Ouch

Being the wizard with icing that I am, I made some of these little guys for an early groundhog's day party:



Instead of sticking the almond joy down in the cupcake, i cut it in half and set it on an icing-topped cookie. Then I surrounded it with green-tinted coconut "grass." Adorable - and effing time-consuming. I made 16 of them in all.

My roommate was nice enough to drive me to the apartment. However, I didn't make it three steps before I hit a patch of ice and fell, really really fucking hard, on my knees. My cookies - my adorable, wonderful, took-me-forever cookies - were mostly on the ground, a few still on the platter. I don't know what I cried more for - the pain in my knees or the cookie loss.

So now my knees are swollen and hurt immensely when I sit, stand, or navigate stairs. It's finally warming up and going to the gym would be a very bad idea. But oh, I really really fucking want to. I ate a lot and drank a decent amount of fruity things last night, and I"m catching myself thinking, oh, the elliptical wouldn't hurt, it's so low-impact ... but I know that I shouldn't go.

How do you guys deal with the I-can't-exercise anxiety? When I was first starting recovery I dealt with it by hating my mother, but that's neither healthy nor rational.

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.

So this is the new year

Oi vey, if I tried to go over all the things I have learned/done this year this post would never end. I'm having trouble even reliving everything. A year ago I was home on the couch, watching the Travel Channel with my dad and fighting my very first UTI (real special, I know). Not the best start to 2008.

In February Jim and I had our two-year anniversary, and I found out I was headed for Delaware in the summer. The next month we had what I call a hiccup. It was - bad. Maybe it didn't have to happen exactly as it did, but our relationship needed a serious come-to-Jesus moment. It wasn't easy to work to where we are now, but I think it was worth it.

April, May ... not a lot there; I spent a lot of time worrying about Delaware and Jim's move to D.C (I started Pratfalls, though, which has become more than I ever anticipated). I spent a steamy afternoon in early June packing all his kitchen things in newspaper. He left, van nearly dragging the ground, and I walked home an inky, teary mess. But I survived long enough to take my very first flight three days later. June, July, and the beginning of August were spent at the University of Delaware, where I learned about disasters and had several crises about The Rest of My Life. I was also lucky enough to visit Jim a few times, discovering a city I can't wait to know better.

I spent the last three weeks of August vegging out and doing preliminary work on my thesis. September marked 22 years for me. In October I went to Miami and presented the paper Dr. T and I had labored over for far too long. In November I got to see Jim again, and a week later I started work at Sears. December I spent working, obsessing over my thesis, and getting very tired of Christmas music.

Along the way I picked up about 10 pounds. It actually happened pretty quickly; between June and September. I discovered that I love ellipticals - 35 minutes and the endorphins start flowing. I'm in a better place with food; it's still a daily fight but it makes me less tired. I've come to enjoy cooking, especially when I do it with someone else. Liking my body will take more time, but I'll make it there. I think.

Happy New Year, y'all. Remember: "'I live in hope,' said the priest to the princess." And a big cookie to anyone who can tell me where that phrase comes from.

Baking - not for the weak

My mother loves German chocolate cake. Last year she made one for her own birthday. This got me thinking - surely, Lisa, you can do something to change this situation.

Two hours ago I began concocting my bastard German chocolate cupcakes. Holy crap, it was a lot of effort. The recipes I used are courtesy of the FatFree Vegan Kitchen and can be found here and here. Yep, that's what you think it is in the cake batter.

They're decent. I'm tired. And rather floury.

Early New Year's

There's one resolution I have to make and keep this year. I need to stop picking at my nails.

It's embarrassing to admit, but I'm 22 years old and have the fingernails of an eight-year-old with generalized anxiety (so, really, me at age 8). I can't remember a time I didn't pick at my nails. I don't bite them much, except when a hangnail needs to go (I'm disgusting myself just talking about this). But when I don't have anything to do, my nails are constantly picking and peeling at one another.

I was really conscious of this the day I interviewed for Teach for America. I shook a lot of hands, and my nerves the day before had reduced my fingernails considerably. I'm not saying that nice nails will get me hired somewhere, but they'd be better than the raggedy messes I have now. And if every media outlet is to be believed, I'm going to need all the help I can get in this job market.

Two very different things

1. I had a WONDERFUL weekend. Not only did I get to see (and talk to and kiss) Jim, I got to spend time with his family. They're so warm and welcoming; I think they might actually like me. I used to be terrified of other peoples' families. I'm still terrified of my first boyfriend's mother. Once she came into Kroger while I was working in the deli, and my sister, who worked in the photo lab, called me and told me. I hid in the cooler - that's how scared I was. But Jim's mother is nothing like that, and neither are his siblings and father.

2. The only thing more terrifying than that woman is my thesis. I have a shit ton of work to do. I can do it, it's just not going to be particularly fun. But that knowledge doesn't keep my stomach from knotting up each time I think about it.

