I'm hungry.
Which is funny, because if tried to eat something right now, I'd probably make myself ill from how full my belly is. I've eaten already, see. Two sandwiches - one PB&J, one PB&Honey. A KitKat bar. And a full bottle of water I guzzled down in an attempt to fill up my stomach. Oh, and let's not forget I had breakfast, too: a full bowl of Cheerios with skim milk and a glass of OJ to wash down my vitamins.
I find myself craving food. not just any food, FLAVORFUL food. I'm tired of bread and peanut butter and bananas and water and bland bland bland. I want soda. I want fries. I want a bacon-lettuce-tomatoe sandwich with avocado and mayonnaise, dripping with juices. I was chocolate and sugar and texture. Oh yes, texture. A mix of light crisp with squish behind it. The bread for the B.L.T. toasted, with the avocado ripe and squishy. Peanut-butter M&M's, with the crunch of the candied shell followed by the yielding creamy interior. A KitKat bar with the soft chocolate coating, hiding a delightfully light crispy cookie. Thick milk. Fizzy soda. These things I desire.
But I am not actually hungry. I have a full stomach. At least, it feels full. Ish. But I hunger still. It's higher in the stomach, deep down in the esophagus, a pit, a bubble of air that cries out for satisfaction from empty calories and fattening foods.
Hunger is one of the most basic needs of the living creature. The hypothalamus will not be denied. So how do I fight this war?
If I give in, I feel guilty, and know I have done my body a disservice.
If I hold out, I feel miserable and hungry and anxious and grumpy. My head hurts and stomach growls.
It is a war I do not yetknow how to win.
August 17, 2010
August 09, 2010
Loss For Words
I blog.
WHY do I blog?
I suppose it's partly because it's an outlet. Once upon a time, when I communicated pretty much strictly via email to long-distance friends (because I hate talking on the phone), I would write miniature novels to masses of recipients. Many of my friends appeared to appreciate these, and I got a few compliments on my writing style when it came to certain subjects, like being in the center of seven seperate wildfires whilst living in the mountains. I would write about the day, in all its simplicity, calling forth as much imagery as I could possibly muster and weaving it into a magnificent tapestry of something otherwise altogether negligible. I turned dreams into self-introspections explaining why I felt a need to reconnect with people, and described harrowing adventures of life in the mountains - complete with guns, bears, and wayward tourists.
But then - post college - something happened that put an end to those enormous emails. It took one simple sentence. And only one person to say it. Someone said they were too long, and "nobody reads them". Granted, I realize logically that this is a blanket statement. Also, the person who said it was kind of a nitwit who suggested that I find someone better than my then-boyfriend, who is my now-Fiance. I am deliriously happy with my choice of mate. So if she was wrong about that, what else could she be wrong about?
But at the time, it didn't matter. At the time, I was in such a delicate state emotionally (both because I was STILL angry about my previous breakup and because I was beginning to exhibit my first symptoms of depression) that it shattered my self confidence as a writer. I stopped writing emails altogether. The few that required responses got single-line replies. My depression - which, at the time, was still completely undiagnosed - worsened ever so slightly. My self-worth was tied to the belief that people cared what I had to say, that my opinion- no, my perspective mattered. That I had something worthwhile to contribute. And with the simple comment that my emails were "tl/dr", that belief was cut deeply. No longer were my long insights or observations, my carefully woven tapestries, my recounting of adventures... no longer were they worth anything.
What followed was a long period of silence. I did eventually go back to emailing folks, but only sporadically and only ever very few people. Eventually I stopped the entire habit of writing anything in emails, and only ever replying. Replies were as long as needed, or as long as felt appropriate, and so questions of "are you free this weekend" were only a few sentences, where requests for an opinion on this or that subject matter might involve more explanation. It was lonely-ish, because I felt disconnected somehow. But my "Need To Be Liked" program was strong enough to overcome my desire to express myself... and so disconnected I remained.
