Hudda wha?

I feel that there is profound meaning in the fact that this WTF article was the very first "top story" on the Yahoo news feed. "Must you diet on Super Bowl Sunday?" it asks. "What's the about an occasional day of eating yourself into oblivion?"

Cute. The reasons not to "pig out" include developing a tendency to do it again or more frequently (more "special occasions) and feeling crappy the next day. So why not make healthy substitutions, like swapping the seven-layer dip for salsa and baked chips? Um, I don't know, because the seven-layer dip is what you WANT? Salsa cannot compare to seven-layer dip. I'm not a huge fan of tac0-layer-salad concoctions myself, but my sister is and God help you if you try to swap it out with salsa.

And at the end of this rather disjointed article, the author states that all the nutritionists she spoke with said that "one day of 'bad' eating will not a life ruin." Well JEEZUS, thank goodness for that!

Diagnosis

SSS: Schizoid Stomach Syndrome.

Pow pow, I'm trigger-happy

I bought something online. It's clothing of a variety that is very, very risky to purchase without trying it on. The problem's not with the item, it fits decently enough.

The problem is the catalog that came with it. I will never, never, EVER look like these women. Rationally I know that even they don't look like that, there's enough airbrushing here to make Joan Rivers attractive. But I still want to. Which then begs the real question - why? Why do I want to look like these women? Sure, they're conventionally attractive according to Western standards. "Hittable," if you will. Curves indicating that you'd be able to maximize your reproductive potential and ensure your genes make it a little longer in the pool.

But I"m never going to have that stomach. WHAT is my issue with stomachs? Is it some creepy subconscious fetish I have? Okay, you couldn't iron a shirt on my abdomen (... ouch). BFD. That doesn't mean my stomach is ugly or repulsive. Just ... don't leave the lights on.

Gaaah stoppit. There's nothing wrong with me, unless you think that these models are the way women are supposed to look. In that case yes, there's plenty wrong with me. But that's not true.

So why, why, why can't I quit pinching my stomach and just let it go? I keep beating myself up over this and it's such a goddamn waste of energy.

Oh hey guess what?

MY SISTER IS GOING TO FUCKING BE ON FUCKING JEOPARDY!



Crap. She's officially cooler than I am. I got cut after my College Jeopardy audition.


TEAM SARAH FTW!

Bored

Snow days, as a kid, were wonderful things. Now that I'm in college ... not so much. My professor was out of town Monday, and today the whole university's canceled. There's nowhere, really, to go - it's too icy to drive or walk, the library is closed, and so is the gym. What's a girl to do except ... work? And watch a lot of a certain embarrassing show while I do.

And I hate how you can get hungry even when you're sitting on your ass doing nothing. Can my body just hang onto my oatmeal until four or so?

Ahhh babies

Gah! Eight babies!

But it's like a built-in rock band.

Getting a grip

For someone who was just accepted into a highly competitive service program (that's right, you Ivy-Leaguers, I go to PUBLIC SCHOOL), I have certainly been treating myself like shit. Mentally, that is.

Okay. So we don't know why, exactly, my stomach is looking a little bulbous. Or my hips and thighs, for that matter. I'll admit to slacking on my ab exercises lately, and maybe I'm adding too much apple butter to my oatmeal and having too many crackers between meals. Whatever. We've established that this is a scary thing.

Frustrating as it is, I have to recognize that trying to "get control" is always dangerous for me. I don't like it, but I'm going to try to accept it. And I am going to try the food journal for a couple of week. If it makes me antsy or crazy, I'll confess to my sister and she'll whup some sense into me. Or I'll confess it here and y'all will do that.

I keep feeling like I have to explain myself. I don't want this to be a relapse. I've FINALLY got things at least a little together and I don't want to mess that up. I want to figure out why my body suddenly seems to be a stranger, and if there's anything I can do to get back in touch with it.

Confused

I did not drastically change my diet or exercise habits in the past three weeks. According to many of the aforementioned calculators, I'm not even eating enough calories to maintain my weight, much less gain.

SO WHY THE FUCK HAVE I GAINED?