Gluggy pudding

Eating what I want at our Christmas gathering = good, right? For the ED maybe, for my belly not so much. My guts aren't used to so much rich food (ie, a shit ton of sweets), and my stomach felt like a rock. I went home, took some pepto and napped for an hour. I feel much less gross now. Believe it or not, the rest of my family had Cincinnati chili for a late dinner. Their intestines are much hardier than mine, apparently.

Yo ho ho ho

Happy holidays, y'all. I don't have to go back to work until after the 28th. Friday I'm going to visit Jim's family, where there will hopefully be no Muzak or slow cookers. I'll have to warn them to hide it.

UPDATE: Presents! Family tradition holds that we open presents from each other tonight, and then the kids get gifts from "Santa" tomorrow morning. I got a sweet hat my sister made, a Whole Foods gift card, and a pretty cobalt track jacket.

With some (rummy) cocoa in my belly, I hope I'll get some kind of pleasant visions dancing in my head tonight.

That was bad

It just took me two and a half hours to make a journey that usually takes 30 minutes.

The roads were bad earlier; they were fine by the time I went home. Ice-wise, that is. There were just so many cars. Every resident of Brown County (believe me, I've been casting aspersions on their characters all evening) decided to leave his or her shopping to the last minute. I didn't go over 30 miles an hour the whole way home.

And then I got stuck on my own road. I would have made it, too, if I hadn't stopped to see if my neighbor, who had gone off the road, was okay (he was). No good deed goes unpunished. It took my parents, a neighbor, and a shit ton of road salt to get me up the hill and carefully, slowly into the driveway.

I'm tired. I didn't eat dinner at the mall (good work there, sport) and so was starving the whole way home. I got the shakes once I was inside, and I don't know if it was from hunger or stress.

Ugghghghghgg. That was so frustrating. At least everyone I know is okay.

To travelers

To all my far-flung friends who are returning to Ohio for Christmas:

Welcome home. It's five degrees.

A weakness

I know, I know, liking certain foods is not a "weakness." I've bared my soul about my enormous sweet tooth and am living without shame.

But damn, there is this food that I feel like I could eat until it makes me sick. The anorexia that lingers in my head is sick just thinking about Monkey Munch, also known as Puppy Chow. But oh my stars, that stuff is delicious. It makes sense: chocolate+peanut butter+powdered sugar is a no-brainer. It's just. So. Good.

And it would be considered a very, very "bad" food ... if such foods existed. And they don't. Right? At least that's what I'm telling myself.

Too much reality

Dear self:

You are not going to solve all the issues facing you tonight.

Yes, there is a lot on your plate. That stopped being funny a while ago, didn't it? But you are an intelligent, hardworking, capable person. You will finish your thesis, you will get a job, and you will move to D.C. You will get to see Jim next week. You will have a wonderful Christmas with your family. About that - your weight will not balloon. It hasn't these past few weeks, has it? You're fine.

One thing at a time. Remember everyone you have in your corner. Remember everything you've gained and all you have to offer. People like you because you are worth liking.

Now go enjoy some wine and cheese with your sisters. And watch a movie.

Evangelized

I'd guess the man was in his seventies. He was looking over the Kitchenaid mixers when I asked how he was doing today.

"Fine, just fine. Do you know Jesus?"

Blink. "Not personally." Honestly, I didn't mean to be such a smartass. I blame my parents.

"You know, you really should. Christmas is coming! Bless you, miss," he said.

That time I managed to swallow the sass ("Is he on Facebook yet?"). But it didn't end there. Thirty minutes later the man returns, creeping up on me and making me jump.

"I was walking through the mall and kept thinking I had something to give you. I looked all over and then God told me to put my hand in my left pocket and there it was!" He presented a business card that read "JESUS: He is coming to take me to Heaven. I want YOU to come with me!"

What could I do? I smiled and said thank you. Four years ago this would have driven me nuts. At that point I was very much The Heretic among my fellow Sunday school students. The instructors would make a statement about something controversial and then directly ask me, "Lisa, what do you think?" I grew pretty damn hostile as a result.

Though I'm still a smartass, I've mellowed a bit. The petition at church yesterday was different - it was mean-spirited and exclusionary. The man was doing something that he felt would truly benefit me. At one point I might have been immature enough to make fun of him; and sure, it could be construed as arrogant and assuming. But I think he really wanted me to find whatever happiness he had, and even if I disagree, I can't mock him for that.

Siblings!

My big sister is home! I'm quite excited. Last night we yakked over the Woodchuck ciders I bought as a treat (she and I both love them). She's not feeling great at the moment, but hopefully she'll rally and we can play Scrabble later tonight.

My younger sisters continue to amaze me. Not just for the length of time they spend in the bathroom, but for the interesting people they're becoming. It's so strange to look at them and realize they're seventeen - I remember pretty vividly what my life was like at that age. Some mornings I wake up and still think I'm sixteen or seventeen. I'm doing my damndest to tell them that they're amazing; even though I think they have fewer self-esteem issues than I did at that age, it's still something they need to hear. Jim has a seventeen-year-old sister who's pretty cool herself. Hmm, I wonder if our families are ever going to meet, and if so, if they're going to get along. Jim's family has always been so warm to me. My own family is pretty warm as well, so I think it'd be okay.

