest rope
We can be frank, reality rips on through, rolling like a hurricane
I'm over the bridge and under the rain

Maybe Blink 182 Had It All Wrong

I'm starting to worry that I'm too old. Ok, not too old, that's the wrong term. I'm starting to feel ill prepared true adulthood. And by true adulthood, I mean life as a 30-something. Next month, I will celebrate the arrival of my 27th year of life. I'm not angsty about getting older, in fact I'm welcoming my 30s with open arms. Oh, to be done with all of this personal and professional undulation. To be poised, and revered, and socially at ease. Well, maybe being 30 won't mean a change in personality. And given some of the encounters I've had with 30-something women lately, I may just decide to hit pause on 29. I guess I'm just circling back around to the question of 'what next?'.

I'm not one of those girls who has always wanted to get married. I never played 'here comes the bride' or thought about flower schemes and bridesmaid dresses. Even when I was engaged for a brief period of time, I didn't so much as cast a sideways glance at bridal magazines. I have no fucking sense of what it would be like to have a husband, let alone children and family pets. I'm not against marriage; I've seen it do both really wonderful and really terrible things for people. I am moderately terrified of the idea of having someone in my living space for the rest of my life, but I also love the idea of coming home to my best friend every day for the rest of my life. I guess I just feel a little like an alien because marriage isn't something that I've definitely penciled into my five year plan. What if I'm supposed to be all ethereal and romantic and brush up on my ironing and vacuuming skills? What if I'm supposed to want more than just hand holding on the couch during my favorite TV show? What if I'm selling my self short?

But I think it's more than that, and I like that part of myself. I get excited about the fact that I've beaten my last score in Brick Break. I like only having to buy groceries for myself. I like knowing that I can pack up at any given time and leave - whether it be for a day or a year - and not have to get permission from anyone but myself. My discomfort in being older doesn't have to do as much with what I expect of myself, but more of what I think everyone else is expecting of me. There is something so magnetic about having an unknown future. Sure, it's scary. But it also takes the possibility door off its hinges.

I remember reading a short story somewhere that basically said that there is nothing we should be doing. That as long as we treat people kindly and take care of our own well being, we're following the right path. I don't really know if it gets much better than that. So whenever I get nervous that my career isn't advancing as quickly as it should be, or that my boyfriend at the time may not be the person I should be with, I try to remind myself that I am exactly where I should be. And this will be the case whether I'm 26, 36, or 46.

I certainly haven't been shopping for any new shoes, and
I certainly haven't been spreading myself around
I only travel by foot and by foot it's a slow climb
But I'm good at being uncomfortable so
I can't stop changing all the time

If there was a better way to go than it would find me
I can't help it the road just rolled out behind me
Be kind to me, or treat me mean
I'll make the most of it, I'm an extraordinary machine.

America's High Five

I love technology and change and living in a world that is full of convenience and efficiency. But sometimes it's remarkably refreshing to know that some things will always be predictable, steady, and stable. For that, I am grateful beyond words.

Your Two-Ton Death Trap

It’s been a no bueno kind of week, and I am so tired I just want to hibernate for a month.

Monday morning I sat down at my desk and opened my email. I had a message from a former coworker and former friend who left my company last week. Our friendship ended a few months ago, basically because I had a romantic relationship with one of our mutual friends. I hardly expected to receive an email from her, and didn’t bother to make any grand gestures to bid her farewell. Her email started out very kind; she gave me kudos for the work I have done in my current position, and she mentioned how excited she had been to see me grow professionally. Then came the punch to the ovaries. The last part of her email said how sorry she was that we had “lost” our friendship, and that it had never been her intent to lose me as a friend when we had talked about needing our separate identities at work. And she’s right, we did discuss the need to separate ourselves professionally. But that’s not why our friendship ended. It ended because she chose to be petty and immature about a situation that was really none of her business to begin with. When I tried to reconcile things with her a few months ago, she only pretended that everything was ok and spread rumors about me to our coworkers. Her email was just another slap in the face and further dismissal and denial on her part. I thought that I had gotten to a place where her actions could not hurt me any further, and it turns out that I was wrong.