Damnit, I do not want to throw another tantrum. But I'm not happy with my body at all, and I can't tell if I really need to lose weight or this is just stupid, stupid eating disorder coupled with stress.

I can try to think about this rationally. If you don't like the way you look and feel, change it. Eat less, exercise more. Right? But I'll always second-guess myself, as will the people around me. Am I really too heavy, or do I just think I am? I don't want to be afraid of losing weight. I want to just be able to get in shape and leave it at that.

Someone on TV today mentioned swimsuit season. Fuck me.

Uhhh ...

On a good day, I get around sixty hits to my blog. Most days it's less than 50.

So ... does anyone want to explain this or did StatCounter break?





UPDATE: So I um, sometimes rant about things. In July I ranted about the highly erotic pictures of just-turned-seventeen Toni Garrn. Apparently they were sexay enough to get linked to Google Images. And apparently that someone is in Germany. Grüß dich, y'all, hope you stick around.

Tantrum? At 22?

Yes, that was a tantrum I threw in my last post. It took me a long walk and some surprisingly warm fresh air to get over it. My body, blasted everloving thing it is, is not naturally flat-bellied. So instead of taking a deep breath and realizing THAT IS OKAY, I got angry and frustrated that my body did not do what I wanted. I want washboard abs and I want them now, dammit! ("Don't caaare how, I want it nooooooow")

Clearly, I have stomach issues. I'm rectangle-shaped, like my mother. I also tend to gain weight first in my abdomen, which is part anorexia-related and part genetic. There's nothing I can do about that. After a point, only excessive exercise and restricting can get you beyond where those little helixes say you're going to be (yes folks, I'm a college student. That's book-lernin talk, there).

Comparing myself to others has rarely done me any good. So I'm going to make a renewed effort NOT TO DO IT. It only leads me to loathe my body, and that's not pleasant for anyone, least of all my dear readers.

And instead of talking myself out of the wine-and-cheese birthday party I'm invited to, I'm going to put on my nice clothes and my wonderful boots and I'm going to go and enjoy the shit out of it.

Frustrated

I can't stop thinking about my stomach. With a million other important things to be thinking about, I keep pinching and smushing every five minutes or so. Eating a normal-sized meal makes me globby.

My headspace is not so good right now. It's been going on for a while - I managed to transfer it to TFA stuff - but I can't stop berating myself. It's not that I want to restrict - it's that I know I can't restrict. All that willpower? All that stuff that made me so good and wonderful? Gone. Nada. Bake a pan of brownies and I'll eat one. Having a cider? Thanks, I'll have one too. And I know, I know, I know I shouldn't, but I compare myself to other people all the time. When other people eat normally, they don't puff out. Me, I even come close to a normal diet and I gain weight uncontrollably.

Arrgghgh. The only word I can think of to describe this is toxic, as melodramatic as that sounds. I can't fucking sit in a desk chair without feeling, to use a homegrown colloquialism, "like ten pounds of shit in a five-pound bag." Charming, I know, but it fits.

I finally had my head and my body synched up, and now my head is backsliding while my body, oblivious, continues gaining. I can't wait for the fucking day someone says "You? You were anorexic?" with that goddamn tone that very few people know and no one loves.

Just the facts, ma'am, part II

Fact: You gained two pounds.

Fact: You are at your heaviest weight in three years.

Fact: This gives you the screaming willies.

Fact: You are still 25 pounds lighter than you were when you decided to start that delightful "diet."

Fact: You have another 35 pounds to go before your BMI moves from the yellow ("smile, you're healthy") to the orange ("DANGER DANGER OVERWEIGHT"). Not that BMI means jack.* Oh, and did you notice that you were never overweight to begin with?????

Fact: You've been working out a lot. You might have some MUSCLE that you didn't have before.

Completely subjective suggestion: chuck your damn scale.








*Did anybody notice how narrow the "overweight" category is and how wide the "obese" category is on those charts? I have a 40-pound range in which I'm "healthy," but only 30 pounds between "overweight" and "obese."