My brother is home as well. Joe's a year younger than me, and he amazes me, too. After I moved to OU, he seemed to grow up in an eyeblink. He's more mature and put-together than I am, plus his business education is somewhat (okay, hugely) more practical than mine. Of all five of us, my parents are probably counting on him the most. And he's so fun to talk to.

Frustrating as home can be, I'm so grateful to have these people around.

Snippets

1. My first customer of the day: "Your hands are orange."

2. Me: "Hi, how are you doing?"
Male customer #s 4, 9, 10, 13, 23, 24, 25, 31, 40, 42 ... "Just fine how are you."
My breasts: Um, she's up a little bit.

3. Female customer: "I got this shopping pass in the mail that's good from the 14th through the 16th. I bought these items on the 11th. Can I get the discount now?"
Me: "Um, no."

4. Male customer: "blah blah blah, I just bought a house with an annuity, blah blah blah Freddie Mac blah blah, don't have to worry about that blah blah, I have a double fireplace blah blah blaaaaahhhh."
Me: Blink. Blink. Nod. Blink. Nod.
Co-worker: (after customer has left): "It's like you're wearing a sign."

Cookies that calm

Today I got all het up by something at Mass. This happens - I only go because it means a lot to my mother. For those of you who haven't experienced a Catholic Mass, there's a bit where a lector, the priest or a deacon reads petitions. These are big-ticket prayers, like for leaders of the church, world peace, etc. The prayer is read, and then the congregation responds, "Lord, hear our prayer."

At the parish here, the petitions come from a variety of sources - the archdiocese, the staff, and sometimes parishioners. So I don't know who came up with this gem:

"That we strive to remember Christ not be concerned about political correctness and resort to trite replacements like 'happy holidays."

I was thoroughly peeved. When I say "happy holidays," I mean it. I don't give a damn what you do this month - unwrap presents, light candles, roast a goat, or dance naked around a pine tree. It's not that I'm worried about offending someone, necessarily; I just like to be inclusive. If someone beats me to it and says "Merry Christmas," I say "thank you." Mom said that the church has a vested interest in promoting Christmas, and I suppose they do. She also said that the majority of people that purchase toasters from me have trees in their living rooms, not menorahs. That's probably true, but it's not the point. Don't assume someone who says "Happy Holidays" does so because they're soldiers in the imaginary war on Christmas.

But then I had the most wonderful afternoon baking cookies with my family. Sure, they were Christmas cookies; again, that's not the point. I got to spend time with wonderful people and managed to eat myself silly with cookies - and I didn't keep track. For the first time this month, I actually felt happy about the holidays. So now I'll be able to say it with even greater sincerity.

A request

To all recording artists:

If you are considering making a holiday album, I beg you to make that decision very carefully. I understand that Christmas and Hannukah tunes are rich in memory and emotion. I understand that "O Holy Night" shows off your chops like nothing else. But please, please remember that someday, millions of retail employees will be forced to listen to your songs, along with other dismal covers by aging pop stars, for eight hours a day, five days a week (at least). Please think of them and their ragged sanity.

If you must proceed with this endeavor, then please believe me when I say that the world does not need another version of "The Little Drummer Boy." I don't care how jaunty or jazzy you try to make it. That song is done.

I'm thinking it's a no

The more I think about it, the less I feel like I have a chance at Teach for America. It comes down to the personal interview. The woman asked me what would be the deal-breaker after I had started teaching - what thing or event would make me quit. I told her that if my work was ruining the relationships that mean the most to me, that I would quit. It would be an awful, wrenching decision, but I'm not willing to destroy the things that make me most happy. I don't know if I would be a decent teacher if I were miserable, and I would resent the experience if it made me that way.

Plus, I think the whole D.C.-or-bust thing will count against me. Something like 97% of applicants get placed in one of their highly preferred regions, but most applicants have more than one such region. I like the city and there are people (one in particular) there who make me very happy.

At least things with my thesis have turned around. Now only if this Christmas-muzak-induced headache will go away, it'll all be gravy.

Well that's done

The interview is behind me. The morning session went fine, actually - I volunteered to teach my lesson first, just to have it done. I'm really glad I didn't choose to teach the difference between a simile and a metaphor, because another girl covered that. If I try to be objective, I think mine was one of the better lessons. I spoke too quickly, but that always happens.

The group activity was awkward, because all of us were concerned with how we presented ourselves - no one wanted to seem too pushy or too quiet. The individual problem-solving "quiz" was okay.

The final personal interview was the hardest part. I think she (my interviewer) was frustrated by the lack of internet access, which kept her from seeing my resume. For whatever reason, we just never seemed to connect. I felt like everything I said was just hanging there, dangling with all its blunderousness on display.

