Sunday Whining Coming Down
2004-07-18, 1:47 p.m.
Yesterday was a very busy day. I went to dance class ("wow, two times in a row?" the teacher said), picked up a bunch of beads, got more books, and got another outfit- a blue and black shirt and skirt that are poetry together. Eventually I staggered home and flopped on the couch, where I didn't do much more than figure out how to incorporate big plastic beads into my knitting. I think I'm going to put those into the front piece of it when I get that far. Sounds fun. I've got about seven inches (out of 11) done on the back, which is great.
I wasn't tired out by the end of dance yesterday, but I am in pain today. I hurt from my thighs to the back of my neck. I'm amazed I managed to do the laundry and take out the trash. And I still need to go pick up drinks for potluck hell tomorrow and possibly go look for something else at the bookstore. Oof.
I feel quite whiny today, so be forewarned.
I'm feeling very fat and bodily-ugh lately. Well, I don't feel physically off or unfit at all, but looking at the big hooters and the fat roll on my stomach just...ugh. I have no abs, I just have an inch between my boobs and my waist (hah, I just typed "waste", so Freudian) and then BLUBBER. I have fabulous, thighs, but nobody sees them because I can't seem to find anything that shows them off that doesn't show off blubbergut and/or London and France as well.
Then there's the boobs. I was reading another message board and started reading a thread about sagging boobs. I shoudln't have, because now all I do is whine, "Goddammit, mine were better a cup smaller" to myself.
Going clothes shopping helps- hey, if you dress good you feel good- but the process of trying them on sucks. I adored the pink-purple dress I got the other day, but I debated getting it at all because the fat kinda showed up. Then I remembered, "oh, that's going to show up no matter WHAT I wear, and at least it makes the Hooters of Doom look good." Then yesterday when I was shopping again, most of the tops were so sheer that all I could do was stare at my nipples. I finally found one that wasn't and matched the skirt I'd fallen in love with, but it had a "built in bra." In a size large shirt, the "built in bra" barely covered my nipples. An extra-large would have been perfect, but they were out of it in the matching color to the skirt. I got the shirt anyway.
I just feel big these days. I know there's plenty of folks out there bigger and I feel awful for whining about it, but then again, given the fat=diabetes genes in me, I do have to worry about it a LOT.
I am trying. I walk home for 25 minutes every day, then there's the 2 1/2 hours of dance class. I am going to try to start going to the weekday 2 1/2 hour class too, even though I am afraid it'll fuck me up bad for the week since I won't even get out until 10 if I'm lucky. I was thinking about taking up salsa or bellydance (salsa's offered Wednesdays after knitting gets out next month, bellydance would be Sundays), but given how fucked up I am from class today- I hurt from thighs to the back of my neck- perhaps that isn't a good idea. Even the teacher says he can't do this class more than every other day.
And yet, I feel and look the same (except for the day after class, in which it's OW). Bleah. I keep having thoughts of "God, who would find me attractive any more?", which is RIDICULOUS, I know.
And speaking of whining about THAT subject...
I got invited a few months ago onto a message board for the dis-engaged, which started out to be great fun. It's a small group of friendly chicks. However, about EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM BUT ME has found a new, cute, wonderful boyfriend within the last month. They have posted pictures. I have stopped posting there pretty much entirely. The last time I did someone said thanks for a post from someone who's not having soul-searching love issues (or something like that) and I felt even worse. Every day I get e-mails swooning over how truly wonderful their new boys are.
And I just don't relate at all any more. I can't even imagine the enjoyment. I can't imagine feeling so damned excited and shiny and new about a guy any more. "I've got faith in love again!" they giggle.
I don't think I can get that back. I think Dave just killed it all for me. Well, he was the final straw on a back that was mostly broken by previous ex.
I just feel flat. I can't imagine wanting to be with someone again without thinking, "It's just going to end and I'm going to feel even more dead inside than I do now, why am I even bothering?" I don't believe any more. I don't have any hope at all. I don't think a miracle exists for the likes of me. Maybe for others, but not for me. I'm tired of the highs and lows and boyfriends-as-drug-dealers. It's not going to work out. I am just dead.
According to Rob Brezny, this is my horoscope: "I took a long, meandering walk today. After an hour, I found myself in an unfamiliar neighborhood on a wide paved road. In the middle of a long straight stretch there were two street signs next to each other. The one on the right -- the direction from which I had come -- said "Split Drive." The one on the left -- where I was headed -- said "Union Avenue." There was no intersection here and no bend in the road to mark the change -- no apparent distinction at all between Split and Union. Now study all the details I just reported, Taurus. They're symbols for your life in the coming week."
In a movie, this would mean good things for me. In real life, this means NOT A FUCKING THING WILL CHANGE. Which is depressing.
Also depressing: stumbling across this, which almost could have been written by me, except it wasn't. Em and Lo's advice is very good and very good on the topic, but of course, there has to be a bit where they point out how celibacy can be bad if you insist on not doing anything for years until someone perfect shows up. Well, what bloody else can I do? I pick bad men, evidently, and I can't do the casual thing, so I need to STOP.
And the comments to it were mostly written by total retards. Grrr.
Generally, I'm pretty happy these days when I'm not comparing myself to or being compared to other people. And yet, I keep on doing it.