I got a new scale yesterday, one of those fancy ones that gives (probably dubious) readings of your body fat percentage and muscle mass. My old scale was one of those plain dial deals, but I noticed lately it was giving wildly different readings from weighing to weighing (even just stepping off and stepping back on), and as I have found over the years weight to be an important and really pretty accurate metric of how I’m doing, I thought it was important to invest in a new scale as I’m trying to take pounds off again. So I stepped on the new sale this morning and found that apparently my old scale was not only varying wildly from reading to reading, it was just plain off in general, and I’m five pounds heavier than my old scale lead me to believe.

I actually consider this a good thing, as old scale was telling me that I was at the weight where I should be able to at least button my old jeans, but I’m nowhere close. I was starting to worry that the small amount that the scale had moved wasn’t reflecting a loss of “real” weight but maybe water weight or an emptier gut and that the looseness I felt in some of my other clothing (the nice thing about being petite – and yes, I am actually petite, as evidenced by 5’4 1/2″ height and my small feet and wrists, which is why I think getting down to 120 is actually pretty reasonable for me, rather than being this starvation level weight that people seem to think it would be – is that the loss of just a few pounds can be noticed. Of course, the bad thing is that the same is true in reverse…) was just my imagination or stretching. Nope, just turns out I had gotten fatter than I originally thought!

In other news of vanity, I am furiously trying to whiten the fuck out of my teeth. So far I have tried Crest White Strips and whitening toothpaste to no success. Now I’m trying some over the counter goop in trays. If that doesn’t work I may plunk down a few hundred dollars for a whitening at the dentist’s office, though from what I read reviews have shown it isn’t more effective than over the counter stuff. But it’s worth a shot, I guess. What’s a few hundred dollars more on top of the thousands I’ve put into these teeth? (Not to mention the thousands that have been put into these teeth that hasn’t been spent by me. To this day I have no idea how much my surgery was, as I didn’t pay a dime of it, but I can hazard a guess. I should find out. I am rather curious.)

And I don’t think I mentioned this, but yes my mom has cancer.

I just set my alarm to get up at the asscrack of dawn so I can workout in the morning before work, and now I have to go to stupid bed so I can get up stupid early, and I used all my calories for the day but I’m still HUNGRY.

No, this is fine. I wouldn’t rather be eating Cadbury Creme Eggs out of a trough pausing only briefly enough to drink beer from another, equally-sized trough. This is totally fine.

But I’m good at being uncomfortable so I can’t stop changing all the time…

So I’m back on the diet and exercise wagon. I can see a killer set of cheek bones peeking out under there, and I would like to see them. If my surgeon and I could each spend 10 years on our relative trajectories to get to this point, I think I can push through these last three months of work to get a sterling result.

And I’m tired of being overweight. And more importantly I’m tired of being obsessed with being overweight. I talk about it all the time – self-deprecating jokes about being chubby, whining about how guys won’t date me and I bet my bad luck is because I weigh more than I used to, oggling at how everyone in New York is so thin and constantly comparing myself to them and feeling bad about it, taking way too many selfies because at heart I’m incredibly insecure.

Not to mention this messed up mental soundtrack that’s been emerging – vacillating between feeling resentful toward men who I think are rejecting me for my weight (“What, you think you’re better than me? You’re not that good looking either. I can’t believe you think I’m not attractive enough for you.”), wondering whether I even want more men to be attracted to me if I lose weight (“Shouldn’t you love someone for the inside? Nearly everyone I’ve ever loved has been a person I was not initially attracted to who I came to think was insanely hot once I fell in love with some aspect of his personality. If it’s really love, isn’t that the way it should be? And these extra thirty pounds won’t matter anyway? And if they do matter, can I really be with that type of person, given that I’ll probably always be the type of person who puts on ten pounds at Christmas?”), and completely accepting the situation as logical (“Well, I can think of all sorts of superficial reasons I wasn’t attracted to so-and-so…”)