So who knows. I'm not going to obsess over it, and I'm going to work on other applications while I'm home. I'll know by January 20th if TFA worked out.

Diversion

I can't resist a good meme. And lord knows I need to stop obsessing about thesis/interview/impending adulthood. This one is via a certain free human being.

3 things I was doing 10 years ago (I was 12):
1. Getting up ridiculously early to make the school bus, which arrived promptly at 6:30 A.M.
2. Attaining record levels of social awkwardness.
3. Entering a blessedly brief love affair with silver glitter eyeshadow.

3 things on my to-do list today:
1. Go to work.
2. Call professor to have mini-freakout.
3. Work out.

3 things I love about my [boyfriend]:
1. He challenges me.
2. We have amazing conversations. They can be amazingly deep or amazingly absurd.
3. I can only pick three things? He’s helped us stay sane and together through our now almost-six-months of long-distancing.

3 jobs I have had:
1. Cake decorator and deli clerk.
2. Research assistant.
3. Sears sales associate (small appliances).

3 movies I have seen more than once:
1. The three original Star Wars
2. The Last of the Mohicans
3. Garden State. You know you did too.

3 places I have lived:
1. Pleasant Ridge, Ohio
2. Athens, Ohio
3. Bethel, Ohio

3 places I have visited:
1. Boulder, Colorado
2. Cocoa Beach, Florida
3. Washington, D.C.

3 T.V. shows I watch:
1. The Office
2. 30 Rock
3. Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmern

3 things you may not know about me:
1. I’m much less vain about my hair since I cut it.
2. I cannot stand olives. I try them periodically, but I just can’t make myself like them.
3. I answer to Lisa, Little Howie, and Lele .

Doubts and worries

Sometimes when I talk to Jim about something that's on my mind I wind up more confused than before. Our conversation last night made me realize there's a lot of thinking I need to do before I decide what to do after I graduate.

Before the TFA thing presented itself, I was planning to work for a non-profit for a few years, then go back to school at some point to get an MA or an MPH. That's still a viable option. With TFA, if I make it in and turn out to a) enjoy teaching and b) be a good teacher, I can get my MA through the program and continue on. If I don't like teaching, the experience still is a gold star on my resume. I don't know if it'll necessarily help me get a job in non-profits, except maybe education-related ones.

I don't know. Both of those routes sound like something that could be good for me. I want two things out of my career: 1) to be able to help people and 2) to be happy doing it. Of course, there are a million ways to help people and a thousand things that go into making me happy. I want to live in D.C. with Jim and keep growing this relationship we've got. I want to be able to have some time to indulge my hobbies (earring-making, reading, going out, watching Lifetime movies with wine and cheese and Jim). I'd like to work with like-minded people. I need a decent salary and benefits, especially since living in D.C. is hella more expensive than living in BUFU Ohio.

At the moment, though, my current employment calls. I will think on this hard for the next couple of days.



PS - the interview is tomorrow.

Yesterday and Today

Yesterday was exactly what I needed. Surprisingly, I get my weekends off - I work early on weekdays, and the little high-school scrats work weekends and evenings. Because of this at-times-frustrating situation, I was able to go shopping with my mom, my cousin, and three of my mother's sisters. We started off with breakfast at Bob Evans, which meant a ginormous bowl of oatmeal for me. It carried me through a good four hours of shopping, during which I was quite virtuous and spent mostly for others (and a little for myself).

I can't get over how fortunate I am to be so close to my family, both physically and relationally. It's not that we can't have a good knock-down fight now and again, but such events are pretty rare. They're such good-hearted people. I'm only bummed that my sisters weren't able to go - I know Kathy would love Whole Foods and they'd both love Anthropologie (even if the prices might cause an infarction).

And the cherry on top? I got my hair cut today. I will not be a shaggy puppy at my TFA interview. I will be poised, self-confident, and ballsy. But nicely so.

Frustration

I just wrote a very whiny, self-pitying post and deleted it. I hate that in the middle of so many wonderful things - my family, the holidays - I dwell on negatives. I'm losing sleep over my thesis. I'm so worried about my Teach for America interview. Even now that I'm back on my meds I dig myself into these anxiety-holes and that's all I can see.

I could be in DC right now, sitting at a "banquet" at Medieval Times in celebration of a friend's birthday and Ph.D. I could be drinking a flagon of mead and cheering jousters. I could be sitting next to Jim. Instead I'm snowed in at home - on my day off. The last indignity? I couldn't even get my hair cut today.

Still there

I haven't been posting much about my anorexia. I'm not sure why, because parts of it still feature very strongly in my daily life. There are definitely still "safe" and "unsafe" foods. There were fat-free brownies sitting around my house for three days and I didn't have a single one. Chips, fries, cake - nope. Mom remarked how much I like to eat on a schedule, which is true. But there are quite a few more foods I consider "safe" now. I'm more flexible with my lunches - I kind of have to be. My oatmeal breakfasts are an inexact science, as I don't precisely measure the things I add (cranberry sauce, peanut butter, etc). I'll have one or two crackers while I'm making dinner. I'm just looser about things.

