Caterwauling

I have SO MUCH WORK TO DO tonight it isn’t funny. I’ve been trying to leave every night between 7 and 7:30, so it’s my own fault for not just moving in and burning myself out more.

Sometimes I assume everyone knows what’s running through my head; other times I say it.

I often think it’s the little things that drive me crazy. The “oh hey we should all do lunch tomorrow” and everyone does lunch without you.

But they become the big things. Rather, when you have no control over the big things, the little ones can drive you BATSHIT.

Or like another time when they said let’s meet for lunch and they all met outside and nobody thought that information would be relevant to me.

Not that I get lunch out more than once a month anyway. But still.

And I know people have their favorites. Like, when three of you are in a room and one can only look at the other person even when I am trying to impart my wisdomy pearls, I notice these things.

I often dismiss it as the other person just being clueless. I also often entertain whether they DO know what they’re doing, because I’m all too familiar with those kinds of intentional antics.

And today as I was looking up passages about suffering fools gladly, the phrase “Fat Kid Syndrome” rained down on me. That is, the expectation that everyone should love me because I’m the smartest person in the room. But the understanding, as it were, that nobody gives a shit whether you live or die if you’re not the skinniest person in the room.

Today one of my boys was mad at me because I didn’t rush his 20,000 word project out the door within an hour of receiving it. Between editing, proofing, layout, design, photo editing and posting to the Web (all me, baby), it took a little while WHAT WITH OTHER FULL-TIME-PLUS work.

So OK fine, judge me on my performance there. It was a communication snafu, anyway, assuming that because I regularly pull off miracles that I had an extra miracle in me this week. That’s not Syndrome-related.

But feeling like if someone else would have done the same thing — or worse, as I’ve seen myriad times — and not heard a blessed peep about it, that’s the Syndrome in action.

I’m not saying I’m suffering it directly. But every time someone prefers someone else’s company or opinion or face to look at, whether in a group of friends or colleagues, there’s always that tiny voice that wonders … if I just looked different … would they recognize that I am freaking amazing?

Or do they realize it and prefer to ignore it, whatever excuse makes the most sense to them, whether it’s disapproval of size or fear of not measuring up if my measurements were different?

And will I ever shake it, no matter how many pounds I lose?

Finally had a good weigh-in today. Down 3.5 pounds. And this after eating at Famous Dave’s, Golden Corral (shut up, the breakfast bar is the bomb) and my favorite Indian buffet. And after four beers last night.

What can I say? I let myself enjoy my life a little bit, and a happy Goddess equals a happy Goddess on the scale!

It was another week for the record books. I’d say the Guinness books but it was more like Magic Hat, Purple Haze, Rose Gaarden and Stella than Guinness. This week, anyway.

So, I have been feeling more like myself for the past few days. I rediscovered what it was like to spend time with a man who touches me and acts like he knows me. I got used to being at arm’s length from someone. I stopped craving the affection because I was never going to get it from a certain someone.

Nothing else to add to that. I do want to go back to the de-pudgification success, though.

This week, lifetime members shared their journeys. And the mom of a mother-and-daughter pair I never really liked very much shared her story. And … I suddenly like them. A lot.

Basically the room is full of people who have been on and off the program forever … people who had super success the first time around (like I did) who are having a slow and basically frustrating and horrible time this time around (like I am).

The a-ha moment I got was that I was so damn successful the first time because I was BORING. I ate a Fiber One bar for breakfast every day. I had a salad for lunch every day. I had a Smart Ones meal for dinner every day. I didn’t drink. I didn’t have fun. I didn’t miss a meeting and I didn’t ENJOY it at all.

This time, I didn’t realize what I’m doing till one of the blue-hairs said it. She’s doing this for LIFE now. She’s not saying, OK, I have X number of pounds to take off and I have to DO IT RIGHT THIS SECOND. It has taken her a year to take off 50 pounds and she has 10 more to go to get back to the Lifetime goal she achieved 25 years ago.