I have been chewing on her words all week, both literally and figuratively. I cannot quite figure out why I am so affected by this behavior. I never imagined that as an adult, I would have to deal with girlfriend drama over a guy. It seems like something that a person should grow out of, like shoes and coats. I’ve been really torn between trying to patch up our friendship or just let things end on kind of a sour note. A friend and I discussed the situation over drinks last night, and he helped me put things into focus. He said that what she had done was wrong and dismissive of my feelings, and that I am under no obligation to try to make things right…again. Hearing this from an unbiased third party made me feel exponentially better. And the end of this paragraph marks me moving on.

I went today for my new, fancy sleep mask fitting, which marked today’s linear plunge into existential angst. I am feeling like the worst form of human being, especially when I saw that my health insurance is paying more than $3000.00 for the entire CPAP machine and mask.

So, I’ve decided that I refuse to stew anymore. And I refuse keep wallowing in the muck of another person’s lame behavior. I have really been toying with the idea of a complete fitness overhaul, but my concern is that I will fall back into the obsessive, panicky behaviors. But I suppose at some point I have to stop running scared and just start making changes. If it’s not perfect, than it’s not perfect. But I have to do it. Starting now.

Have you ever thought about what protects our hearts?
Just a cage of rib bones and other various parts.
So it's fairly simple to cut right through the mess,
And to stop the muscle that makes us confess.

And we are so fragile,
And our cracking bones make noise,
And we are just,
Breakable, breakable, breakable girls and boys.

Disinterested, Party of One

One of the easiest ways to test any relationship is by traveling together. Travel is better than any polygraph the FBI can conjure up. True character is revealed in airports, restaurants, and hotel lobbies.

If the earth were ever to be examined by aliens, I think the best place to start would be the airport. There really is no other public place to see the entire gamut of human emotion on display. There is sadness, happiness, frustration, boredom, excitement, romance, heartbreak, hunger, anger, and ambivalence all under one roof. There are no cookie cutter personalities or appearances; nearly every person is completely different from the next, yet shares the commonality of being at the airport. I love to observe the airport - not just the travelers, but the ticket agents, the husbands picking up wives, the porters carrying bags, the wayward children, and that one guy who is always driving some sort of golf cart vehicle through the most crowded corridor. It's although everyone is exactly where they should be, and completely out of place at the same time. I always try to guess the life stories of the people around me. The bored teenager sitting with her parents. The old couple wearing matching sweatshirts and looking dazed. The suit huddled in the corner with his laptop, cell phone, and venti non-fat latte. The little girl who is awestruck by the planes landing and taking off outside. I wonder where they are going, who they have left behind, and if they are really going to try to get away with that extra carry-on suitcase.

Up until last year, anytime I had flown, I had been by myself. I'm not saying this because I feel bad about it, I'm simply stating the facts. My family lives a few states away, and most of my oldest and dearest friends live at least a Southwest nonstop flight away. And I like to travel, and generally be the boss of myself, which makes exploring new places an adventure for me. However, after traveling with another person, especially one who I would deem a compatible travel buddy, I miss having that other person next to me. There's no one I can share my smirks with when I see something smirk-worthy. There's no one to laugh at me when I stub my toe, trip on the escalator, or bump into some freestanding object (which I will inevitably do). There is something about taking in new places and knowing that without saying a word, you know it's the most peaceful, beautiful, or inspiring place you've been.

Ok, I'm getting schmaltzy, so let's move on.

This morning, two of the coworkers I'm traveling with decided to pick up some donuts for the office on our way into work. We were discussing the difference between donut shops in our city versus donut shops in the Los Angeles area. Now, I know we're just talking donuts here, but it makes me kind of pleased to see that this country isn't as homogenized as it sometimes appears. For me, Ocean Beach bars will always have the best Mojitos. And people outside of Michigan don't even know what a paczki is. The bums in San Francisco are by far the friendliest, and no one can do a speedier oil change than the service stations in Bar Harbor. I like that everything is not exactly the same, everywhere I go, every time I'm there. It makes being nostalgic much more fun.

Have yourself a taste of foreign glamour
Feeding on our way to something new
Missing for a night but gone forever
But they are here to take good care of you

I know, right?

I am up far too early because my body thinks it's still in Nashville. Subsequently...

