Monday, January 27, 2003


What is it with dieting that is so damn hard? I have these moments where I feel incredibly determined, and I'll think, I know how to do this, I've done this a thousand times. I even remember enjoying eating healthy food and exercising, noticing that I had more energy, that when I didn't eat so much sugar I didn't crave it as much, and that I felt more sexy and attractive when I knew I'd lost a few more pounds. If that felt so good, then how the hell could eating that danish/pile of potato chips/fries/second helping of whatever-the-fuck feel better than that?

Temporarily, yeah, that cherry center of the danish is the best thing in the world, a small consolation prize for the crappy day/moment/memory/paranoid vision of the future etc. etc. that I was stuffing down with the last bit of icing-covered baked goodness. But, and this is a big butt, it is such a cliche that it's almost embarrassing to type, but the shame that follows eating crap (I backed that word out and then put it back in, because it's significant - it's not crap, it tastes great, so why call it crap?), well anyway, the shame is not worth the moment of pleasure from the taste. It's not the stomach being filled, but the giant gaping maw of insecurity, the black hole of the psyche, begging for food. But a danish isn't going to do it. As a matter of fact, it's probably just scraping the sides as it goes down, making the hole bigger.

Great. So I know this intellectually. Big deal. None of this chat is getting me to the exercise class, or making me change my patterns. I'll start off the day thinking, okay, today I'm going to eat healthy. It's not that hard, I know what to do. But if I don't eat some kind of crap with my coffee that very morning, I'm bound to eat some kind of crap for lunch, immediately sabotaging my own plan. The compulsion to eat unhealthily is stronger than a seagull's compulsion to poop on your newly washed car. fries. Dammit.

Thursday, January 23, 2003

Hey, reunion this

There's just no way that Irene, who I last remember as a girl in my 6th grade class, with whom I discussed the prospect of getting training bras, has a son that is graduating from our high school. That is not even remotely possible, because if it is, that means I'm...(gasp). Damn, I am that old. When did this happen?

Of course, she asked me if I'd gone to our class reunion. I just couldn't bring myself to go, because all I could think about was the awful time I had when I was in that school, and I figure that the few people who I was friends with I will either bump into around town, or I'll find them on if I get really enthusiastic about it at some point. I rather deliberately ignored the plaintive requests for information about me that I got from the alumni committee, as I just can't get up any interest in going back there.

As much as I live in the past at times, I just couldn't see going and trying to be interested in these people and what their children are doing and what jobs they have and what car they drive and...blah, blah, blah. And if I'm really honest about it (yes, please), I didn't want to be scrutinized by any of these clowns. I remember all too well feeling crushed under the scrutiny of these people as a teenager, not fitting in, all the usual outsider teenage angst feelings, and I must admit that I would not relish the opportunity to open the floodgates of a thousand petty indignities suffered during those years. I have enough to deal with in therapy as it is.

Tuesday, January 21, 2003

First Post (gulp)

I have no idea what I'm doing here, posting a journal online. It's just that over the past year, I've found myself compulsively drawn to reading blogs, and feeling like it was something that I wanted to try. This post is really just a test to see what this ends up looking like and it may just end up that no one ever sees this page. On the other hand, much greater things have had far humbler beginnings, so here we go...

This site is certified 38% EVIL by the Gematriculator