Eventually I discovered forums. It was like live chat but didn't require people to be on at the time. It was like writing emails, but nobody I really cared about would read them. It had upsides and downsides. And then, of course, there were trolls. How can anyone forget internet trolls? Lurking behind every corner, waiting to be completely full of idiocy in an otherwise perfectly fine forum. It wasn't satisfying. I wasn't connecting with my friends, but I still couldn't get past the irrational fear that nobody wanted to know anything about me (which is how I interpreted the "you write frigging novels" comment).
That's when I finally ventured onto MySpace. I could write a tiny little update. My status, as it were. Nobody had to look at it. It was optional. But there I was. You know, in case anybody cared. *insert emo here* In more seriousness, it helped me decide that it was okay to let people know how I was without it being an enormous stew of words. And then I saw that MySpace had a place to blog. I went for it.
And now, years later, here I am.
So... NOW why do I blog?
I don't actually know who reads my blog. Could be friends, could be family, could be a few random strangers. Some people blog for a living writing about completely random stuff, but their stuff is usually funny, and mine isn't always. I don't anticipate being famous from my blog (like, ever), but it's comforting to think that maybe, just maybe, a few people who DID like reading my overly-long emails will be happy reading them here, in sort of a non-intrusive, archived format.
Maybe.
You know, if anyone cares. ;P
WHY do I blog?
I suppose it's partly because it's an outlet. Once upon a time, when I communicated pretty much strictly via email to long-distance friends (because I hate talking on the phone), I would write miniature novels to masses of recipients. Many of my friends appeared to appreciate these, and I got a few compliments on my writing style when it came to certain subjects, like being in the center of seven seperate wildfires whilst living in the mountains. I would write about the day, in all its simplicity, calling forth as much imagery as I could possibly muster and weaving it into a magnificent tapestry of something otherwise altogether negligible. I turned dreams into self-introspections explaining why I felt a need to reconnect with people, and described harrowing adventures of life in the mountains - complete with guns, bears, and wayward tourists.
But then - post college - something happened that put an end to those enormous emails. It took one simple sentence. And only one person to say it. Someone said they were too long, and "nobody reads them". Granted, I realize logically that this is a blanket statement. Also, the person who said it was kind of a nitwit who suggested that I find someone better than my then-boyfriend, who is my now-Fiance. I am deliriously happy with my choice of mate. So if she was wrong about that, what else could she be wrong about?
But at the time, it didn't matter. At the time, I was in such a delicate state emotionally (both because I was STILL angry about my previous breakup and because I was beginning to exhibit my first symptoms of depression) that it shattered my self confidence as a writer. I stopped writing emails altogether. The few that required responses got single-line replies. My depression - which, at the time, was still completely undiagnosed - worsened ever so slightly. My self-worth was tied to the belief that people cared what I had to say, that my opinion- no, my perspective mattered. That I had something worthwhile to contribute. And with the simple comment that my emails were "tl/dr", that belief was cut deeply. No longer were my long insights or observations, my carefully woven tapestries, my recounting of adventures... no longer were they worth anything.
What followed was a long period of silence. I did eventually go back to emailing folks, but only sporadically and only ever very few people. Eventually I stopped the entire habit of writing anything in emails, and only ever replying. Replies were as long as needed, or as long as felt appropriate, and so questions of "are you free this weekend" were only a few sentences, where requests for an opinion on this or that subject matter might involve more explanation. It was lonely-ish, because I felt disconnected somehow. But my "Need To Be Liked" program was strong enough to overcome my desire to express myself... and so disconnected I remained.
Eventually I discovered forums. It was like live chat but didn't require people to be on at the time. It was like writing emails, but nobody I really cared about would read them. It had upsides and downsides. And then, of course, there were trolls. How can anyone forget internet trolls? Lurking behind every corner, waiting to be completely full of idiocy in an otherwise perfectly fine forum. It wasn't satisfying. I wasn't connecting with my friends, but I still couldn't get past the irrational fear that nobody wanted to know anything about me (which is how I interpreted the "you write frigging novels" comment).