She did the same thing I did — made it a MISSION the first time around. And this time, she is basically making life as manageable and as flavorful as possible. At her own rate. In her own way. Mess-ups and all.

I never messed up the first time around. I might have said I did, to excuse a scale fail. But even this time, I would never say I messed up per se … I just have weeks where I’m “better” than others. I might simply choose to have beer for dinner or a plate of burnt ends for lunch instead of a boring salad.

But I found that shocking my system with oils and sauces and OH I DUNNO, FLAVORS helps tremendously. Variety, man. That’s what it’s all about.

Sometimes you gotta move on to move up. Or, in scale world, to move down.

As for moving on, cryptic bullshit ahead: I don’t know if I’m ever going to love or want someone as much as I did him. But that’s the thing about life. Just when you think you’ve run out of chances, you get another opportunity to reinvent yourself. And with the gift of hindsight, you realize God was just trying to help you see what you want … and what you crave … so that you don’t have to compromise and live without it next time around.

BACON.

Source: https://medium.com/writers-on-writing/94ec1b9f5741

The feeling of not being in one’s home country. Hmm. I know I was born in these United States but, yes, I do feel like a part of my heart currently resides in parts unknown. Like Tuscany or the French Riviera.

So, another weigh-in, another failure to revel in.

I’ve been gaining and losing the same 0.4 pound for the past month. This week it was a gain. Le sigh.

I haven’t eaten anything but meats and vegetables and dairy since the beginning of this summer. No cake. No ice cream. I cut out the bagels. I really don’t have a lot else I can cut out.

My best losses come when I use my extra 49 points to drink alcohol. Honestly. It’s annoying, really.

This week I even got exercise! Three days of staying home equaled not only needing just one tank of gas instead of two, but it also meant a walk on the beach every night. Shouldn’t exercise help matters?

In other words, I was mentally more healthy this week. Of course, Friday was a mess. Drama and stress. Funny, I did weigh less on Thursday than I did today. That says something, doesn’t it?

The harder I work, the less-fair everything seems to be. The harder I, well, not diet per se but try to take care of my body, the pudgier I become.

I always say that things can’t change till you set them in motion. Every move is progress. I am probably one of the healthiest pudgy people I know. I just stalled after I lost 10 pounds and frankly the wind is so out of my sails that I just don’t even care right now.

I did go to my meeting today and was just deflated after I heard it wasn’t a loss. Like, how? Seriously, how?

The leader said something interesting, and that’s why I go. She said some of us did the program before and had smashing success, and now we’re struggling. OMG it’s like she heard my thoughts! And she said, look, you’re in a different place now. There’s no formula. All you can do is keep working at it.

Which, she’s right. But every time I give up something I really wanted … every time other people get promoted or complimented or favored over me … every time someone sends us a group nastygram after THEY did something wrong to shine a spotlight on things they want to say we did wrong … every time my heart gets broken because a boy would rather date someone uglier/skinner/married-er than me … I lose a little more of my mind.

And the remaining portion of my widdle brain just isn’t regenerating.

And to further test me, Whorothy changed her profile photo. Do you know how much it is KILLING me not to comment? 😉 I am committed to being a better person. Not sure why because I always seem to be the one who gets the door slammed in my face. (Thank you cunt in apartment 617 for shutting the front door and the elevator door in my face on purpose while LOOKING RIGHT IN MY FACE WHILE YOU DID IT.)

I feel like a stranger not only in my own land, but also in my own body. And I’m not sure whether it’s worth continuing to fight to take control of my destiny when shit seems determined to keep happening the way it wants to.

The theory of “lousy Friday, lousy weigh-in on Saturday” holds true. Up a half-pound. Seriously, I barely eat. And I barely get off my ass. The way I figure, I don’t consume enough calories to have to be active!