That's translated to some changes in my body. I'm not imagining it; I'm definitely bigger now. The boobs are back, a little bit of butt. I can't feel as many bones as I once could. I never was an hourglass shape before anorexia, and when I was too thin I looked like a bisected rectangle. Now I'm just a rectangle - again. My face isn't gaunt. Some of these things are good. Some are not - I cannot stand my stomach. It's not concave anymore, true, but it's not flat or washboard. It bothers me. I still, still, still catch myself comparing myself to others. I'm doing so much better on the outside, but my head is still a mess sometimes.

So I don't know.

Recognition and the joys of oatmeal

So yesterday one person did recognize me - in the hesistant, "is that you?" way. But at least it's evidence that I haven't completely changed my face.

Many other bloggers have posted about the wonders of oatmeal, but I feel the need to add to them. Oatmeal is saving my butt now that I'm on my feet all day. There's no way my former breakfast of energy bar+fruit would be able to carry me from 8:30 to 1:00, but oatmeal+fruit+peanut butter does. Stove-top oatmeal is miles better than microwave pouches, too. And I love it because Jim was the first one to really cook it for me. On our last weekend, we pretty much slept until noon and then ate a giant pot of oatmeal for lunch.

More about body image

Just when I thought I knew what I look like ... apparently I don't. Since I started work at Sears, I've seen four people with whom I went to high school. Each one of them has looked me straight in the face and not recognized me. I wear a nametag, people. I know it's been some time since we've seen each other, but I recognize them without any trouble. Does losing 50 pounds and gaining back 20 change the whole shape of your face? I guess it's possible. My hair is dramatically shorter, too. But what about Facebook, people? There are a few pictures of new-haired me floating in the ether.

Then again, it's not like I want to dwell too much on high school. At least I know I'll amaze everyone at the reunion ... or just confuse the hell out of them.

Speaking of hair: he's baaaaacccckk!

Discouraged

I'm trying as goddamn hard as I can to be grateful for my job, boring as it is. I'm trying so hard to make things work for my thesis and it is just. Not. Happening. It's the one thing I need to do to graduate and it just isn't coming together, and I don't know what to do.

At least I can sell a fucking coffeemaker.

Squash Story

I cooked a spaghetti squash tonight after being inspired by Kath Eats Real Food. The instructions she lists are really as easy as they seem, and the outcome is delicious. It's fun to scrape out the strings, too.

But there's more - and more evidence that food is more than just fuel. When I brought the squash home, Dad said he remembered having that as a kid. Tonight, he topped some squash with some jarred pasta sauce, took a bite, and looked at me. "Lisa, I haven't had this since my dad was alive." Now, my dad is not the most emotionally open person you'll meet; "gruff" is a good word to describe him. The way he said that made me pause - I could tell he enjoyed the squash for more than the taste. I felt really good about that.

Boredom is draining

You get a rush every so often, but for the most part retail is boring as hell. I'm not used to just standing around at work. At Kroger, there's always someone at the deli counter, always markdowns to be done. As my boss was fond of saying, "if you've got time to lean, you've got time to clean." At Sears it's just ... stand around. I would walk through my department making an idiot of myself, saying hello and how are you and can I help you, because I was so goddamn bored. Besides me, there are three boys in my department: two seventeen-year-olds and a sixteen-year-old. The sixteen-year-old is all right, but good lord. I forgot what an alien breed teenage boys are.

I hope I'll have more energy when I get used to the schedule. In the meantime there's a tree to decorate.

Did you find everything you were looking for?

That's a somewhat existential question for a cashier to ask.

Aside from the early start, work wasn't so bad today. Only two people swore at me. The fellow who worked with me for most of the morning said I was doing "really really great." The vast majority of the people that I rang up were indifferent or actually in good spirits.

After the shift, I was tired and more than a little peevish ... and then I got to have lunch with my sister and two of our dearest friends. All I had was salad and chicken noodle soup, but it really hit the spot. Getting to see two wonderful people helped my mood as well. I bought some cheapo and rather ugly jewelry to de- and re-construct. I've been inspired by a fellow blogger to expand beyond the pog earrings.

Recappage

I felt kind of sick most of today. I ate more than normal, of course, but this wasn't the regular oh-I-ate-a-lot full feeling; it was pain. The food was great - I mean, my grandmother's stuffing really can't be topped - but I think that whole gastric-slowing issue kicked in again. For readers who might not be as familiar with the effects of anorexia: when your body is in starvation mode, it grabs on to any food it gets and doesn't let it ... out. Yet another reason why recovery is so hard.

There were plenty of good things about today - I should focus on those, and not on the leaden-stomach feeling. Animals were a surprisingly significant portion of the conversation. After dinner, we played trivia games - with a buzzer set. My family is such a funny, interesting, and exceedingly good-hearted bunch of people.

