Secrets From A Fat.. SO?!

Archive for the month “July, 2011”

July 22nd 2011

Today has been my first day off in a week.  It feels wonderful to have two days off in a row again. I feel like I almost live at work. I know there are people who I work with who are putting twice the overtime that I am and I wonder how they deal with it. I love the hours I’m getting but it’s exhausting, mentally and physically. Chris gives me a back rub almost every night because of how tense I’ve become. I feel extremely lucky to have that support system, of having someone who will be there to try to help heal me both physically and emotionally when I’m struggling to just get through the day. I realize that sometimes I lean too heavily on him for that support, and I realize that I can’t have my cake and eat it too. I can’t preach that I am an individual who wants her freedom and expect to be emotionally coddled all the time. Because I’m afraid that if I rely too heavily on his support without learning how to also deal with things myself, if we were to breakup, that I would repeat history all over again. Still, that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the benefits that come with being a couple, like cuddling, kissing, free cooking and back rubs.

I woke up late this morning. I had a meeting with Ms. J, my future apartment manager but I kept hitting the snooze button on my phone. It wasn’t like I hadn’t had enough sleep, I had over eight hours, and my body felt physically ready to get up. But my head wasn’t. Emotionally I was still tired and kept forcing myself to go back to sleep till the very last possible moment. I called Ms. J to apologize that I would be over an hour late and rushed to get ready. I try to not to get resentful at Chris for being the one to have to constantly wake him up because, it reminds me of Tony. While Chris is generally easier to get out of bed, and less grumpy, I start to feel like his mother when I have to give “ten minute” warnings and I start to get resentful. But I try to remember the way I look at him every morning before I get out of bed. I remember how peaceful, how adorably cute he looks, and how my heart smiles that moment before I tangle myself out of bed. And I try not to get frustrated or feel like his mother when I have to give 10 minute warnings.

I was locked out of the bathroom and was halfway dressed. My bra was on the bathroom floor and I hadn’t put on any deodorant. But I was wearing the new jeans I had been aching for months over to buy. They don’t quite fit, I need to lose like ten more pounds to really fit them but not only could I squeeze into them, they made my butt look great. In the mean time, I missed a call from Ms. J, letting me know that she was able to find the name of the creditors I’ve been trying to hunt down all week. So while Chris was in the shower, I googled till I was able to find a number. I waited till Chris was done, got dressed and finally after some pacing around Chris’s apartment, finally got the nerve to call the creditors.

I argued on the phone, trying to sound reasonable and fair at the same time. I did my best to not sound like I was arguing or accusing them that they were in the wrong and like I was just trying to understand while getting my point across. The guy read a report as if I trashed my old apartment. Which I didn’t! He said there was $700 charged in new paint alone which I’m quoting “There goes your deposit”. He added that there was also new carpet, and went on further to accuse that because I had had a cat, that there was urine spray I was unable to detect. I wanted to scream that my cats were litter box trained and that I always kept it clean! I was angry but realized that by arguing with him, I wasn’t getting anywhere. Instead I gave him my information on where and how to contact me. I was firm that I wanted an itemized report mailed to me. And when.

I was fuming. I’m surprised I wasn’t shaking. Chris could see how upset I was. “It’s just not fair!!” I wanted to scream. I know life isn’t fair but I more felt taken advantage of. I wrote a quick email to my ex Tony and hustled out the door to catch the bus. As I was leaving the door I realized more than anything I wanted my mommy. I wanted my mommy the same way a five-year old does. Except, I mostly just wanted her to tell me that everything was going to be okay, that I could fight this, and that I was strong enough and that the bad guys wouldn’t win. Instead I got the opposite. Both my mother and my god mother told me I should just roll over, pay half of what the complex wanted, that I didn’t really have a case, and leave the other half for Tony to deal with. To just pay my half and let the rest be his problem. It was everything I didn’t want to hear.

I realized half way out the door I had forgotten the deposit money and had to retrace my steps. I told my mom I’d consider their words and would just wait till I got the itemized list. It felt pointless to disagree until I knew more. But it was very demoralizing. I’m a fighter naturally but having both Chris & my mom say the photos I had weren’t the right kind of proof, made me feel like my chances of having a case to ridiculous. We got on the bus and continued to talk about the outrageousness of it all. I walked into work, said hello to as many people as I could without feeling like I was flaunting my day off, my freedom, in front of them. I talked to Brett and a guy from Home & Electronics I had never met before while waiting in line. We talked about the game “your team” and my idea about converting it into a website. I felt shy the whole time I was there and acted like my butterfly self when I get shy, talking and flittering out before conversation get very far.

I smiled friendly at my coworker who helps me cash my paycheck and write a money order. Sometimes I wish I could talk to them more privately to prove to my gut that they are a genuinely nice person despite the controversy I’ve heard. I want to believe that they are genuinely nice and that my intuition isn’t off. It’s just so hard believing that this person is a jerk when the sources, to me, aren’t all that reliable. Oh well, I’m not one to believe gossip and rumors. I said goodbye and left the store.