This week’s theme in my life is “accommodating others at the expense of yourself.” Oh wait that’s every week.

This week I am reminded that relationships are a pain in the ass — your own AND others’. I long for people to do things with, and then when I do, it’s all about their schedules and their wants and their quirks. I’m exhausted.

At my weigh-in yesterday, they told me I’ve lost more than 10 pounds since I’ve started, and did I want the meeting leader to publicly acknowledge that?

I said no. And I realized that this program has turned into a modern-day kiddie sporting event.

Last I did the program five years ago, you got a keyring when you lost 10% of your body weight, you got a charm to put on that keyring at 16 weeks to show you’d committed for a full fiscal quarter, and you got charms at 25 pounds and 50 pounds. I’m sure there were more charms, but I stopped at 65.

I think they still do that. But now they celebrate you at 10 pounds lost. They celebrate you when you’ve lost 5% of your body weight. They pretty much break out the damn kazoos if you raise your hand and share something during the meeting. (OK, maybe not kazoos. But they do hand out stickers.)

I get it. They want people to feel like they’re getting their money’s worth. And that their journey matters. And that if you encourage one good behavior, more good behaviors will follow.

And believe me, I never won a blue ribbon for anything other than academics in my life. I never ran the fastest in gym class or climbed a rope; if anything, my ribbon for physical exertion should have been for “Came Closest to Dropping Dead.” But I didn’t get a gold star just for showing up.

Of course, maybe I’m just bitter because I didn’t. Because, really, it’s easy to earn a star and to feel included. I just choose not to. I figure I’m basically losing a pound a week on average; nothing to sniff at, but nothing spectacular, either.

Those who lose five pounds a week get stickers; not the people like me who are just happy to be able to have beer and wine because we were on good behavior and ate 20 salads in a week.

Beer and wine ARE my rewards! Not spending an hour a day in a gym …

Down a pound and a half this week. So after last week’s half-pound gain, that’s down one pound exactly.

I used to have great leaders at the meetings I attended at the Muddy Branch location in Gaithersburg, Md. Loved them. Authentic people. I lost 65 pounds with them.

Down here I have yet to love a meeting. I had a lot of fun today because a bunch of new people/returnees showed up and it was like an open-mic night. But it wasn’t perfect.

I’ve gotten the feeling that my meeting leaders here are phony. One seems to like me but the other always seems to be giving me the stinkeye.

One thing I love about Weight Watchers is it is the only place in the world where I am perfectly average. I never aspire to be average anywhere but in a room of overweight people. Attendees range from 100 pounds to 300 pounds, and it blows my mind to feel downright skinny sometimes.

Anyway, the leader was super-nice to me today. And I thought, finally, we’ve connected. Maybe it’s that she sees me coming back and trying my best. Perhaps they don’t really get to know the people who drop in every now and again.

I mentioned I have a favorite girl who weighs me in because she reminds me of my friend Vitamin D and she always talks about vodka. Friend!

Well, the TV wasn’t working today so the leader needed a flipboard from the back room. So she tells my favorite gal, “Since you aren’t helping me to fix the TV, go get the flipboard.” Which grated on my nerves. Since you aren’t helping me? Who says that in front of 50 people?

The gal gets her the flipboard and what she thought were this week’s charts. We tend to have overlapping topics — whatever we started new today, we will follow up on next week and also start the new topic. So, she grabbed the one that started with what we were talking about … but they were next week’s notes.

So the leader went all hissy again and commanded her to “find ones I can actually use.”

Holy cuntballs. Seriously.

I am telling you this boring-ass story to get to the revelation of the day. I have been seeking approval from this woman … craving some sort of camaraderie or connection that will help me to better commit to this journey … and she’s NOT someone I care to look up to.

I don’t know that I’ll switch meetings because she really is a good instructor. But any inclination I had to want to be buddy-buddy with her like I was with some of the Muddy Branch staff? I’ll pass, thanks.