Just the facts, ma'am

Fact: I have been offered a spot in the 2009 Teach for America Corps. I've been assigned to early childhood through third-grade in the Washington, D.C. metro area.

Fact: I have to accept or decline the offer by February 2nd.

Fact: I have to attend a summer institute at George Mason University wherein they will cram my head full of the considerable knowledge it requires to be a teacher.

Fact: In order to stay employed for my two years, I am required to get a masters in education from George Mason during that time. Fact: tuition, even with a 50% discount, is $9,500 for two years.

Fact: it is "very highly likely" that I will receive an Americorps grant that will cover the cost of my masters.

Oh, but then there are all these nebulous non-fact things to consider. I don't know if I'll even be good at teaching or like it. There are quality-of-life issues - working 8-4, plus class, plus prep for each day - would I have time to enjoy my life in D.C.? On the plus size, having a master's in education would be something good to have in my hand. And I'll be teaching kids to read. I have the chance to give kids a semblance of the opportunities I had growing up. On a level completely separate and alone, that is just plain cool.

Bah!

8:41 AM

Some people have been waiting for this day for a long time. For some people, this is a day that marks sweeping change and the beginning of a new era. For some people, today is a marvelous reason to go to a bar on a Tuesday.

I have been waiting for this day, too, but only since December 11. Today I find out whether or not I've been accepted to Teach for America. As I've said previously, I probably didn't get in. But I just want to know.

Today is also the sixth consecutive day that has been completely without any academic commitments. I was actually looking forward to my thesis meeting tonight, but something urgent came up in the department (that's okay, I just wrote 22 pages this weekend, but that's okay).

Oh, Gmail tab. How you torture me.

Also, it's six degrees. I really should exercise, though. I'm afraid this means ... the dreaded Denise Austin workout DVD. Ugghhh. I'll tell you what you can do with that potato, missy.

8:51 AM
Okay, now it's FOUR DEGREES.

Also - all junk mail is hereby forbidden. Nada mas. Spam filter, do your thing.


9:48 AM
Five degrees.
WTF there are two MILLION people at the inauguration. Seriously? Is there enough oxygen to go around?

11:13 AM
I got a teaser email from the Ohio TFA recruiter, reminding me that "we find out today!" No shit, Sherlock.

The worst thing about being at the inauguration would be the ridiculous lack of porta-potties. There's something like 1 for every 300 people. My brain doesn't even want to process that.

11:53 AM
If you haven't worked with documents from the nineteenth and eighteenth centuries, you might not know that the letter "s" was often written as "f." Why, I have no clue, other than perhaps to make writings even less decipherable. But sometimes it's funny, like when a midwifery text mentions that a woman's newborn twins "fuck freely."

Oh yeah still haven't heard. It's all the way up to 15 degrees, though.

1:53 PM
I'm guilty of extreme lack of respect for a very important ceremony. Yes, it was a nice speech, but let's give the man a few months so he can really show us his mettle, okay?

And goddammit TFA, step away from the inane CNN broadcast and call or email or whatever you're going to do.

3:04 PM

I'm in.
I got placed in D.C.
Pre-K through 3rd grade.
I have to decide by February 2nd.

This is not how I expected to feel.

Discomforted

As a member of Ohio University's venerable (so tell me) Honors College,* I sometimes get corralled into various activities. Usually I resist, but yesterday was Interview Day for prospective applicants. I was super-excited because we had three potential students (last year the anthro program didn't have ANY), so I agreed to attend a meet-and-greet lunch with the applicants and their parents.

The food was actually pretty decent - there was black bean soup that hit the (previously very cold) spot. Current students were already seated when the applicants and their parents came in. I scooted my chair to the right to make room for an applicant's mother. "Do you have enough room?" I asked.

"I don't know, I might grow here, I've got a big plate," she said, settling in. I turned to see one of the thinnest adult women I've ever encountered. The "big plate" was mostly vegetables (granted, mine was too, but I'm not that thin anymore). I immediately regretted the dollop of sour cream I'd added to my soup. Why? I'm in recovery, and this kind of thing happens.

