A New Vocabulary

I have been going through a phase lately where, for some reason or another, I am jealous of everyone I know. Because they have more money than I do. Because they are thinner. Because they have a freer diet. Because they are not subject to debilitating periods of guilt and self-hatred. Because they are attractive. Because they have straight hair. Because they can accept things the way they are without judgment. Because they have a fitted wardrobe. Because they are going home for Thanksgiving. You name it, I am jealous of it.

Now, it is all well and good to tell your friends you feel jealous of them but the thing is that usually whatever you feel jealous of them for is something they can rationalize away. For example, I'm thinner because I work out more, I just am not as expressive about my self-hatred, I am NOT that attractive, I wish I had curly hair etc. So to tell a person you feel jealous of them, doesn't really make anyone feel any better. In fact, the other person looks like an idiot for not appreciating what they have, while you just feel enraged that they can have something so fantastic and not appreciate it.

But what my jealously comes down to is my own life. It doesn't really have anything to do with how my friends handle money or sex or beauty or food, but how I feel about how I handle these things. I perpetuate this terrible cycle in which everything I do amounts to absolutely nothing. There are people who have made better financial choices than me, but right now, I am piecing together the foundation of my adult relationship to money. I make less mistakes now than I did a year ago, and I am proud of this. And the real truth is, I find myself nice to look at and for all my flaws and failures, I am trying to be good and I think that, sometimes, this is all we can say for ourselves.

My biggest problem is not my friends and their successes (which are many as I have incredible friends) but the fact that I have trouble giving myself room to succeed. I project failure and rejection before it is even a reality and then make my own terrible dreams come true.

WELL, I AM DONE WITH THAT!!!

I am officially only going to use the following words in regards to myself: wonderful, successful, hard-working, in progress, sextastic, and hot.

Laundry and Leaders

I do my laundry at a laundromat three blocks away from my house and, because it is so close, I rarely hang out while my things are laundered, having faith that very few thieves are hefty enough or have girlfriends hefty enough to fit into my clothes. Last night, when I returned to pick up my dried clothes, a disheveled and slightly bloody man was reporting that he had been mugged while waiting for his clothes to dry. Apparently, the mugger had come in the back door of the building and tackled this poor man to the ground before dragging him outside and punching him repeatedly all the while shouting, "Give me all your money." The man had no money on him, but informed the mugger that his wallet was in his jacket inside the laundromat. The mugger ran back in the building, grabbed the jacket and took off down the block. And I think to myself My clothes were in the drier that whole time. It sounds petty, but what I mean is I could've been there. That could've been me.

It's strange, but yesterday, because of the election, because Americans banded together and elected Barack Obama president, I feel affected by the entire world. I suppose I always have been, but this election is the first time I made my own decision for whom to vote. I watched some of the debates, I read Obama's speeches and I decided that he was the person I wanted to be in the executive branch of the government. When I filled in the bubble next to his name I felt confident that I was making an informed decision, the decision I thought best for myself, the people I love and my country as a whole. And then when he won, my first thought was that I had a part in it, albeit a small one. My tiny little vote bubble, along with millions of other Americans', voted that man into office. I stayed up late (as did the rest of the country) to watch his acceptance speech and was surprised to find myself moved to tears, not by anything he said, but by his face as he walked to the podium. He looked heavy, aware of the gravity of his new role, vulnerable and slightly afraid. This is the way I would want my president to feel.

I think we forget, as Americans, that we are not invulnerable. On Tuesday, we exert our power in the political world, and then on Wednesday, a man doing his laundry gets beat up. We are powerful when we join together, but our power is limited. We, as a country, as human beings are hanging on by a thread. This is not to diminish the sheer awesomeness, hopefulness and joy that President Obama brings with him to the Oval Office, but we should take his example and understand the sheer weight of our role. Obama is an advocate for change, and with change comes the need for good, difficult work and with this comes risk and with risk comes an inevitable exposure of the most delicate parts of ourselves.

I am not going to stop doing laundry at my laundromat because that poor man was hurt. But I am going to try to be aware that at anytime, for any reason or no reason at all, things happen. I hope I can be gracious while watching President Obama govern our country, because, as he proved with just a look in his eyes, he is just a man. And thank god for it.

WANTED: Easy Answers (or brown pants)

There. I said it. I want them. And I want them to be formulaic and terribly simple. Steps, in fact. Like the New Kids on the Block song. I would like to understand the answers to the following questions:

1)How do I get rid of my acne? It isn't bad enough to pay to see a Doctor, but in my mind I have freaking leprosy. I think Like I don't have enough physical deficiencies without cystic fucking acne.

2)Why don't I like my job? It isn't my boss (even though it would be excellent to blame it all on him); he is actually quite pleasant the majority of the time. It isn't the hours, or the work, or anything like that. Perhaps my unexplained disdain for my work place is manifesting itself in giant, painful red pimples on my face that I cannot help but pick at constantly.

3)Why do I live so far away from my freaking family? They are the only people with whom I feel unafraid to love and be loved. I am TERRIFIED with everyone else, convinced I will do something, say something and then *poof* love dissipates like steam on a mirror.

and the most important questions is this...