The whole idea behind these meetings is to find kinship. To exchange ideas. To empathize. To celebrate. And I’m not going to let one disappointing morning ruin it. But the bigger lesson here is that those of us who let our minds try to measure us by others might want to look inward and try to best our own selves.

After the meeting, I strolled through a store for a little while. I always have to report home every night and after every meeting, so I tried to sneak in 20 minutes of me time before the next mommy-sitting shift. And I got to apply that lesson in a big way.

I was looking at clothes a size down from where I am, and a woman twice my size pushed her way in to look at the same thing. While I was tempted to say, “Bitch, ain’t neither of us gonna fit in this size,” I had a positive thought to replace it.

That thought: I am OK with the way I look. I really don’t care if someone is skinnier or prettier or tanner or has better hair. Frankly I am quite OK with who I am and so what if I don’t fit into a certain size or certain people don’t find me attractive or otherwise “worthy.” I rock, and mine is the only opinion that matters.

I have just in the past two hours gotten rid of the headache I got on Friday. Two days ago.

I can’t drink wine after a miserable Friday because I weigh in on Saturday mornings.

I blow all my points on Saturdays on a good meal (healthy but higher in points than I’d like) and on wine. Sweet, merciful, delicious wine.

Even after Friday — when I didn’t even get to pick up dinner for Mom till about 8:45 and I got home around 9:30 (what a lousy daughter I am; if only I’d been out having fun) — when I missed the lunch hours for the cafe at work AND I skipped dinner (and wine), I was still up half a pound.

The lessons we take away are this:

1. Starvation doesn’t make you lose weight.

2. Giving up a much-needed glass or four of well-deserved wine may be good for the scale but NOT good for the soul.

3. Either weighing in on Saturday is a blessing (so I don’t drink myself into a coma) or a curse (I can’t ever unwind from a hard day/week until I’m halfway through the weekend).

I have work to do this weekend but I’ve had so many work dreams/nightmares the past two nights, I think I’ve put in my quota of working hours. Just broke out of my isolationist mode and asked a friend to join me for brunch. And all I have to say is that there WILL be Bloody Marys. After all, if I’m going to be putting on weight, there at least should be a heaping dose of vodka involved.

Dreams and reality are one in the same

Had a horrid dream last night that two friends in D.C. died in a freak accident. At an event I said I’d be there for but, as usual, I couldn’t escape from work.

I dreamed that a third friend asked me to please make time to come up for the funerals.

I went to ask someone at work to release me and all they did was change the subject and talk about other stuff that just didn’t matter. Like, not even work-related. While my heart broke even more.

I awakened today to hear that two people died in freak rollercoaster accidents. Luckily not my friends, but still. What about their friends who hadn’t seen them in years who figured “someday” would come along and they’d all see each other again?

Depudgification, part whatever

Lost 2.5 pounds this week although I think I gained it after going to Bubba Gump’s yesterday for lunch.

I told my meeting leader that I was surprised because even though I always stay on plan (more or less), I really only get the good losses when my stress level abates somewhat. And this week is still waking me up in the middle of the night even though it’s the weekend.

She said the best way to combat the cortisol is to jam in some bursts of physical activity. Because if the stress is killing me, my weight is going go go UP no matter how well I eat.

And that is interesting because I really haven’t changed my eating habits much since I rejoined. In fact, basically I’ve cut out cake, candy and hard liquor … and I wasn’t exactly going overboard with those in the first place.

Now if I could eliminate the work anxiety … and get one of my guys to quit calling/texting me all weekend … I would actually be skinny.

Chew on THAT for a minute. Eliminate stress and be healthy. Go figure.

Of course, if I cut out stress, what would be left?

Whorothy!

There are some great things I want to post on Facebook to the tune of “you just went from whore to old whore” and “how nice that you always post pics where you’re drunk with your friends and no pics of your kids.”