My job is among the many things for which I'm thankful. But ... 5 AM? Really? The good thing is I'll be out of there by 1-ish, so I'll have some day to myself.

Heavy

I feel heavy. My feet, my head, my legs, my arms. And especially my belly. I'm trying so, so hard to get those thoughts out of my head, but I just can't seem to shake them.

I also need to get some motivation and do some of the mountains of work that need doing. If I can't do thesis work at the moment, I can at least work on a final draft of my summer paper. Or that lesson thing.

My sisters are watching one of those wedding shows. I seriously do NOT want a big fancy wedding, whenever that time comes. Walking down the aisle was not something I fantasized about as a kid. Simplicity is the keyword. I want an inexpensive dress that makes me feel pretty, I want my family and close friends there, and I want to have a fun, easygoing reception with a quality open bar and good food. Actually, I'd be okay with eloping, except my mother would be really hurt. I don't want a diamond (unless it's one of those nifty lab-created ones). I do not want a dress that costs more than my classes, I do not want an elaborate sit-down dinner with organic truffle-stuffed figs (my sister is a picky eater), I do not want out-of-season orchids from the mountains of Indonesia. I just want people (including me) to have a good time.

Gee, thanks, WebMD! Part Deux

Kids, this article is a trigger. Just so you know.

This month's helpful holiday hints: "You Gonna Eat That?" Or, How to be an Exercise Bulimic in Time for the Holidays.

Though I guess I'm being a tad hypocritical. I'm not sorry I relaxed and ate what I wanted, but there's almost always anxiety afterward. Jim told me, explicitly, that I look good. I can't even explain how much that means, because he's seen me through a good portion of my recovery. But try as I might, I can't stop the sneaky thoughts, the fears. I'm literally afraid to weigh myself - even though I know, I fucking fucking know, that it's just a fucking number. Food journal? Considering it.

Come on. I'm happier now, there's so much that I can do that I couldn't do while I was restricting (like think clearly and understand jokes). This damn tug-of-war is getting old.

Education

To Every Teacher I've Maligned:

I'm sorry. Your job is hella hard.

Okay, I know what I'm doing at the interview isn't really teaching. If I get into Teach for America, I'll have a subject, a grade level, curricula and learning objectives. I'll have stuff to work with (with which to work - forgive me, I'm thinking about grammar lessons). With this assignment, I can do anything I want, for any grade level. It's too much: the First Amendment or the difference between a simile and a metaphor? Subject and predicate agreement, writing concisely or the 1970s oil embargo?

Part of the problem is that I haven't done this in a long time. College classes were such a wonderful change from what I knew - I didn't have to ask before I went to the bathroom! No one was going to give me detention for gum or a travel mug! Now I have to go back to all those memories and try to dig out the good lessons, the ones that stuck and made sense. Oi.

Don't call on me, don't call on me, don't call on me ...

Yep, back in the real world. I have a face-to-face interview with Teach for America - it's December 11 at UC. I have to read a bunch of articles, dress up pretty (read, "conservative suit"), appear intelligent, and oh, yeah, make up a five minute lesson. And then teach it.

That thud you just heard was the reality check heard round the world. What the flying fuck was I thinking when I applied for this? Sometimes I can't coherently create a sentence - how can I teach a child?

At the same time, it's kind of neat. I can teach anything I want, as long as it's capable of being understood within five minutes. I could talk about a poem (not T.S. Eliot, unfortunately). I could talk about a little-known-but-important historical event. Ooh, grammar! People have said that, in my writing, I'm good at taking complicated concepts and making them easier to understand. And I can bring any kinds of materials I want.

So. Within the next three weeks, here are things I need to do:
1. Prepare for interview.
2. Finish "final draft" of my paper from this summer. My mentor told me I was "pretty much done" when the internship ended this summer, so it just needs a final re-drafting. I shouldn't worry. But I do.
3. Re-ignite thesis progress. Everything was going well, and then it all just ... dried up. Ughhghg, thinking about that makes me regret that second helping of soup.
4. Get in touch with my internship director and work out exactly what I'll be doing.

C'mon, Lisa. Make it fucking work.

Sleepless

My goodness, what a weekend I have had. Just ... two months is a very long time to go without seeing someone you love. I'm so glad I got to visit - I needed this.

Tomorrow morning I have to rejoin the real world. And I can't sleep.

D.C.

Going to see Jim today! I have icky pre-flight jitters - not about the actual in-the-air portion, but about getting my boarding pass, going through security, successfully boarding the MARC train at BWI, not losing my bags or my head, etc. However, Jim told me his fireplace is now functional (whether he has a couch yet I still don't know), and there's nothing my cold feet love more than a crackling fire.

Maybe I will make roasted veggie soup for us. I am inordinately proud of myself for that.