I tried not to make any assumptions and focused on my own plate, though I did notice she tended to pick things apart and ate very slowly - been there, done that. I put my energy into answering her and her daughter's questions. The applicant seemed really bright, and given her interest in human rights, she'd be a good fit with our faculty.

Then her mom asked about the fitness center. E, the girl, rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Oh, come on, you might start exercising!" her mother said.

A little bit later E asked about vegetarian food options. The dining halls are okay, I said, but this is hippie college - there are a ton of vegetarian places around Athens, including a couple Middle Eastern and Indian places. E was happy to hear that, but said, "ohh, I'm going to gain so much weight!"

"Maybe you will start exercising then!" her mother said.

I shook my head. "No, you'll be fine," I said. "The freshman fifteen is a myth. None of my friends or anyone I knew really gained any weight." Except me, but I doubt your diet will include as much BoostPlus as mine did. I didn't look at her mom when I said this.

Did I say the right thing? I mean, for God's sake, I don't even know if the woman had an eating disorder. Some people are just really, really thin. I probably read too much into it and it was my own fault that I was uncomfortable.




*Other illustrious graduates of the Honors College include Piper Perabo (of Beverly Hills Chihuahua and Coyote Ugly fame) and, more importantly, Jessica Hagy of Indexed.

I've been thinking

I've also been unsuccessfully trying to flush my toilet every 20 minutes or so. But that's not why I'm writing.

I started Pratfalls mainly to keep Jim company in his blogging endeavor (his blog, Beer and Wisdom, is still on my blogroll. I like the economics of love post). Ironically, he now only blogs for work, and I'm the one at 272 posts since May. I didn't expect it to be so fun. I've always kept journals, but this is far different - instead of hiding it under my underwear in a dresser drawer, I put this out on the Great Big Interweb. And it's still fun. Maybe it's some repressed exhibitionism. Getting comments is ridiculously gratifying.

I also never expected to find some amazing fellow bloggers. I'd been wary of all eating-disorder-related internet items after foolishly checking out some pro-anorexia blogs for a class. Good idea there, sparky. I didn't know that there were people out there like me, who were trying to get better, to recover, and who were willing to share their stories and experiences and hard-earned lessons. The people I've encountered are brave, tough, sometimes vulnerable, and honest about this shitty thing that came into our lives and doesn't want to let go. When someone succeeds, we cheer; when someone struggles, we offer what support we can in a few typed words.

And dammit, I'm proud of us. Of the honesty and the courage you all show. It seems weird, I know, because I've never met any of you in person. But internet friendships are no longer the shady, potentially creepy thing they used to be, and friendships in general are what we make them.

So thank you, everybody. You're all doing a very good thing.

*$(%& Cold

I did not go to the gym today. This was planned for a couple of reasons - my back and calves are really sore, and it's NEGATIVE TWO DEGREES. Also I was up until two last night trying to finish a book.

Also, my toilet won't flush - the tank is empty. My handy-dandy father said the supply line is frozen, but all the other water sources in the apartment are functional. Apparently the second floor is just REALLY lucky.

I'm sort of afraid that if I take a shower I'll run out of water halfway through. Yes, I admit that it is 9:30 and I have not showered. I am on the ball today.

Things for which I am grateful

I have bitched entirely too much over the past few days, so I will try to ameliorate this by writing a list of things for which I'm thankful. Some people do this every day, but I'm too lazy.

1. That I did not choose a college in Minnesota or Wisconsin or some map dot in North Dakota. Because, seriously, that is just too damn cold.

2. The soft, pretty purple-blue wrap my roommate gave me for Christmas. It's warm and she told me she didn't even mind if I got frozen snot on it.

3. Spaghetti squash, a poached egg, and parmesan cheese. Add some salt and pepper and you're in a good place. Plus the egg yolk has lots of iron.

4. For some reason, my room is the warmest in the house.

5. I'm writing this on the most advanced piece of technology I've ever owned. I love my computer like a child.

6. Baby gorillas, like this little fella. And that I'll get to see him next month when I go to D.C.

7. Going to D.C. next month counts double, because it's three years for Jim and me.

One more thing:
8. Tomorrow is another day.