4) What is it like to love someone? How do you do it without hurting them, hurting yourself? I would tell myself the answer... that you cannot. But that is not easy enough for me today. Everything... every aspect of one's self goes into the act of loving: the emotional self, of course, but what about the political self, the career-oriented self, the spiritual self, the physical self... all of these involved in the act of love. What is it really? The only answer I can think of (which is just not easy enough) is that love is chaos. But how do you love people who don't understand this? Perhaps this is the big question... how do you love someone who thinks you aren't supposed to hurt them? Because I'm going to. And each time I will be sorry and I will repent and I will try my hardest to do right... but someday I will hurt you while trying to do right. And those people who don't understand, their love will go *poof* and though I know logically that perhaps that person doesn't want my love, love is chaotic enough to not understand who is deserving of it.

Since I can't have easy answers, all I want is a pair of brown pants that fit me and are the right length. Please... I just want a pair of brown pants. 

The Big D (and I don't mean me)

For the past week and a half, I have been reading a non-fiction book by Mary Roach called Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers which describes all the different uses (scientific and otherwise) for the lifeless human form. If it sounds grotesque that's because it is. I spend most of my time reading with a horrified (and fascinated) look on my face. I started reading it as an attempt to shock my psyche into a familiarity with death, to confront head-on that which I am afraid of and, for once in my life an idea of mine is working the way I planned and it is doing just that.

While sitting in Symphony Hall on Friday listening to the Brahms Requiem, I thought, "In a hundred years, everyone in this building will be dead." There was no fear (well not just then) but wonder at the fragility of skin, organs, breath, the body as a whole. Now, don't get me wrong, I was scared a moment later (and that moment of courage could have been rooted in the fact that I did not really love anyone in the hall), but for the millisecond it took for the thought to form in my mind, death was just something that happened. It wasn't scary; it was simply the evolution of time, huge and full of chaos. I was completely diminished and relieved to be so. 

Penny asked me today if I've always been obsessed with death, and I suppose it is a more recent development. I am aware of the expiring of my body, my parents' bodies, my brother's body... I have spent so much time trying to not to think about that which begins to happen from the moment we reach adulthood.

But Walt Whitman says: 

"What do you think has become of the young and old men?

And what do you think has become of the women and children?

They are alive and well somewhere.

The smallest sprout shows that there is really no death

and if ever there was, it led forward life

and does not wait at the end to arrest it

and cease the moment life appeared.

All goes onward and outward.

Nothing collapses.

And to die is different from what anyone supposed

And luckier."

Apparently, reading about cadavers being crashed in cars to test air bags, being blown up to test land mine foot protection, rotting in a field in order to study human decomposition for forensic purposes, or being dissected in medical school labs makes me think... what a delicate and brave thing is a human being.

Of Adulthood and Finances

As an adult, I am realizing that there are certain necessities that warrant the spending of a decent amount of money: i.e. haircuts, shoes with proper arch support, work clothes (because you've been wearing the same pair of black pants every other day for almost two weeks). We're not talking about the expensive purse buying or the excessive book and movie purchasing in which I have been known to indulge. I am talking about the basic effects that a person needs to be comfortable in this life. But unfortunately, while in my early twenties, I spent a spectacular amount of fake money on crap I didn't need hence acquiring a butt load of credit card debt that I never really paid attention to until the grand total equalled a poor man's yearly salary. 

I feel sometimes like my whole past is this debt, something I want to eradicate, but something I have to live with everyday, paying it off in small increments even though it was accrued over the course of only a couple of years. I feel like the good decisions I want to make for my life now (for example, shoes that I can stand in and walk in without hurting my feet or legs or back) are jaded by the decisions I made then. It would be nice to be able to spend $110 on a pair of really good shoes but can I really justify that in relation to my debt? 

The problem here is that the $110 I spent four years ago probably amounts to one quarter interest, a really expensive dinner at the Cheesecake Factory (which I have now realized is a TOTAL sham of a restaurant; if I wanted to consume 10,000 calories I would eat food that actually has taste versus that generic American bulk food they sell), and a night out drinking. And there it is. The shoes that would keep my knees from hurting I can't buy because I already spent that money 4 years ago on shitty food and a couple of drinks. 

I sometimes wish I could relive parts of my life with the knowledge I have now. I've been fat long enough  to have forgotten when it really became an issue and so there is no palpable regret there. Also, though the decisions I made then in regards to food haunt me in the way of stretch marks, cellulite and repressed sexuality, I have joined a weight loss group that allows me to micromanage my eating into weeks (even days when it feels especially hard), leaving very little room for shame. But money...

Even now, when I attempt to not spend needlessly, to return things I don't need or love, to spend more money at the grocery store and less at restaurants, I find I am having to choose between making good decisions now or paying for the decisions of my past. My relationship with money is such a delicate balance of letting go, holding on, releasing, forgiving, spending, returning and sometimes, just having to eat the shit I served myself. 