It’s all a boring, superficial schtick, and I want to devote my energies to cool and interesting things. Looking back I feel regret at how much attention I’ve paid to my appearance and what other people think of my appearance. When I think of what all that energy could have gone into…

I decided to try the Insanity workout, which is basically high intensity interval training. It’s HARD. Impossibly hard, and as I was laying on the floor taking a break, sweating and panting, I thought to myself, ‘It will take forever for this to not feel hard.’ And I turned my head to look at the workout and saw that the people on the DVD – these incredibly fit specimens – were also sweating and panting. And then I realized – you’ll never master it. It’s not about getting to a point where it’s not hard anymore. It’s about getting to a point where you feel okay with feeling uncomfortable.

Public policy for the win! Man uses class from public policy degree to convince out-of-his-league chick to date him: “Over margaritas, he went to work, employing lessons on organizational dynamics he had studied during an eight-hour class the previous day for his public policy degree.” Boom! I just realized I have a powerful weapon in my arsenal. (As a side note, am I the only person who thinks a scavenger hunt to find your engagement ring sounds like a colossal pain in the ass? “Ehhhh, it’s fine, you keep it.”)

After years of having his advances toward the bride rebuffed, the groom reached for a line from “Dumb and Dumber.”
nytimes.com|By MICHAEL S. SCHMIDT

NOOOOOOO – whydidigooglethissymptom – NOOOOOOO

I just wanted to see if there were any other people who’d had this surgery who were having this problem as long or persistently as I am.

A man whose nose wouldn’t stop running through it down to allergies. Joe Nagy believed the hot Arizona weather contributed to his endless dripping. He was…
dailymail.co.uk

Things have never been so swell…

I don’t know what to make of the fact that I felt about my return to New York the way I once felt about my returns to Pittsburgh, toward the end, when it was clear it was over: Each step closer brought a sense of impending dread and a steady and noticeable draining of any positive energy I may have had, gradually replaced by crankiness and a tinge of despair. Once I settled into Seattle and got over the fact that I had missed my flight, I had a really good time. I felt more relaxed and optimistic than I have in a long while. I once used to be energized by New York and looked forward to coming back here. I guess everything moves faster in New York City. Even decay.

The last night I was in Seattle, I couldn’t sleep for thinking of all that awaited me at home: my mom’s surgery and possible cancer; a job that is good but not as good as the career I wanted but couldn’t achieve in college; my friend who is dead and who I still ache to talk to, particularly now because he was one few people in the world who had the uncanny ability to always make me feel happy and relaxed; a nose that runs like a faucet and the large chunks of my face that continue to stay persistently numb, both of which are looking increasingly likely to become permanent fixtures as time goes on; a group of silent, disinterested friends who are drifting away, which, coupled with the singledom which officially crossed the line from not something I think about to something I obsess about at the one-year mark, because I have never been alone this long, officially demarcated by a guy I fell head over heels for breaking my so rarely stirred heart with his overwhelming disinterest, make me feel Very Much Alone and, maybe, finally confirming all the fears I worked so hard to banish over the years, Very Much Defective, and, last but not least, the depression that has journeyed from the mountains to the sea to find me, along with its accompanying sense that I have nothing else to look forward to for the rest of my entire life.

But what weighed on me even more than all this was the shoulds. I should take advantage of the opportunities life gives me, I should accept my circumstances and stop agonizing over things I cannot have, I should be grateful, I should be friendly, I should be funny, I should be proactive, I should be positive, I should be pretty, I should be light-hearted, I should be healthy. Well maybe I don’t want to! Maybe I want to be angry. Maybe I want to be sulky and sullen and unaccommodating. Maybe I want to be upset that I didn’t get the things I wanted – maybe I want to admit that I wanted them. Maybe I want to admit I need people and thus feel disappointed by their absence and foolish for the conscious efforts I made at friendship and for the thought that someone might desire me.  Maybe I want to admit I’m struggling and sad and not perfect and in need of fixing.

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