Blood donor FAIL

"Low iron? What do you mean? I haven't had a problem with that since I was little, and a few Flintstones vitamins cleared it right up."

"Are you on your period?"

"... yes."

Grr. Two painful finger pricks (why do those motherfuckers hurt so bad) and nothing to show for it. I admit that I give blood for two reasons: 1) it helps people and 2) it makes me feel good about myself. Yeah, it's selfish, but I get my happiness where I can. Even the Red Cross van.

And I didn't even feel tired until they told me I have low iron. After that I was pooped.

Note to self, part 858

1. You have a belly.

2. That is okay.



UPDATE - From a Gchat:
Jim : yay! belly!

:)

Swinging through the gates

I met with a career counselor today. It wasn't earth-shatteringly helpful, but we did go over some of the finer points of my resume and discuss timelines for applying. I was afraid I'd be too early, but she said probably not - it doesn't hurt to get a head start, in any case.

So now I just need to do it. Insert Nike swoosh here.

At this point my self-doubt rears its endearingly ugly head. I've worked, sure. I've held jobs, I've done research. BFD. And now I have to convince someone that they should pay me inordinate amounts of money for my services. I don't even know if my services are worthwhile.

I'm pretty sure my family and friends believe in me. A very needy part of me wants to quererously ask everyone I know if they do, but I really need to get over that. I realized, though, that their support is important, but even more important is that I believe in myself. If I want someone to hire me on the basis of merits (what merits?), I have to believe that those merits exist.

I need to get over that. Deep breath. Pick up my suitcases and go swinging through the imposing gates of the VonTrapp mansion singing at the top of my voice. Or a D.C.-appropriate alternative. I've got to prove to all those people who believe in me that I can do this - and prove it to myself, too.

Kinship

Mental illnesses have a pretty hefty genetic component, so it's not uncommon for them to run in families (I can't quote studies, but this blog and this blog probably can). Knowing that is one thing, facing it is another.

A couple of years ago my mother told me my cousin was starting to have problems with food. She was about sixteen at the time, high-achieving, a phenomenal cross-country runner. I nearly started crying - we were in public - because I hated to think of anyone, much less someone I knew and cared for, fighting the same thing I was.

Today, at Sunday dinner at my grandparents', my aunt started talking about the latest challenge they'd been thrown. My cousin's nutritionist had told her she has a "large frame," because when she tries to circle her wrist with the pinky and thumb of the opposite hand, they don't touch. Frankly, that makes me question the nutritionist's credentials; in any case, my cousin does not have a large frame. She gave her a goal weight based on that oh-so-scientific measure, and understandably my cousin is freaking out. The words seemed to pour out of my aunt, and she teared up.

Mom and I told her about some of my own experiences, but I'm not sure if they'd be of any help. Mental illnesses can share the same name, but they're expressed in so many different ways. I don't know if I should do anything else. Would it be crossing a line? I imagine the last thing my cousin wants is one more person asking her about the issue. And lord knows I'm not perfect (re the food-journal and consistent body-hatred issue). At the same time, I've come a hell of a long way - maybe some of the keys that fit my locks might fit hers, too.

So I don't know. Any suggestions?

IT'S HERE

I was a ball of worries a few hours ago (and they still need to be resolved, I'm working on it), but I am tapping on my new, muy rapido, wonderful beautiful laptop. My mood is significantly improved.

This is my confession

I swear, waiting for the FedEx guy is more involving than waiting for Santa. Granted, Santa never brought me so desperately desired an object. But again, that's not why I'm writing.

At the turn of the year I started keeping a food journal. Again. I tried to convince myself that I was just trying to be healthy, more aware of what I'm eating, and to break the mindless munching habit I'd started at home. That's sort of true, but the mechanism for breaking that habit was guilt and fear - you eat that cracker and you'll have to write it down! That extra spoonful of yogurt counts, young lady.