In the kitchen

I actually made something that involved more than steaming vegetables and adding jarred pasta sauce! Last winter Jim and I made roasted vegetable soup for my sister and our friends, and I thought I'd give it a try tonight. I cut up carrots, parsnips, radishes, a little onion, half a squash, and half a red pepper, tossed them in a little olive oil and some spicy seasoning blend, then stuck them in the oven. It was a little haphazard - I guessed and set the oven at 425 degrees, and the veggies took about an hour to get soft. Then I blended them with some chicken broth and reheated everything.

It was so good! Even my parents liked it - Mom said she never would have tried something like that. I'm pretty proud, if I do say so myself. I had seconds.

Yearbooks again

After looking through old yearbooks yesterday, I wondered what had happened to the ones I was actually in. I found my senior yearbook stuffed in the corner of one of our overflowing bookshelves and paged through it. Volleyball, Drama Club, Academic Team (proud captain and Nerd Extraordinaire), the newspaper - you know, it wasn't all terrible. I'm not saying I want to go back, but there were friendships I had there that I'll always treasure. And hey, how many people can say they wore a fur suit in front of the entire student body?

Once I got over the initial nostalgia, though, I came a slightly uncomfortable realization.

I was not fat. Not. Fat.

My parents were right. My English teacher was right, my math teacher was right, the administrative assistant was right. My ex was right. There was not a damn thing wrong with the way I looked. Why had I hated every picture of me? I have a great smile! Four years of orthodontia was money well spent.

I can't go back and keep myself from developing anorexia. It happened, it's still something I struggle with. But damnit, we have got to stop making weight and our bodies a moral issue. Not everybody goes clinical, I know. But enough shit happens in high school without that additional stressor.

Home again

Whew, what a day. I haven't really stopped moving since 9:30, when I turned in my paper. Then I drove home, scarfed lunch, did some quick thesis communication, and went back to the mall for another interview. Ta-da - I got hired! I'll be cashiering in the small appliances section at Sears. So if you're in the market for a stand mixer or a microwave, I'm your girl.

Tomorrow is a free day. My sisters don't have school, so we might do something together. I'll have plenty of time to pack up for Thursday.

In other news, my mom picked up some old yearbooks from the Bethel Historical Society. They're fascinating. This year's book with be the 125th one ever issued! Mom used to complain that she had to put her number on her "jersey" with masking tape, but she never had to wear bloomers like the class of 1923.

She also brought home the school's copy of the 1998-1999 book. Let me just say that I'm so, so glad I'm no longer in high school. Those four years are good for no one.

Weathering

I'm all a-jumble today:

1. The quarter is just about over. My only sit-down final was at noon, and tomorrow I have to turn in a paper that just needs a conclusion and some editing. Then I zoom back home for another job interview.

2. I'm finally making progress with my thesis. I can't write much more than that, but suffice it to say that "thesis" actually means "big hairy awful life-eating project."

3. At my grandparents' on Sunday, my new healthier/happier self was briefly discussed. And it didn't freak me out, because they know me, it was part of a larger conversation and dangit, they're right. I do look better.

All right, time to get writing.

Recap

Well, the day certainly didn't begin promisingly. After driving through cold rain to get to my first interview, I was informed that the online system often didn't fully process applications. As a result, there was no one there to conduct my interview. Before I could stop myself I blurted "Are you serious?" like the 14-year-old I am on the inside. I came all the way home this weekend to interview, and this is what happens? I quickly apologized and explained, and the woman I spoke with got me rescheduled for next week.

I made my way to a certain holiday kiosk. I'd spoken with a manager and received an email about open interviews today. The employee I spoke with looked at me like I was from Mars - apparently the email had been sent out by mistake. What's worse - I'd missed the manager by about ten minutes. She gave me his cell number, but said she wasn't sure if he could make it back.

I contemplated chucking it all and going home, but damned if I was leaving without a fair shake. Once I called the guy, my luck started to turn around. He came back and our interview went well - I made him chuckle a few times, and it seemed genuine. I'll know if I have the job in a couple of days. While I was at the mall, I filled out an application for a children's clothing retailer. They're having open interviews on Wednesday.

I made it home and worked on my paper until dinner, then waited anxiously for my Teach for America interview. It went pretty well, I think. My interviewer said that as she typed in my responses, the numbers coming back were "excellent." She said "excellent" a lot, actually; I think it was a verbal tic with her.

So now I just ... wait. But I have next weekend and a trip to D.C. to look forward to. It's been almost two months since I've seen Jim.

Is our children learning?

Yesterday I found out I made it through the first round of applicants for Teach for America. My phone interview is tomorrow night at 8:30.

Honestly, I didn't think I'd make it through. The program is selective and a lot of the applicants come from Ivies. I don't know if my essay and personal statement were all that good. I'd waffled for a while about whether or not to apply, and I wound up submitting the morning of the deadline.

I'm trying to think like an economist (thanks, Jim). There are benefits: I'll have a job with health insurance. I'll get to work with students directly. I'm convinced that good schools positively impact the surrounding community. It's like my work with Zienzele - it's not going to fix the system, but it could help the person who will.