Basics:
Name:	Emily
Date of Birth:	4/18/1981
Birthplace:	Flint, MI
Current Location:	SoCal
Eye Color:	Brown
Hair Color:	Blonde
Height:	somewhere between petite and average
Heritage:	German, Swiss, English, American Indian, Dutch
Piercings:	Ears for right now
Tattoos:	nada
Favourite:
Band/Singer:	Billy Joel
Song:	I'll Be
Movie:	Moulin Rouge
Disney Movie:	ummm, The Little Mermaid
TV show:	right now? Nip/Tuck
Color:	Red
Food:	anything involving pasta
Pizza topping:	sundried tomatoes
Ice-Cream Flavor:	strawberry
Drink (alcoholic):	vodka tonics
Soda:	Squirt
Store:	Target
Clothing Brand:	dunno
Shoe Brand:	whatever is cute and comfy
Season:	Fall
Month:	October
Holiday/Festival:	Christmas
Flower:	Tulip or Magnolia
Make-Up Item:	mascara
Board game:	Trivial Pursuit
This or That
Sunny or rainy:	Usually sunny...sometimes I like rain
Chocolate or vanilla:	chocolate
Fruit or veggie:	both!
Night or day:	night
Sour or sweet:	ehhh...
Love or money:	love
Phone or in person:	in person
Looks or personality:	little looks, lotsa personality
Coffee or tea:	coffee
Hot or cold:	cold
Your:
Goal for this year:	stick with an exercise regimen
Most missed memory:	playing in the snow with my brothers
Best physical feature:	lips
First thought waking up:	Do I have to?
Hypothetical personality disorder:	what?
Preferred type of plastic surgery:	breast lift
Sesame street alter ego:	Tele
Fairytale alter ego:	Glenda the Good Witch
Most stupid remark:	I know, right?
Worst crime:	hate crimes
Greatest ambition:	To be an author with a house on the bay.
Greatest fear:	That when I die I will wish I had lived my life differently.
Darkest secret:	I see dead people.
Favorite subject:	pop culture
Strangest received gift:	hmm...one time I got pot holder and some chocolate-covered pretzels from a blind gift exchange
Worst habit:	procrastination, negative self-talk
Do You:
Smoke:	Sometimes
Drink:	Yes
Curse:	Absolutely
Shower daily:	Uh-huh
Like thunderstorms:	If by like, you mean love? Yes.
Dance in the rain:	It's been far too long since I've done that!
Sing:	I used to.
Play an instrument:	just the skin flute. bwahahah
Get along with your parents:	Indeed
Wish on stars:	I have.
Believe in fate:	No
Believe in love at first sight:	No
Can You:
Drive:	in most countries
Sew:	kinda
Cook:	yes
Speak another language:	Not really
Dance:	I'd like to think so.
Sing:	Yes
Touch your nose with your tongue:	only in my dreams
Whistle:	Yep
Curl your tongue:	yes
Have You Ever:
Been Drunk:	yes
Been Stoned/High:	yes
Eaten Sushi:	yes
Been in Love:	yes
Skipped school:	yes
Made prank calls:	yes
Sent someone a love letter:	no
Stolen something:	yes
Cried yourself to sleep:	yes
Other Questions:
What annoys you most in a person?	deliberate ignorance
Are you right or left handed?	right
What is your bedtime?	whenever I can manage to fall asleep
Name three things you can't live without:	friends, music, kisses
What is the color of your room?	black, white, and red
Do you have any siblings?	two brosefs
Do you have any pets?	sadly, I do not
Would you kill someone you hate for a million dollars?	no
What is you middle name?	Reba
What are you nicknames?	Em, Emmie, Elimy, E-Stein, Stein etc.
Are you for or against gay marriage?	Neither
What are your thoughts on abortion?	It's a difficult decision to make.
Do you have a crush on anyone?	Yes
Are you afraid of the dark?	No
How do you want to die?	Suddenly, and during a happy moment.
What is the largest amount of popsicles that you have eaten on one day?	Probably six
Would you take a bullet for the one you love?	yes!
What is the last law you’ve broken?	probably speeding
In a Member of the Opposite Sex:
Hair color:	I like baldies.
Eye color:	blue
Height	taller than me
Weight	doesn't matter
Most important physical feature:	hmmm, lips, shoulders
Biggest turn-off	physically? long fingernails
Take this survey or other MySpace Surveys at PimpSurveys.com

I've Never Met a Toby that I Didn't Like

I'm sitting in lovely Southern California right now, staring out the window at palm trees and sunshine. Whoever said that Seasonal Affective Disorder is a myth, needs to spend some time closer to the equator.