After a somewhat painful conversation with Jim (thanks again), I stuck the journal under my desk. But that talk revealed another thing - I have no idea how many calories my body actually needs. I have trouble trusting formulas where x + y(4.55/p) = your daily caloric/fat/carbohydrate/protein needs. The weight I gained over the summer and fall didn't come from me purposefully measuring out my calories and making sure I took in a surplus. Hell, I gained weight while exercising more regularly than I had in a long time. I gained weight from loosening up a little, from the occasional handful of wheat thins, and probably partly from my body's transition from adolescence to more fully-grown adulthood. Over the winter break, I let myself enjoy holiday food because, I thought, it'll be gone by January and I'll get back to "normal." Which, according to one of those suspect formulas, is actually not enough.

I know it takes time for your brain to catch up with your body. I'm just appalled that I can be sailing along, thinking I'm doing so well, and then have a bunch of setbacks slapped in my face. I'm constantly doing "body checks" on my belly. I look in the mirror and there's too much ... dimension. I don't even want to get into the deeper psychological implications of that last statement. I just want to like the body I see in the mirror, and right now that's hard.

Surprise fail

I missed the FedEx guy* and thus my computer by TEN MINUTES. Grr. But that's not the fail I'm talking about.

Today I got a cafe au lait to accompany me while I read at the student center. While I was in the (ever interminable) line, a petite woman with red hair and sparkly blue eyes approached me. "Lisa!" she cried.

It showed on my face - shit, who are you? And then it clicked. She and I had shared an office for a couple of years, doing research for my advisor. I hadn't seen her since last spring, right before she had weight-loss surgery. Even with my own experiences with rapid body change, I was blown away. She's so short and now slight that she looks fourteen.

I'm sure my surprise was obvious, at least for the first minute of our conversation. If she noticed she ignored it, chatting about another co-worker and my new hat. I managed to participate normally, but in my head I was still floored. No one I've known closely has undergone that kind of surgery, and somehow the before-and-after images you see on TV don't prepare you for the change when you see it in a friend.

There's a lot of controversy about weight-loss surgery - it's a scam, it's unhealthy; I've even heard it compared to a lobotomy. Sometimes it's still considered "cheating." Regardless, it's a complicated, intimately personal decision. We'd talked about it a little during our time together. She told me how she's always been heavy; how nothing - even medically-supervised diets - had worked. Her knees and back always hurt. Doctors never believed her about her diet and exercise - "I bet you'd lose weight if we locked you in a closet," one said. We commiserated about how, when your body is a tidge to the left or right of normal, it becomes public property and a topic of strangers' (sometimes brutal) comments. I know, however, that my experiences were different - I'd been too thin for a relatively short time, and even to the point of illness, being thin is valorized. Being large, in a lot of ways, is much worse.

I feel awful that I couldn't conceal my surprise better - I know how painful it can be. I didn't actually talk about how much she's changed; I'm pretty sure she knows. Even after having an unstable body image for so long, I can't imagine how hard it must be for her to relearn her body in such a drastic way. Next time I see her I'll apologize, and see if she wants to talk about it.




*I'm not being sexist; I called and it actually is a delivery guy.

Further proof that I am a bad person

Ohio University's student recreation program has decided to hold a Biggest Loser-esque program. The program starts with a "body composition and physical fitness test," which I know from experience will include calipers and big marker x's on your thighs and belly. There will also be individual and team challenges throughout the quarter. Team members keep track of how often they work out to gain points and can also increase their scores by attending weekly seminars about nutrition and fitness. The word "competition" doesn't appear anywhere in the information, but prizes will be given to those who lose the greatest percentage of body fat as well as the "winning team."

I get that I'm more sensitive to this than most. I know that The Biggest Loser is probably not the horrible social commentary I sometimes think it is. But I feel very strongly that competing to lose weight or body fat is not a good idea.

Why am I a bad person, you ask? Because I'm tempted to register.

No, not because I'm begging for a relapse. I just want to see what they'd do with me. It would be interesting - I don't "look anorexic" anymore. My weight is at a healthy place and my BMI is finally "normal" (though BMI is crap). I wonder if, during the initial assessment, they ask if you've had a history of eating disorders. I wonder if they'd be visibly surprised or not. I wonder what my body fat percentage is.