There are costs, too, but they don't seem as tangible. Like it or not, I will be a young, white, privileged college graduate traipsing into a situation I neither know nor understand. No wonder there are reports of resentment among existing faculty. I don't want to be Princess Whitey rescuing poor brown children. After two years, I'm out of there - on to bigger and better things. Is there something wrong with that? And would my talents be put to better use trying to fix the system?

Okay, so that last bit was more anthropologist than economist. I'll keep thinking about it, and tomorrow I'll try to bring it up with my interviewer.

Work

This quarter I've been working with a professor in the College of Health and Human Services on something called the Healthy Schools Project. I named it, actually - it was just an amorphous thing we inherited from another prof . Our goal is to help local schools coordinate foodservice staff, parents, administrators, and students in order to improve the nutritional content of school lunches.

This has, at times, made me uncomfortable. Apparently the childhood obesity epidemic is the scariest thing since nuclear winter. Unfortunately, a lot of the literature I've read is along the lines of "OMG the kids are fatties here give them celery all better." I'm exaggerating a little, but the effect is similar. I agree that some cafeteria foods are crap. The so-called "pizza boat" that was available in my high school consisted of a giant slice of greasy pizza and a large sack of fries. Most people ate this with a packet of ranch dressing. They weren't obese or even overweight (most of my friends were slender), but that ain't good for anybody's arteries.

Unfortunately, the nutrition literature sometimes skims over the link between poverty and obesity. Foodservice and management writers get it - schools without much tax or state revenue sell "competitive foods" - the pizza, the Doritos, the Little Debbies. There's lots of other things mixed in, too - competitive foods have higher prestige, they're quicker to eat, they taste familiar and good. So the problem isn't necessarily going to be solved by cutting competitive foods and force-feeding kids celery sticks.

One project we're working on is posting nutritional information in cafeteria lines. I'm ... I'm not sure how I feel about this. There's the infamous NYC law that's caused a flurry all across the blogosphere. On the one hand, information is important. On the other hand, calories aren't everything (I tell myself that every day). I spoke up at a meeting last week and said I feel uncomfortable posting straight calorie counts. I don't think elementary and middle schoolers understand how to work that into a daily dietary plan - if kids are even thinking about that at all. Post information about fiber content, calcium, vitamins and minerals. Help kids choose foods that are going to nourish them - even if they have more calories! An eleven-year-old is going to do better with a turkey sandwich with cheese, tomato, lettuce, and mustard on whole wheat - which has protein, fiber, calcium, fat, and vitamins - than a side salad that might have fewer calories, but doesn't have all the other good stuff.

And I'm really trying not to let all this be a trigger.

Bustin out all over

Recovery from anorexia is a lot like puberty. You're moody, you fight with your parents, and your body starts doing bewilderingly strange things. Like this morning, when I stepped out of the shower, looked down ... and my chest just seemed to announce itself. We're BAA-AAACK, my bosom said. And, like when I was fourteen and this happened for the first time, I felt happy and scared and weird all at once. But I wasn't imagining it. There's definitely more jiggle there than there used to be.

And sure, it makes me nervous. I was never really comfortable with my body before I developed anorexia, and I was eighteen. It must be even harder for people who developed ED at thirteen or fourteen. My body was this strange, uncooperative thing that bulged in all the wrong places. It wasn’t - I wasn't - small enough to tuck myself next to a boy, or huddle with a group of girls under a blanket at a football game. I was clumsy, both physically and socially. I still trip over myself frequently, but I feel much more at ease with people. And usually social grace trumps physical grace. And hopefully I'll be able to learn how to manage these ta-tas. This time around, I'm much more sure of who I am.

Monday - here we go

Wash your hands, but try not to create superbugs while you're at it.

"Census of Marine Life" is a neat as it sounds.

WANT WANT WANT

Facebook: not just for posting party pictures anymore.

And note to self - clothing purchased while underweight doesn't usually fit once a healthy weight is attained. HEALTHY weight, Lisa. Remember, you can give blood now. You can get new clothes (or Goodwill clothes).

Game Plan

Monday

• Prep for survey distribution
• Turn in thesis prospectus
• 12:00 PM - group meeting and presentation run-through
• 1:00 PM - Presentation 1
• 3:00 PM - Presentation 2
• More prep for survey distribution

Tuesday

• Distribute 800+ surveys to local schools. Local, out here, means 20 miles away
• Buy roommate lunch/dinner for being my chauffer
• Prepare poster for presentation 3

Thursday

• 10:00 AM: Presentation 3

Friday

• Pick up surveys
• Ride back to Bethel, collapse

Saturday

• 10:00 AM - Job interview 1 (Sears)
• ???? - Job interview 2 (Hickory Farms ... yeah, I'm going to sell sausage all Christmas)

Other things I hope to accomplish: exercise, meet with Zienzele point person, do thesis work, find out if I qualify for a Teach for America interview, write final for Anthro, study for Epi final, fix computer. No sweat.