I want to buy good shoes. But someday I also want to be able to save to buy a house, and I can't do that until the credit card debt is paid off. But how much will the house mean if I fucked up my body wearing shitty shoes? If I had continued in the trend of my earlier blogs I would've called this one, "WANTED: Easy Answers." But unfortunately for my knees and my future home, I am pretty sure the easy type of answer doesn't exist.

Not-so-little Debbie in a small coat

Now when I call myself "Little Debbie" I don't mean that I am literally small. Though I am short, I would not call my stature (not to mention any other part of my body or spirit) "diminutive" by any means. But in the midst of an on going love relationship with Weight Watchers, I have found almost 10% of myself to have disappeared into an oblivion and am now stuck with the joyful (though somewhat annoying) task of finding clothes that fit. Now the problem with being "in transition" in terms of my weight is that it is not wise to buy too many of anything, due to the expectation of being 5-8 pounds smaller in the course of the next couple of months. This leaves me with one pair of jeans and two pairs of dress pants that have to be re worn enough times for me to utilize the 10,000 pairs of underpants I must go through before deciding it is finally time to visit the Laundromat. Blouses are a little more forgiving, but clothes that are even slightly too big make one feel and look pretty frumpy. 

Now as a devout "fat kid," which I have been almost my whole life, I know the rule. To look your best you must wear clothes that fit (not too big, not too small) which is made difficult by the boxy clothes worn by most thin women that stores such as Macy's and Old Navy just make bigger to accommodate the plus sizes. Then you have stores such as Sears or Lord and Taylor that think all big women want to wear is caftans and sweatpants (very expensive sweatpants) and Lane Bryant which sells its beautiful, albeit cheaply-made, clothes at ridiculous prices because they (and we) know that they are the only store where young, fat, aspiring fashionistas can shop.

So in addition to being a clothes minded Goldilocks, I, as a larger lady, have my own personal rule as well: NEVER, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, buy clothes that you cannot wear out of the store, meaning NEVER, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES buy clothes that are too small in order to motivate you to lose weight. 

And today, my friends, I broke my own cardinal rule. I purchased a coat that was too small. Now I suppose it is not as small as it could be. It fits in the shoulders and I can button the buttons. It doesn't look too bad actually, but the fact of the matter is, I know it is too small. I, of course, left the tags on and the coat hangs over the chair in my room, a dead weight of shame. It really is a beautiful coat (camel colored wool, pretty collar, big bell sleeves), but it the principle of the thing. I, being a terrible judge of weight, have no idea how much weight I would need to lose for this coat to fit the way I would want. Ten pounds is doable, but twenty? If I have to lose 20 lbs. to fit into the stupid thing is it even worth it? I don't even know!! I am at a loss, not really because of the coat, but because of the idea of a future that I never had really imagined feasible for me: a future in which I could shop in more than three stores, where my normal sized friends and I could shop at the same stores, where my doctor doesn't lecture me about weight loss, where I don't feel like the fat kid at Yoga class. I understand I will still never be diminutive, but I could be on the big side of average.

Up until I was 22, I would use the phrase, "well, when I get skinny..." you know, I won't wear mini-skirts, I'll still only shop at Marshalls etc. but when I turned 23 the phrase changed to "if I ever decide to lose weight" because from my vantage point it didn't look like it would ever be something I would ever feel ready to do.

But here I am on the other side of 25 pounds feeling... lost. I mean, don't get me wrong, I feel joy and pride too, but I have been fat my entire life, and even when I wasn't so fat, I still thought I was, and so I feel like I am losing, not just weight, but a whole part of my identity. And to buy a coat that is pretty snug with the intention to fit into it, goes against every fiber of my fat kid being, because even after 20 pounds I wonder if something could still go terribly wrong. And to have a coat that I love, a coat that is not just a coat but a physical representation of my hopes for myself... oh the possibilities for disappointment are endless.

So I will do one of two things: 

1) I will return the coat next weekend and rue the day I ever thought I could go against my much ingrained fat kid nature

or 

2) I will keep the coat (with the tags still on) until it either fits or I need the money I spent on it to buy groceries.

In the wake of feeling threatened...

So tonight, while walking home, I was followed by a woman who I'm pretty sure was on drugs. She was following very close behind me for two blocks, so I called Jan, making sure someone knew where I was, and then turned around and asked, "Are you following me?"

"We're cool. We're friends."

"I've never met you before in my life."

"No. We used to live together. In Southie."

"I've never lived in Southie."

"We're in Southie."

"No, this is East Cambridge."

"Oh. But we're cool."

"No, if you want to get to Southie you need to take a bus."

"How do I get there?"

"The bus terminal is down that street. Walk down this street and it will be on your right."

"Oh."

And I watched her walk away, and then walked home, looking constantly over my shoulder.

It was a strange (and slightly humorous) interaction that could have happened anywhere, and I am almost positive the woman was harmless, but it is the first time I have really felt threatened in my neighborhood. And I don't like it, because of course I want to feel safe near my home, but mostly because that brief moment of fear has exposed all my secret prejudices. This was a twenty something white woman, and the fact that I am surprised by how scared I was of her and that I noticed she was a twenty something white woman, just goes to show you the kinds of people of whom I think I should be afraid walking down the street at midnight on a Friday. 

How shameful of me.