I'm feeling ornery enough to do it. Thing is, I don't want to look like I'm mocking overweight people. Getting healthy is wonderful, so I don't want to appear derisive of people who are genuinely trying to do so. It's the idea that weight loss and fitness are competitive sports that bothers me.

The wintry mix, in Ohio, falls mainly on my thesis

After weeks of anxiety and agonizing over my thesis, I was all set up to go to east-central Ohio today to do some interviews (not all anthropologists get to go to the glamorous places). Only this morning east-central Ohio was completely snookered with delightful wintry mix. The pink they use to illustrate that on radar pictures is such a puke-inducing color. Thankfully I was able to switch the in-person interviews to phone interviews at the last minute, and all went as smoothly as can be expected.

In other news, I purchased a new computer last night (sort of. The details are messy). OF COURSE, my previously malfunctioning computer updated and shut off like it's supposed to, and now Word is working again. I guess it's still a good thing; the soon-t0-arrive one is an Inspiron 1525 laptop with a Pentium Dual Core processor and Microsoft 2008 upgrade. I got it from the Dell Outlet, which has "previously ordered new" systems - the person who ordered it canceled the shipment. They have the same 1-year warranty that new laptops get. It was $589 before shipping and taxes, which is considerably less than it would have been if I'd used their "customize your system" feature.

On my way into the library I spotted a new book on eating disorders. I considered checking it out ... to read in the gym. Bad, subversive Lisa.

Cynicism, Ohio

It's entirely likely that I am a horrible person. Yesterday I read about Barack Obama's plan to hold a "neighborhood ball." I'm sorry, but it reminded me very much of a feudal lord opening up his castle walls for a day to let the peasant farmers gambol about amongst their betters. Am I completely missing the message of inclusiveness and unity? Absolutely. Is a free party really the best thing to do with funds? That's a little doubtful. He's preaching to the choir - anyone who attends is already supportive. Will any of Washington's less-enamored residents attend? No. I'm dating one, and I know.

Okay, I'm missing the point. But tell me that wouldn't be a kickass political cartoon. Tell me.

Note to self, part 857

Effective immediately, you are to stop failing at life. Seriously. Get your act together. Suck it up, soldier. Tough titties. Put on your big-girl panties and get on that ball and stay there. You're twenty-two years old and you are a dime a dozen, so it's going to take every ounce you have to offer to get you where you want to be.

Not. Fair.

My father wiped my computer right before the end of the quarter. Removed every program and system, leaving behind an empty shell. Then he re-loaded windows and gave it back to me, a blank slate.

I used it for two days before going home for the break. It sat, silent and undisturbed, for six weeks.

It is still malfunctioning. The computer that was completely emptied and untouched for six weeks does not work. I can't use any of my USB ports, and programs frequently stop responding. It won't shut down - I have to manually turn it off, which I know is terrible for the system.

Classes are starting again and I am anxious. I do not need this.

Temporary

My things are (mostly) packed. I'm heading back to Athens this afternoon; classes start up again Monday.

I want to go back - I love anthropology and I seriously want to graduate. I like having my own room. I like being able to walk to a place where I can meet friends.

So why is it suddenly so hard to leave?

And even when I do go back, I know it's only for about six more months. Part of me is going to be two steps ahead, looking forward to what's coming next.

When will my life stop feeling temporary?

The expected and the unexpected

I have an uncle named Bubba, and it's a pretty accurate moniker. Okay, his real name is John, but no one calls him that except his wife. This is a man who processes (what a lovely euphemism) deer in my grandparents' side yard - and they live on Main Street. I have seen him eat a piece of ham after a dog got a taste of it. He wears camo baseball caps.

And yesterday he told my grandmother that I'm looking better. Color me flabbergasted.

Even armed with that knowledge, I've felt so flabby and gross today. I let go and enjoyed the holidays, and now it seems monstrously obvious. Love handles you could rest a book on. At least that's now I feel.

This doesn't make sense.