March ANTI-Res

March roared in with subzero chills on the kite wind.  Winter stalked the Midwest all the way down south and up the east coast like a jilted lover who refuses to let go.  The ides passed without a word.  I did not make a March Res as the resolutions made for February kind of spitter spatted and stalled.  (Spellcheck tells me “spitter” and “spatted” are misspelled.  We can “spitted” and “spatter” and but not the other way around?  OH WELL.  Everyday lingo does not always sync with dictionaries.)  Now where was I before red squiggly lines interrupted my train of thought?  Oh yes, February.

I finally got wet.  In March.  Last week, to be precise.

After gathering up my courage and swim gear, I walked over to the YMCA to do some deep water walking and learned that my Y-PASS card had been deactivated.  I had changed insurance companies, got a new  Silver Sneakers card, so I’m guessing the Y dropped me during the transition.  (Silver Sneakers is a perk offered by some insurance companies to old and/or disabled people.)   She let me in anyway, and I was the only person in the shallow pool, which was not deep enough to keep my feet off the floor.  I was also the only person in the locker room so I got a good look at myself in the full length mirror.  The Y called me latter in the week to let me know that my Y-PASS works again, so now I am good to go.

The two piece swimsuit purchased to replace the baggy suit does not look nearly as cute on me as I thought it did.

To tell you the truth, and this may sound bizarre, my body actually looked better when I weighed 80 pounds more.  I told my sister and she was all, “oh no… you look better now” but she’s seeing me with clothes on.   Everything that used to just be big and rounded is now saggy and lumpy.  I have folds where I never had skin folds before, lumps where they don’t belong.  And it is going to get a lot worse and that scares me.   I am afraid that by the time I am done, the skin on my tummy will hang to my knees and the skin from my knees will sag like capris.  The bat wings will be so long that I will have to flip the skin around my arms a few times and secure it with scrunchies.   I have this mental picture of how it is going to be and sometimes having a vivid imagination can dramatically exaggerate things, but I knew when I looked in that mirror that reality is not too far off.   It scares me because I have heard horror stories of nasty sores, which thankfully I don’t get but then again, I take extra care to pamper that excess skin.

I am seriously thinking of putting myself on a diet.  My weight has been stagnant, the needle barely moving up or down a pound or two for months on end now.  I think the fear of excess skin has got me self sabotaging to maintain where I am as I don’t dare gain back any weight.  My imagination goes extreme that way, too.  It never goes on or off the same.  If I gained weight, I imagine it would go to those lumpy areas and turn them into monstrous things attached to my body.  Yeah… gaining weight is not an option.  My best bet is just get through this as fast as I can, get it done and over with.  I still have a lot of weight to lose before I would be a good candidate for skin removal surgery.

Ye gads… it leaves me with one question:  Are navels optional?

Advertisement

Rain Stick

FRIDAY:   I made a rain stick today.  Yeah, it was kind of like a kiddie craft time with a “mindfulness” lady before the holiday dinner prepared for the residents of this building, but it is all cool.  There is a history to rain sticks, but the purpose of these rain sticks is to soothe your mind with the sounds of rain.  It does sound like rain, when you tilt the stick one way or the other, as the little pellets inside travel over obstacles in their fall.  We each decorated our own cardboard tubes, using the stick on foam shapes that  came in the group activity kit.   It was a good, non-committal way to find out about the “mindfulness” meetings as she talked about what they do.  I might start going. 

I noticed something odd with the local lingo… no one “lives” here; they “stay” here.  It sounds so temporary, as in my mind, you “live” at home, and “stay” places on vacation.   Maybe no one really feels at home here, or maybe it is an alternate universe and we are all caught in a time warp.  Okay, so I have a wacked imagination.  I have been asked several times if I stay here now so yeah, I stay here, too.