So last night was the first time in a long time that I really had to fight the desire to purge. I had a really exhausting evening that was full of a bunch of minor disappointments. Typically, I can handle minor disappointments, but I was traveling alone and didn't have a lot of wherewithal to process. The hotel's room service menu was singing my name, and I was completely isolated. Ideal conditions for the Perfect Storm. I freaked out a little bit. I cried a little bit. I decided to get over it. I vented my frustrations to a friend, did some mini-exercises, and ordered a chicken salad. And I feel so much better today, so much better than I would have had I given into that pang to make myself feel better using other methods.

After listening to the soundtrack from the movie Juno, I have fallen in love with Kimya Dawson. I love music, but I've been feeling a real disconnect for the past few years when it comes to music. I like Kimya because I feel like she's just having a conversation with me when I hear her music. Her sound is simple and straightforward and completely sing-alongable.

I sat in the swamp with a little pink piggy

who loved roller-skating and playing pretend

the boy that she loved was a real snackmaster

the world was a beach ball we were all friends

Could I Get that with a Side of Moxie?

Yesterday I went to the doctor to follow-up on the results from my sleep study. The doctor took me back to a room with a computer, and downloaded the data that was collected during my sleep. I looked through pages and pages of wavy lines and finally cast an imploring glance at my doctor. He told me that nothing was really out of the ordinary, except I take frequent 'half breaths,' and that I woke up 89 times within a five hour period.

89 times!!!!! you say? Why yes, 89 times. It turns out that there is a narrowing in my upper airway, which the doctor thinks is caused by the allergy and sinus problems I've had since I was a kid. And the whole time he's explaining this to me, I'm just thinking that he sounds like the teacher from Charlie Brown because the voice in my head was shouting, "all of your health problems happen because you're too fat. Fat, fat, fat."

Gosh, the return of that voice. I had almost forgetten it, I had almost persuaded myself that I would, in fact, be ok with out that voice. And that it came back into my life like a screaming freight train. It took the spring from my step and sparkle from my eye. And then I went back to work.

I have to say that I so grateful to have made friends with two really wonderful women who support and love and care about me without any pre-requisite. Did you ever have somebody tell you exactly what you needed to hear, exactly when you needed to hear it without being prompted to say anything? It's a feeling that's not matched by much else. Without going into detail about the issue I was having, my friends came through for me in the form of laughter, Mexican food, and beer. And you know what was strange? That voice disappeared! It didn't fade, or waver, or squeak through. It disappeared.

The rest of the night was filled with much merriment, a little more beer, and even some cardio and strength training. When I woke up this morning the sparkle and the spring had returned. The conclusion to this story is that I will have to wear some ridiculous apparatus so I can actually start sleeping through the night. But this is just an undercurrent to a broader happy ending. Because damn it, I will be ok.

I do what I can wherever I end up
To keep giving my good love
and spreading it around
Cause I've had my fair share of take care
and goodbyes
I've learned how to cry
And I'm better for that...

I'm a New Soul

So, today a friend and I were exchanging pleasantries. I asked how he was doing, and he reciprocated the question. And all I could think was that I am doing great! Nothing is fabulous or perfect or wrapped up in a neat and tiny package, but I feel great. This insight made me think of how good I really do have it, and that I forget to be grateful for such an enriched life. So here is my list o' thankfuls.

1. The bright sunshine and clear blue sky that I got to look at all day from the window at my desk.
2. A handsome and quite hilarious little nephew.
3. Photographers who take pictures of John Mayer and his luscious, hungry-for-my-skin lips.
4. Coworkers with good attitudes.
5. Friends who remind me that traits like being kind and selfless are not weaknesses.

I was sad to hear that Pink and Carey Hart are separating after a two year marriage, and a four year courtship. Don't get me wrong, a single Carey Hart is the best kind of Carey Hart, but I sort of rooted for his marriage to succeed. I like it when non-conventional celebrities who shun the standards of Hollywood beauty and behavior get involved. It makes me feel like there is hope for the rest of us schmucks just trying to figure it all out.