It was her birthday and she makes 48 look like 112. I wouldn’t even know she had kids if her baby daddy didn’t have a photo of them. Mother of the year, I tell you.

I went stalking yesterday. Not just online. I can’t help it. I have no feelings left for him in that department but I will always, always be on the lookout for clues on why he puts that wrinkled-ass whore on a pedestal above me. I know, though, that I will never get an answer that satisfies me.

Speaking of answers, and more questions

Mom found an old answering machine that she hadn’t used since my grandfather died six and a half years ago. Thirty messages were saved.

Half of the messages were from the various men she was dating. Half were from one of their wives. Lord.

What’s really sad was that she was dating a doctor. He sounded hot. And nice. And he was. She really liked him. (He was single.)

And for all the sickness in her life right now, just one different decision — to be with him — could have created such a different outcome. She could have insurance. She could be wealthy. She could be WELL. But instead she let Fat Fuck move in with her and then he stole everything we owned and ran back to his wife.

JESUS CHRIST MOM.

And we wonder why I don’t let men get close to me. I’ve said it a thousand times, fuck me all you want but don’t fuck me OVER.

That’s why I’m alone and she lives with me in all her pain and poor health and that’s why I work so goddamned hard to support us even though this was never meant to be our lives.

No wonder I let myself get fat. I can use that as an excuse for not having a normal life instead of admitting the moments where everything went wrong and everything spiraled out of control from there.

God, what I wouldn’t give for her to have made just one different decision. How different my life would be. I’d be living in Europe or NYC and not in this overpriced Roach Motel. Maybe I’d even be happy or, at least, dealing with different problems than the ones I have now …

I’m going to take five minutes to blog and pretend it’s a lunch hour. It’s more than I’ve done since December so let’s call it a victory.

Speaking of since December, when I accepted this crazy-ass title promotion, I’ve put on some weight. As of this morning it looks like I’ve taken off what I’ve put on since then. So again, victory.

However, to unravel all the psychological and physiological damage I’ve incurred in that time frame, it’s probably gonna take years.

I’m in so much pain and I’m intellectually depleted. I’ve gained two new people to manage and while I excel at managing extraordinary difficult people (which one of them is), I simply cannot rise to my level of Goddess that is required because I spend too much time fussing around with HTML and production issues and making sure the lists are split right and that everyone’s seeing the right price and the right offer and that their messages aren’t getting caught in spam or showing funky characters and that I get six tests when I need six tests and are all 17 of my splits right because this stuff is life-or-death in this biz.

Next week has to be better. That is, if I don’t have to carry my new albatross project (and its five offshoots to come) into Monday …

So, yay I had weight loss this week. Boo that it’s taken me a damn month to lose five-ish pounds. The hell? The first time I did this Weight Watchers thing, I lost five my first WEEK.

Of course, I was also about 30 pounds heavier when I started it the last time. It’s easier to lose weight when you’re super-cali-pudgalicious. Just waddling across a room burns mad calories. Now I run six flights of stairs at home and do sprints to the restroom after-hours at work yet nothing good comes out of it.

I saw the mahogany hallway has been rearranged a bit during tonight’s sprint. Their logic at who gets nice offices continues to baffle me. But I don’t measure my worth based on corporate real estate. Pay me more any old day. But I did get that kick in the head feeling I got awhile back regardless.

Anyway, pudgalicious. I swear I ate my points and half of Broward County’s and I managed to lose. I have no idea how. I got to eat out a lot and I ordered whatever I wanted … just less of it. French food, German beer, Mexican twice (tequila!), sushi, Korean BBQ … I had quite a selection. And enjoyed it all.

Look, the way I figure, I could have ordered (and eaten) everything I wanted. And I would have gained 12 pounds instead of losing 2.6. This week is back to boring salads and froots and such. *shrug* Last week was extraordinary.

Glad I get to have a little dose of extraordinary every blue moon or so. Not too much, though — I wouldn’t know how to act!