I got a hot chocolate and cinnamon coffee cake at Starbucks to pass the time with Chris. I had told Ms. J that I would meet her around tweleve-thirty and felt bad about arriving early for a time I wasn’t sure she was okay with rescheduling. I teased Chris on the sugar intake in his coffee and finally nervously danced around Chris enough to go drop off the deposit money order. I retested the “short cut” to the apartments and knocked on the door. After not even five minutes, Ms. J opened the door to let us in.

I handed over the deposit immediately and apologized again for being late. I didn’t go into details why. I didn’t think it would look good to simply say “I didn’t feel like waking up.” Not knowing what to say, I apologized again, but this time for the whole application/old debtors disaster. We talked about that I felt like she appreciated my honesty and hard work for trying to get this resolved. I mostly just felt relief that I wasn’t being chewed out and denied application. I felt relief that she didn’t think I was just some bad person who went around trashing apartments and lying. Instead I felt warmth, understanding and compassion. She made me feel like I should fight this, and that she would give me time to fight the injustice. She gave me advice on what I could do, from an apartment manager’s point of view, and for the first time gave me confidence.

We eventually moved on and I tried to make sure that I had all my questions answered. I made sure I understood what would happen on August 1st, and how the deposit would be used to be taken off September’s rent. I shook her hand, thanked her again and Chris & I left. I had the biggest smile on my face when I left. It felt like everything was coming together despite the setback’s I was feeling. I felt like I didn’t just have Chris on my side but Ms. J’s too! We walked back to the main road and went into the used Card Shop to pick up the Becket. Tony had clearly indicated with his silence, even recently, that he did not care about ever having his baseball cards returned so I figured I’d price out the 200 odd baseball cards in my collection.

I entered the card store like a cowboy enters the saloon in a western movie. My boobs were my spurs and every male head (which was everyone in the store) turned as the door closed behind me. I definitely did not blend in. The walls were filled with inch to inch Magick game cards and the store screamed GEEK! I asked Chris to help me find the magazine and practically ran out of the store. Not that I have anything against geeks, I just felt really out of my element and uncomfortable. I didn’t want attention. I just wanted my baseball book and to get out of the store.

Chris & I walked to the bus stop and waited for the bus heading downtown. I felt relieved and ecstatic. In my mind I had accomplished so much. I had finally contacted the old apartments, gave them my contact information, gave the deposit to Ms. J and had figured out everything I needed to accomplish what I needed for the move. And I had the Becketit. I felt so accomplished I could scream in happiness! I emailed Tony back after seeing a response and promised to let him know more as I did. I was happy and bitter at the same time. Happy that everything was being resolved and bitter that I was the one who had to do all the work because Tony was sitting pretty, not ever having to worry about where he was going to live or how our debt affected only my life.

I didn’t have any other plans for the day but I didn’t want to go back to the apartment and do nothing. After talking out some ideas, I decided to take Chris to the Chinese Gardens. I hadn’t been since my first date with Mr. Monkey early in 2010 and I really felt cheated out on the experience then. We had been both so nervous that first date that we spent most of the time just focusing on each other and kind of ignoring the experience around us that I felt robbed of getting to knowing the history of the Chinese Gardens. So I took Chris, hoping to get into a silly touristy vibe.

We found the gardens after wandering around, mostly trusting my instincts and we found the place without having to ask for directions. I don’t know why I have to be the one wherever I go, whom ever I’m with, has to remind people “let’s just have fun”, “let’s just be spontaneous!” Because once Chris saw the place, he became hesitant. Yes, it was a little over priced but not by much. Especially not after I heard there was a tour group in an hour after we arrived. I really wanted to go. Chris, not so much.

I was able to get Chris to have some fun by slowing down and taking photos after his sour pus attitude at how much money I spent and how small it was compared to Charleston. While I do think he had fun wandering around and taking photos on our phones, we were pretty much done after a half hour. I wanted to stay for the tour group but I could tell Chris was really bored. And there’s nothing more enjoyable than listening to someone complain about how bored they are. Trust me, I know because, I can be one of those complainers lol. But I digress. I took Chris to a cheesy tourist store across the street, specifically not the one where Mr. Monkey bought me the tiny stone turtle. We browsed and I made mental notes of everything I wanted to buy when I had money to spend.

Call me a cheese ball but I really like buddha statues. In almost every statute, you can find Buddha smiling or laughing. And let’s be honest, who doesn’t like a bald happy fat man? Or maybe I just feel like I can relate my outwards appearance, minus the baldness, to Buddha. We rounded the corner to the House of Louie for lunch. Their lunch special wasn’t as good as August Moon on 23rd, but I didn’t think it quite deserved the fit Chris threw over the sweet n sour chicken. I didn’t think it was inedible. Or maybe it’s just my taste buds are just aren’t refined enough, to just eat whatever’s in front of me. I still felt like it was a waste of money, my money to just not eat the majority of his meal.

