It’s ending! AUGH!
I feel weird!
It’s ending! AUGH!
I feel weird!
This month’s workout calendar is as follows:
This is not great. Especially on the yoga. Jeez, I haven’t practiced yoga in ages. Awful. Can’t do that anymore.
Not a huge loss this month (which is not surprising considering the above data) but enough to be pleased and to drop my BFP a bit more!
So I caved and texted Mr. FG (short for First Guy I’ve Liked in a While), and two hours later he responded cheerfully, and I feel better. For now. If the last several weeks are any indication, the pattern goes as follows: we connect, my nerves abate and then rear back up as time goes by and I either text him or he texts me. This is wholly exhausting.
But, as was lovingly pointed out to me by the incomparable Hiking to Healthy, testing people is a sure sign that I’ll continually be disappointed. So I’m done with this B.S. If I want to hear from Mr. FG, I’m going to reach out. That’s that. No more seeing if he realizes that I do all the texting. What a waste of time that is.
Dating — or rather, feeling things with my figurative heart muscle — has been an uncomfortable adventure these past couple of years, and I’m still not used to it.
I know this isn’t a dating blog, and I have no intention of turning it into one. But I can’t help writing about what I’m going through. That’s actually the point of this blog. I don’t promote it. I don’t advertize on it. I don’t network with other bloggers (unless you count silently lurking on other people’s blogs “networking”). I don’t write interesting articles for the public to enjoy. I don’t try to be funny or have a personality. I get 20 hits a day. Considering there are 7 billion people in the world, it’s safe to claim that statistically no one reads this blog, anyway.
All this blog ever was and will be is a place for me to relatively anonymously pour my emotional guts out. It has been vital to my weight loss and health process. I’m not exaggerating when I say that I wouldn’t have had the success I’ve experienced if it weren’t for this blog, and for the connections I’ve made to the few of you who do stop by on a regular basis. Honestly. Getting it out here, being the neurotic freak show I am here kept helped me manage my emotions in real life, and has certainly helped me not binge, not crash, and not forget myself. Or at least not do that too much.
All that said, I will probably still write (occasionally) about dating. Why? Because it’s the next step in this lovely project. For a long time, I was more or less a shut-in. I had a tiny social life. My life was food and disorder and depression. And then I went back to therapy, and after a year of that, I finally got the courage and the umph to get back into weight loss, and after a year of that, I finally started dating again, and after a year and a half of that, I finally got to a point where I could take the dating seriously. It took all that time for my heart to open up. And it’s scary and weird, but it’s the thing that’s happening. I am honestly terrified that even talking about it now will jinx it somehow, but the smarter, wiser, better part of me understands that if Mr. FG disappears or dumps me, the real point is that I’m feeling things again. I’m feeling infatuation and romantic things and wow, is that uncomfortable and demanding of all my attention and energy, but I also think it’s worth it. Because he could be worth it. Or if not him, then the next guy I feel this way about.
That’s really the point. Not specifically Mr. FG. I now know I can feel these things. Honestly, for a long time, I secretly feared I couldn’t. For so long, for years, my heart (figuratively) was a dead thing, and now I know it’s alive. And that opens me up to all the things that romance and relationships bring: happiness, joy, peace, security, heartbreak, agony, insecurity, the worst pain you can ever feel. That is so scary. Do you see why I’m scared?
So. That said, I’ll try to stick to the weight loss. And the health and stuff. But just so you know, there’s more to my story than that. Weight loss is like a curtain opening. The play is just beginning, so to speak.
I’m a bundle of nerves today. I’m mopey and sad and trying to cry since I think it’ll make me feel better, but I can’t for some reason, despite various sad songs to trigger it. I am coughing, though. And spluttering. And my appetite is completely gone.
All this because I realized that I’m more often the one who texts him than the other way around and because I wanted to see how long it would take for him to figure that out. We haven’t been in touch since Tuesday. This is a game I’m going to lose.
I hate everything about dating, especially the needy, insecure girl I become when I seem to like someone.
This week’s result: 158.0 lbs
Loss/Gain: -2.0 lbs
Overall Loss/Gain: 102.6 lbs
I don’t fully get this loss. Probably next week I’ll spike back up. But there you have it.
Today marks the third Thanksgiving of the lovely project.
I’ll be spending the afternoon and evening at my parents’ house with the five other family members left in America. (Most of my family lives abroad.) My dad is cooking, which means everything will have butter in it. I’m planning on bringing my holiday favorite film, Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, for us all to watch in our post-turkey delirium. I’m also in charge of dessert this year, which I’ve outsourced to the extraordinary Urth Caffe: we’ll be enjoying a fresh and very flavorful pumpkin pie this evening thanks to them. I’m sure there will be wine. Likely there will also be a cheese course because we’re French, and no meal ever feels completely done without a cheese course.
It will be delicious and indulgent and I’m certain I’ll go over on points, and that’s fine. Because I’m also certain that I won’t go too much over on those points, and I certainly won’t eat until I’m uncomfortable. I’ll likely enjoy some turkey and gravy, my aunt’s green beans, and a sliver of pie. Everything else will be a spoonful or two, just a taste to make it “feel” Thanksgiving-y, and since I don’t have any kind of emotional relationship with mashed potatoes, candied yams, or stuffing, it won’t be a tragedy to take a couple bites and then stop. I’m drinking wine, of course, but again, just enough to make things rosy. I don’t want to feel like crap and have a bad night’s sleep, and I want to be functional tomorrow, so I’m going to take care of myself today.