Perhaps the reason my day has been so lovely is because I've had this song playing in my head since I woke up. I'm thinking about putting it on indefinite repeat.

Marked Drowsiness May Occur

The whole process around having a baby is weird to me. Maybe weird isn't the right word, but I can't think of anything better right now. I went to a baby shower today for one of my coworkers/friends and I had to marvel a bit in the things people do to have a baby.

Earlier this week, a friend and I made a trip to Babies R Us to buy gifts for today's shower. We printed a copy of the baby registry and set out to find a few items within our price range. I immediately was sent into sensory overload. The shelves were packed floor to ceiling with diapers, bottles, toys, strollers, and monitors. I counted at least 20 different types of pacifiers. I was drowning in sea of blue, pink, yellow, and green. I felt like I was going to hyperventilate. My friend and I quickly asked sales clerk for help and got the hee-haw out of there.

Up until a few years ago, all of the baby showers I attended were for family members. Then I became an adult and all of sudden experienced the onslaught of pregnant friends. Watching someone open baby gifts is kinds of like buying a magazine that touts a fabulous cover story, and then finding out that the article is something you've already read. It's anticlimactic. Everyone knows what the showeree (?) is going to receive, and delivers the obligatory ooh's and aah's as required. And promptly gets drunk on too much mimosa.

I am being half sarcastic. My expectant friend has embraced every step of her pregnancy and she and her husband are genuinely thrilled to be having a baby. They are both smart, practical, and hard working people who I am sure will raise a wonderful little boy. And I think it's great to be able to celebrate something that is so life changing with friends and family. I'm just wondering if having a pizza-and-a-movie shower is a major faux pas. Probably another sign that I definitely should not bear offspring, eh?

So, last night a friend surprised me with tickets to Spamalot. And it was fantastic. It made me miss the high school all-nighters my friends would pull to watch Monty Python marathons. Afterwards, my friend and I headed to a local pub to have dinner with some of our other friends. Towards the end of our dinner, I headed to the bathroom and passed a huge group of guys on the way. As I turned sideways to slide between the group, one of the guys reached out and grabbed my breast. The left one! I was so completely shocked that I just stood there, mouth agape. When I was younger, being groped in a bar wasn't that odd an occurrence, especially given that I was at dance clubs with 18 and 19 year old boys. The guy last night had to have been in his 30s, and we were standing in the middle of a pub.

I finally gathered my composure as the boob grazer smirked and winked at me. Not knowing what else to do, I reached out, gave his nipple a squeeze, and proceeded to the bathroom. On my way out, his buddies were high-fiving me and giving me kudos for the avenged breast grab. As much as I wanted to be angry and feel violated, I couldn't help but feel a little proud of myself. I mean, the guy is probably just glad he didn't grab my crotch.

You're the type of guy who doesn't lie
He just doctors everything
Chooses some unassuming finger
And quietly moves his wedding ring
Who rewrites his autobiography for any pretty girl who'll sing
But you can't fool the queen, baby, cuz I married the king

Bodacious TaTa's

I have a new hero, and her name is Margaux Laskey.



I could probably spend an entire day talking about how affected I was by this woman, but I really think that I can sum it all up in a few points.

• I love that this performance opens up discussion about body image, dieting, and eating disorders within families.
• I think it's great that Margaux addresses media and advertising in a humorous way. It doesn't sound bitter or martyr-ish.
• I love the imagery of the mannequins with bold numbers across the chest. It makes the topic of disordered eating more palpable.
• The symbolism of both the number 8 and the sizeate concept. Because exclusivity is so overated.

An event occurred today that reminded of how wonderful my life really is. I forget sometimes to be grateful for the people and things in my life that are good and true. It's days like today that motivate me to get better and be a positive light to others. It's days like today when I can't help but smile.

Sing it like you mean it

Make me believe it

Dream it like you own it

The party aint stoppin till we've outgrown it

But You're Neither Friend nor Foe

You know those days or weeks or months when you feel like everyone and everything is beating you up, and testing your tenacity? I feel like I'm having on of those weeks, only it seems like every situation is magnified by about 1000.