That's when I finally ventured onto MySpace. I could write a tiny little update. My status, as it were. Nobody had to look at it. It was optional. But there I was. You know, in case anybody cared. *insert emo here* In more seriousness, it helped me decide that it was okay to let people know how I was without it being an enormous stew of words. And then I saw that MySpace had a place to blog. I went for it.
And now, years later, here I am.
So... NOW why do I blog?
I don't actually know who reads my blog. Could be friends, could be family, could be a few random strangers. Some people blog for a living writing about completely random stuff, but their stuff is usually funny, and mine isn't always. I don't anticipate being famous from my blog (like, ever), but it's comforting to think that maybe, just maybe, a few people who DID like reading my overly-long emails will be happy reading them here, in sort of a non-intrusive, archived format.
Maybe.
You know, if anyone cares. ;P
August 05, 2010
Wedding Worries
The Fiance and I were waiting until the other weddings were over to start our plans. It made the most sense. How stressful would it be to plan our own wedding while balancing our participation in another? Not to mention that it might detract from the spotlight of our dear friends who were much closer to their wedding date!
Im and Jess' wedding was last weekend and went off without a hitch. So much awesomeness. I knew they would make it precisely fit them, choosing things that suited not only their individual tastes but also tailoring the entire celebration to be very "them". Which was just so unbelievably awesome I can't even begin to describe. Everything, from location to dresses to the wine to the supremely cool photobooth, had a vibe of quirky sweetness that was distinctly like their relationship.
Now, with them off to their honeymoon and enjoying the first week of their new married lives, privately indulging in the wonders of a beautiful far-away island paradise, the planning, participation, and incredible efforts have come to an end.
Which means now it's our turn.
And dear heaven, where do we start?
We spoke a bit about this on the long (long!) drive home. What would the ceremony be like? Who would do what and where? Where should it be held? Where would we like to honeymoon? What should the dress look like? Some of it was easy. It helped having recently attended two weddings, to get an idea of what worked well and what didn't. The concept of the food+lodging+venue all being one place had much appeal, as did the hilarity and fun of the photobooth. We narrowed down a time, and an area (distance-wise) we'd like to look at. But everything is so vague... unformed.
Fiance is a hermetic. He likes his rituals filled with symbolism and meaning. I'm a shaman. It has to *feel* right. How do I plan that out? What does it look like? What should *I* look like?
I have to step back and remind myself of what I told the other brides: at the end of the day the two of us will be married, and that's all that matters. The rest is just gravy. And good gravy, I've hardly started the planning, and this is how I'm feeling?
If you see my sanity, tell it to come home, okay?
Im and Jess' wedding was last weekend and went off without a hitch. So much awesomeness. I knew they would make it precisely fit them, choosing things that suited not only their individual tastes but also tailoring the entire celebration to be very "them". Which was just so unbelievably awesome I can't even begin to describe. Everything, from location to dresses to the wine to the supremely cool photobooth, had a vibe of quirky sweetness that was distinctly like their relationship.
Now, with them off to their honeymoon and enjoying the first week of their new married lives, privately indulging in the wonders of a beautiful far-away island paradise, the planning, participation, and incredible efforts have come to an end.
Which means now it's our turn.
And dear heaven, where do we start?
We spoke a bit about this on the long (long!) drive home. What would the ceremony be like? Who would do what and where? Where should it be held? Where would we like to honeymoon? What should the dress look like? Some of it was easy. It helped having recently attended two weddings, to get an idea of what worked well and what didn't. The concept of the food+lodging+venue all being one place had much appeal, as did the hilarity and fun of the photobooth. We narrowed down a time, and an area (distance-wise) we'd like to look at. But everything is so vague... unformed.
Fiance is a hermetic. He likes his rituals filled with symbolism and meaning. I'm a shaman. It has to *feel* right. How do I plan that out? What does it look like? What should *I* look like?
I have to step back and remind myself of what I told the other brides: at the end of the day the two of us will be married, and that's all that matters. The rest is just gravy. And good gravy, I've hardly started the planning, and this is how I'm feeling?
If you see my sanity, tell it to come home, okay?
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