Honestly, what I’m really looking forward to today is hanging out with my family, connecting with my friends via phone throughout the day to wish them a happy holiday, laughing over my favorite jokes in Planes, Trains and Automobiles, and debuting my new plaid dress with the open back that I’m so tremendously excited about. The food will just be there. It won’t be the point.
I can’t help but think back to the Thanksgivings of 2009 and 2010, when I was so unhealthy and miserable. I once volunteered to make this cauliflower casserole (this was 2010) and I’d left the preparation and purchasing of the ingredients for the day of (rookie mistake). I remember slogging around the city looking for the right things and being exhausted the entire time. And miserable. I remember that most vividly. Miserable because I was still so heavy, still so out of control, still not living the way I wanted to live, and having to face yet another holiday season in that state felt like torture.
It was so bad that I stopped off at a fast food joint on the way to the dinner and binged on burgers and chicken nuggets. And then a chocolate holiday Starbucks coffee drink, too.
Things have come a long way since then.
I won’t say they’re perfect. It’s not like this week didn’t include some overeating and some binge behavior (Monday, I’m looking at you). The scale will likely register the extra salt and calories. But it’s OK. I’ll get through it.
And in the meantime, I’m going to have a very happy Thanksgiving. I’m grateful for so much in my life. I’m grateful for my whole life, actually. I’m tremendously lucky. I wish you a wonderful holiday, too.
Note: I swear I won’t turn this into a dating blog. Be patient, OK?
Sometimes I think life would be so much easier, simpler, and better if Male Friend and I would just get together.
I was thinking that yesterday evening, while the pair of us were toting into his apartment our dinner (Chipotle) and a few cases of cat food for his cats (the man has two). We were talking about my car woes, and I was saying something about preferring to spend my money on doing things rather than having things, and he agreed and said something like “All I really want in life is something interesting to do for a living, good music, good food, lots of travel, and wonderful people to share it all with.”
And I thought, yes, exactly. We should get married.
I mean, we really should. In many ways (though not in certain essential ones), we’re practically a couple. That was especially true before I began dating regularly. I see him more than any other friend in L.A. I know I’m the constant fixture in his life. We have a great time together, even when that time is watching stupid TV at his apartment. We enjoy the same essentials in life, we come from similar backgrounds (expat families, double identities), we value the same things, we see eye to eye on almost everything important. We even do a lot of those mundane couple things together: shopping trips, errands. I don’t think he’s bought a single article of clothing without me to approve in two years. He’s loving, friendly, gregarious, smart, talented, handsome, and goofy. I know he loves me (as a friend). I also know him intensely well, as he knows me. We’ve seen each other through the worst of times for both of us; I know what he’s about when he’s at his darkest, worst places, and he knows what I’m about when I’m at mine. We’ve already weathered some big storms together. On top of all that, we’ve known each other for almost a decade. Who else in my life (that’s an available, handsome man) comes close to that? No one.
All of this is complicated by a few facts.
1. Male Friend remains the only man I’ve ever been in love with (even though that love morphed into platonic, friendship love several years ago).
2. I never told him that (he had a girlfriend, I was a wreck), and there’s no way I can do that now without seriously messing a lot of stuff up. And there doesn’t seem to be a point to telling him anyway, because…
3. I don’t love him that way anymore (tiny snag in this whole “we should just get married” thing).
But sometimes I think it wouldn’t be that hard to fall in love again.
I’m thinking about this a lot because of this new guy I’m dating, Mr. The First Guy I’ve Actually Liked in a While.
For a long time (a couple of years now), I would go out with a guy a couple of times, feel mildly interested, and then I’d back out of it or let things crumble, often because I was aware that the paltry jokes and mild interest paled in comparison to the feeling of companionship, connection, comfort, and love I get from Male Friend. But then I met Mr. The First Guy I’ve Actually Liked in a While, who is in many ways the opposite of Male Friend. And I actually like him.
Mr. TFGIALiaW is — well, I have no idea. I have a sneaking suspicion that some of the reason I like him is because he is somewhat emotionally unavailable (he is, but I won’t get into why I think so). I tend to be interested in men who are somewhat emotionally unavailable. I mean, the only man I’ve ever fallen in love with had a girlfriend at the time. Mr. TFGIALiaW is that beguiling mix of interesting, attractive, and distant that puts me on edge. After every date we’ve had, I wonder if I’m going to hear from him again, despite the fact that we always enjoy ourselves and I have no real reason to think that it’s not going to continue. That said, in the 7 weeks we’ve dated, we haven’t gotten much closer. I have no idea where I stand with him. This drives me nuts.
And then I spend time with easy, comfortable, good-looking, kind, soulful, I-know-him-so-achingly-well Male Friend, and I wonder what I’m doing.
(I’m also a bit emotionally tough and distant at first. I don’t open up easily. I’m sure I’m not easy to crack, either.)
All this to say I have no idea how to feel about anyone or anything.