I've been crying a lot lately...like, a lot lot. Crying all the time can become a bit cumbersome because it makes things like working, and driving, and watching tv a little difficult. Maybe I can talk to my boss about having my computer moved into the bathroom so I can just sit in there and sniffle all day. Ok, I'm being a bit silly right now, but I have been feeling a little fragile this past week. There is a lot of potential change on the horizon for me. First, my parents are thinking about moving to Tennessee. While there is a part of me that would be really happy to have them closer, there is an even larger part of me that's wigging out. I feel like I'm just starting to assert my indepence as a separate entity of my mother. I'm afraid that her moving her might affect some of the progress I've made.

My landlord emailed me last week about a one-bedroom apartment he has available in the building next door to my current place. As of yesterday, I was pretty much dead set on moving into the new place. I had the revelation today that I don't think I'm ready to live alone. As much as I would like to come home to an empty house sometimes, I would much rather come home to a supportive and caring person like my roommate. Plus, I'm really trying to focus on avoiding isolating rituals, and I'm worried that living on my own might aid me in slipping into some of my old habits. So even though I have to wait for the bathroom and not play music after 10PM, I think I'll be happier in the long run.

Work is making me cranky and I think I need a vacation. I'm struggling with wanting to advance my career, but still keep work at work. I love my job, and that's something I've never really felt before last year. I feel like I actually have a career now, and when I go home on a Friday afternoon, I feel like I've made a difference. What's uncertain to me, is how to parlay that into a successful management opportunity. I'm scared that I won't be able to manage people well. I'm scared that I'll be too much of a friend, or too much of a boss, or just too much of everything. Maybe I'm just wishing I could skip the learning curve and be good at everything immediately.

Even though I'm facing some uncertainty, I feel like I'm equipped to face it. And it finally feels so good to be able to express emotion instead of bottling it up and letting it out in other ways.

Set me free, leave me be
I don't want to fall another moment
Into your gravity
Here I am, and I stand so tall
Just the way I'm supposed to be
But you're on to me, and all over me

But it Ain't a Balloon I Can Just Let Go

I’ve been pretty pleased with my progress since I started working with Dr. Gray about a year ago. I’ve really busted down a lot of the walls I had built, and I’ve confronted a lot of the issues that have built up for so many years. I still feel like there’s been something holding me back from a full recovery, and I think I finally gave it a name during my last session: shame.

I am starting to see places in my life where I am apologizing for myself. I’m not talking about anything as blatant as an actual apology, I’m talking about something dangerously subtle. Something that kind of simmers under the surface and is hot enough to impact my actions, thoughts, feelings, and self-confidence. See, shame isn’t something that’s necessarily that easy to pick out and name. I think a lot of reason I feel shame is because I think I’m bad or out of control or lazy or stupid when it comes to eating healthfully. Part of it stems from all of the feedback I get when I lose weight. Things like, “oh, you are such a good girl!” or, “you must have such strong willpower!” The reason I was losing weight was because I was starving myself, or throwing up everything I ate or exercising three hours a day. It wasn’t because I was good, strong, controlled, or motivated. It was because the coping mechanism I had developed so long ago wasn't helping me cope anymore.

I think I have been looking for someone or something to blame for a long time, and typically I turned to myself to assign blame. It was my fault that I wasn’t thin enough, and subsequently I didn’t deserve the same treatment that should be granted to every human being. I let myself become invisible, or I told myself I couldn’t be a part of anything good. Having shame is probably one of the worst emotions of which to break free. It’s not like anger, sadness, or happiness; there is nothing to expel to express or purge shame. Dictionary.com defines shame as the painful feeling arising from the consciousness of something dishonorable, improper, ridiculous, etc., done by oneself or another. And I really can't think of a better way to describe how I've felt the last couple months.