SATURDAY:   FedEx Smartpost (shipped by FedEx to the local post office, delivered by USPS mail) online tracking thing tells me that items ordered on Wednesday to be delivered “within seven days” will arrive today.  Yikes!  I don’t know what the Saturday mail proceedure for packages is here in this building.  On weekdays, the USPS mailman will leave packages with the ladies in the office for safe keeping, who then telephone the resident to come down and pick it up.  I really like that, as I have had too many packages stolen when I lived (or stayed) in other apartment buildings.  Now I don’t know what is going to happen today because the office is closed on Saturday.  Will the mailman leave it in the office anyway?  (Not likely, the door is locked.)  Will he leave it in the mailroom?  (Its locked, too… but that is his room behind the rows of locked mail boxes.)   Will he leave a slip in my box and make me go pick up my package at the post office?  Will he leave it with the security guard or bring it to my door? Or will he leave it – hopefully not – on the floor in front of the mailboxes for anyone to steal?  Nah, I think he knows better than that, there’s bound to be a reason why packages go to the office, a history of vanishing packages or something.  So, I don’t know if I will get my package today, on Monday, or not at all. 

What did I order? 

Chocolate denim leggings and violet purple jeans.  And what else?  Oh yeah, a beaded gauze dress on clearance dirt cheap.  The purple jeans were also on clearance.  It is a light violet shade.  I had to think a minute about that color, but I have no problem wearing light blue demin so why not light purple?

I made a decision this week… it is time to stop wearing jeans that are two sizes too big, which meant that I only had one pair of jeans that actually fit me and one pair of jeans that are only one size too big.  As for sloppy tops, they’re okay for around the house, but too big to wear in public anymore.  It is time to accept the fact that I am not going back up over that line.  Those “fat clothes” will never fit me again.  The mind takes so long to catch up as I really don’t feel smaller than I felt fifty, or even eighty pounds ago.  The only time I feel skinnier is when I wear the jeans that actually fit, so maybe if I only wear jeans that fit, maybe it will be a good thing.

Well, maybe I should get dressed proper enough to go out in public and go talk to the security guard, ask him if he knows what the mailman does with packages delivered on Saturdays.

Bend (beyond ropes)

I crossed the line.  The earth did not shatter. 

That line was my SAFE line on the scale.  Kind of stupid, but I had to CBT some sense into my thinking and writing it out into poem form really helped.

My fears were delusional.  I do NOT NEED a hundred plus pound “cushion” to protect myself anymore. 

Facts are:
1.  I am not a defenseless child anymore.
2.  I am an old woman now.  Time itself is a blessing.
3.  No one has tried to rape me when I weighed over 100 lbs.  No one has tried to force me over 200 lbs.
4.  Age & fat do not eliminate all unwanted advances, but there is a definite inverse math thing going on.  The older/heavier you are, the less often a woman has to deal with that. 
5.  I can and have warded off unwelcome advances, so telling myself that I don’t know how to deal with that bull is a lie.  Quite simply, I hate being hit on.  I don’t want to have to deal with any of that.

Do I have sexual issues?  No, I have issues with total jerks, drunken assholes, and pedophiles. 

It is funny how the mind works.  I have hovered just above that “safe” line all summer, self-sabatoging (not always conciously) every time I was about to cross it until I realized what was going on.  So stupid to have so much nonsense attached to a particular number.

I’m not scared anymore.  I don’t “need” fat anymore.  Crossing the line or maybe writing the poem “Ropes” brought peace and clarity. 

OH… by the way, having a clear head is wonderful.  I have made some life altering decisions, including a relocation.

Yes, I am moving! 

It is not a 100% done deal yet… but I have already given notice to my current landlord and started downsizing and packing up to move to a smaller space in a much desired location.  It will be a life changer.  I don’t want to say too much about it yet because it’s not a done deal yet, don’t want to jinx it.

Well, that’s what I have been up to… life is about to spin on a dime with some much anticipated changes and once again, I am slow to blog and very behind on blog reading.

Yo, anyone local want to buy a large mosaic lady for their flower garden?  If so, make me an offer… my life is about to spin on a dime and I can’t take her with me. 

That’s an old photo from before she went outdoors.  I can snap more if anyone is interested… or come see in person.  She requires a dedicated dolly to move her, just wrap her in a heavy blanket and strap her down, roll her on out.  She’s been moved 3 times, twice in moving vans.  The last time, it took two men to lift her onto a pickup truck. She’s heavy, a bit crude, but belongs where the sun can sparkle on her glass, surrounded by flowers.