Even as I write this, there is a little voice in the back of my head telling me that I lack the control, and motivation, and clean soul to get past my eating disorder. Even as I am telling myself that I deserve love, affection, and trusting relationships, there is an even louder voice saying that I should feel lucky that there is anyone who wants to spend time with me. I think I may have just hit the hardest and most highest bump in the road. But, my real voice is getting louder and stronger and I know - wholeheartedly - that the real voice is going to win in the end. So there.

what's with that halo hovering
above that thick skull
spare me
if i do say so - i think you're covering
'course there was nothing
could've prepared me

for the side effect of this dirty drug
the way you punish me and then you shrug

what's with that phone call, baby
it's like you're trying
just to crush me
do you feel stronger each time you push me, dear
did you tell your mom you carpet bombed
right before you left here

are you at home now with your kitty cat
are you just at home now with the way that you act
do you split the rent there with all your secrets
or do you just pretend to all your friends
they're uninvited guests

yes and when you want it tidy tell me
can you still dispel me
sweep me neatly under the rug
does your conscience ever mention
the way that you treat me
or do you just fend it off with a ...

The Top 10 Things I'd Rather Not Hear Discussed at Work

10. What you plan to buy at the grocery tonight.
09. Why you won’t eat food made by people who own cats.
08. How hot you think Tim McGraw looks in his jeans.
07. The groin infection your son may have.
06. How much money you spent (or didn’t spend) on any particular item of clothing.
05. Any positive statements regarding the current US president.
04. The fungus you got on your toe from your last pedicure.
03. Faith Hill belting mediocre pop-country songs from your tinny radio.
02. Inane, loud laughter based on some inner-office IM you received.
01. References to last night’s intimate liaisons with your spouse.

Those Days Were My Favorite

I spent part of today emailing back and forth with two of my oldest and closest girlfriends from my hometown. We were catching up on the changes happening in our lives and marveling in the fact that we've all stumbled into an adulthood complete with careers, families, and mortgages. I don't feel very grown up, in fact most of the time I just feel like I'm pretending. It's like I'm waiting for someone to pull down the curtain, take away my checkbook and send me on my way via Care Bears bicycle.

Last night, I ended up having a conversation with an old friend of mine from college. He and I have kept up through the years and we've always walked a fine line between being just friends and being more-than-friends. Something has always held me back from jumping in head first with him. Part of it has to do with my ugly track record for long-distance relationships. And the other part is, well...something I can't quite finger. On paper, this guy is the gold standard, but personally I just never felt like I could really relax around him. Last week our relationship took a turn and I realized that we had to address the pink elephant in the room.

It's really difficult to make the decision to purposefully extract a possibility from my life. I think sometimes I dream so much that it makes reality seem like the real dream. It dawned on me today that maybe this is the true test of adulthood. Being able to make a decision because it's going to benefit the other party in the long run. Being selfish is so easy. I don't know one woman who wouldn't love to have an endless supply of romance potentials filed under the Just In Case category. Life is scary. For some people, being alone is the scariest thought imaginable. But maybe being a grown-up is deciding that loneliness or lovelessness isn't going to be the end. Some of my self-nurturing moments occurred when I felt lonely or unloved. I think that hanging to something because it's available is the truest form of self-denial. And for me when I love and care about myself I don't feel lonely or unloved.

Speaking of hanging on to something because it's available...I realized today that it's been over a month since my last episode. And it feels like Christmas to know that I didn't even count the days to get here. So I'm not dwelling - just taking it one moment at a time.

Love has made us blind
Tied us a bad break that binds
It's not what you think
I just feel I'm losing time

...But Could You Bottle it Up?

I'm exhausted right now but apparently sleep is not a priority for my tired little brain tonight. A couple nights ago, I underwent a sleep study to figure out why my sleep patterns and schedule are so inconsistent...to say the least.

So, I arrived at the sleep clinic around 8PM, and was promptly escorted to hotel-ish looking room. I was hooked up to approximately 57847389 wires and then had to figure out a way to go to sleep with enough electricity to power the eastern seaboard attached to my cranium. I finally found a comfy place and relaxed enough to fall asleep. I was told by the tech at the clinic that I would have to log at least two hours of continuous sleep (meaning that if I woke up, the time would start over) in order to have any type of treatment administered. Nonetheless, no treatment was administered during the seven hours I spent in bed. Which kind of freaked me out and calmed me down at the same time.

I'm a generally tired girl. I drink coffee and try to exercise and stay peppy overall, but I'm pretty much exhausted at any given time. It makes me feel slightly better to know that it's because I'm not getting any type of decent sleep. It also makes me feel like I'm a geriatric because I don't think I should have these types of issues at such a young age. Which, of course, leads to cyclical guilt, self-loathing, and general disdain for my very existence. I'm just hoping I can have this resolved relatively quickly. Like right now.

That said, I do feel okay about myself right now. I've been doing a lot of writing and reflecting, and I've been keeping a notebook with my food journal, exercise log, along with an overview of my feelings while I'm doing each of those activities. Keeping a food journal has been about 489 times more beneficial than I thought it would be. First, it keeps me in check, because when I know I have to write down what I've eaten I tend to eat less. Also, it helps me recognize and prevent those moments when I eat because of some type of emotion.

One of my friends has been kind of keeping a food journal with me, and as part of this exercise, we decided that we would save all of the receipts from our food purchases for a two-week period. Let me tell you something - we both spent a ton of money on food. It's difficult being a single girl and saving money on food purchases. I know that sounds kind of backwards and oxymoronic, but it's true. Cooking takes a lot of time, and it's hard to justify spending that kind of time to feed just one person. Plus, most recipes and boxed meals serve four or more people. This requires a lot of tupperware purchases, eating leftovers, or wasting food. And when we're talking about career girls, like me and my friend, cooking is below the lowest possible priority when we come home after a long day at work. That said, the food journal helped me realize that I can come up with a plan to accomodate my lifestyle and not suck a bunch of my free time up to plan, prepare, and package food.

So, I just have a couple more details to put in place before I start full-fledge with the plan I talked about last month. I feel really prepared for this. I've been journaling for three weeks, I've got a shopping list of the things I need to buy to get ready for the exercise plan I've worked out. I even have a mantra and a motivational poster. Cheesy, I know, but at this point I think any little bit of encouragement is helpful. Here I go.

I'm not satisfied with this lifetime
I'm following you to the other side
There's nothing that can change my mind
You're all I need

Blank Stares and Blank Pages

I've been in a foul mood most of the day and I can't quite put my finger on why the hell I'm feeling so down. I would like to chalk it up to PMS, but that's a problem because usually I call girls out when they try to play such a bullshit card.

The problem is that I'm feeling really bad about myself, physically. I've taken the purge option off the table completely. As in, it doesn't even register as an option for me right now. To say this leaves me feeling vulnerable would have to be the grossest understatement in, well, forever. Yes, I know I'm being dramatic right now, and a lot of this is just me sounding things out in my head, but I'm feeling really scared right now.

How do I fight back to those who automatically fail me as a person without reason? More importantly, how do I suppress the urge to prove my worthiness to those who are determined to make me out to be a bad person? See, at some point my life has to be about me, not about me shaping myself into someone based on what others around me project. My friend Kate and I met at the mall tonight to do some shopping and catching up. We stopped in at a little salon inside the mall to get our eyebrows waxed and asked if the aesthetician had time for both of us. The receptionist gave us the once-over and mumbled that 'Erica was busy' as she motioned toward the back of the salon. Kate, the ever acerbic said, 'who is Erica.' I nearly imploded trying to hold my laughter in. Kate was really upset when we left; she talked the whole way home about how belittled she felt by that receptionist. I see Kate and I can't imagine her ever feeling insecure; she's tall, thin, has dark hair and an olive complexion. But to hear how her whole trip was sullied because of one ten-second encounter made me feel almost devastated.

How is it that we build an armour of protection to ward off evil spirits in the form of nasty girls, snippy mothers, ambivalent crushes, and passive-aggressive coworkers? How do we avoid being deduced to gossip and tears and general malaise when we're faced with opposition from someone who clearly gets their kicks from being a bad person? I would love to think that we can just chalk it all up to a self-esteem issue and make ourselves believe that we're really better off not being reguarded in the likes of these people. But we all know that's not true right? Because if we could just shrug off gossiping and naysayers and bullies, the world would be like one neverending episode of Full House.

I think that maybe I'm grieving a little right now. I'm grieving a relationship with my mother that has changed, probably forever. I'm grieving a friendship that I'm risking in an attempt to explore other possibilities. I'm grieving a lost friend who continues to sink deeper into quicksand. I'm mourning my lost ability to truly just pick myself, dust myself off and...well, you know the rest.

Head under water, and you tell me
to breathe easy for awhile
Breathing gets harder
Even I know that