I went to the bathroom and looked at my clock, it was a little past the hour and had missed the tour by a few minutes. I paid and for a lack of knowing what to do, directed Chris to the direction of Pioneer Square. And together we got lost in the magic of the square. We wandered around in different locations, first up by Nordstrom and watched people playing chess and a street performer’s playing the cello. Then we wandered to the opposite corner by the court house and played Your Team for the majority of the time. We didn’t sit still in any location for very long and after awhile I began to get tired.

After what felt like the 20th lap Chris convinced me to to wander a little north west by the art museum where we found and watched for a few minutes some ballet dancers while they warmed up/performed for a show later that evening. I don’t know what I was expecting. I was having fun just exploring and wandering but I sort of wanted a final location/destination in sight. Not seeing one forth coming and knowing Chris wasn’t really up for what I wanted to do, going to Powell’s Books & seeing Harry Potter, I just convinced us to go home. We continued to play Your Team all along the Max and rested my head on his shoulder.

We stopped off for a slurpee at 7-11 before we went home. I felt guilty because I’ve been secretly not trying to drink soda and I felt like I was cheating with a coke slurpee. I beat myself up the whole way back about it and even more so for enjoying it. But after halfway back, Chris made me stop and to just enjoy the occasional treat. I knew he was right. I felt like even though my day wasn’t perfect, that I had fun and felt super accomplished for getting everything I had done. And that’s all we can really do, is take it one day at a time and try to do as much as we can.

Where Does the Good Go?

I’m  sorry I haven’t been writing much this month. I know I don’t owe apologies to anyone for that but I do feel as if I’m not only letting myself down by not writing, but the people who have been following me. I feel as if I have put myself on hold. I feel stuck. And if I’m being honest with myself, I haven’t put much of an effort into writing either.

I’ve had certain thoughts on my brain, thoughts I can’t really develop in blog form. So instead of writing out these thoughts and feeling a therapeutic release after posting them, they become blocked. Like a car stalled in traffic with now a huge pile up behind it. And I know that buildup, that mess, is my fault. There wouldn’t be a buildup of feelings if I would only stop walking away from the scene of the car wreck and instead pull myself under the hood and dealing with them.

At least I recognize that I’ve been running away. Maybe not so much only in blog form but in conversations to people as well. I’m used to holding back words and having unfinished business with friends or old lovers. Blogging has sort of been a small release from forgiving myself to unfinished business. Because in my head, I replay words I’d speak, sometimes shout, and even sometimes words I’d even like to yell.

For instance, I would tell one friend that while I love her dearly, that I wished her all the happiness in the world and genuinely consider her a good friend but, almost every time I talk to her, I want to curl up into the fetal position and cry. How every time I see her face, I can only relate it back to him. I would let her know how much I want her happy, support and be friends but how much talking to her hurts me. I would let her know I don’t want to be that person, someone who can’t let go and be genuinely happy but it’s hard. And I’m trying.

I would confess to an ex boyfriend that I have missed the bond of friendship that I thought we had while we dated. A bond I thought was stronger than anything in the world. I would confess to completely handling how things ended wrong, but that I was only a kid. I didn’t want to break your heart and honestly… I messed up. I would confess to feeling too over protective on who you dated to over compensate that guilt for how I handled things. I wanted you to date the Princess you always thought I was, but never actually was. I confess to wanting that bond to stay intact, to not let anything change – again that nievity- and still be your best friend. Because I honestly still needed a friend. I confess to getting angry because I felt like you abandoned me when I needed your friendship the most. For so long I reached out whenever I was in need and you were always there to grab my hand and then all of a sudden, you weren’t. And I was scared. And alone. I’d confess to still missing that bond and still wishing you were in my life. I confess to feeling conflicted to wanting to leave you and all those ugly feelings in the past to still wanting that utopia ideal of us being friends. Because deep down I confess to still caring. I wouldn’t be writing all of this if I didn’t.

And there are other confessions I’d make to people but those are the ones resting most heavily on my mind. But like Sara & Tegan say, Where does the good go? What do you do with the left over you? I have a million other distractions on top of this. I’m worried about if I’ll ever get to go back to school and how I’ll afford it. I’m worried about getting everything finalized together for finally moving in with Deyvn & Jack. I’m worried about having to fight back on an old apartment bogus charges that I just found out about. And then… I’m afraid of the reality of living with Deyvn & Jack. Right now it’s just a dream, a fantasy. But last night I just sat down and imagined myself in my new home and realized, shit! I’m scared! Everything is going to be permanently different and while that’s exciting, I’m also terrified out of my wits. It’s surreal. It’s like waking up the first morning after arriving at summer camp and realizing, damn! I’m not at home anymore!  I’m worried about getting everything ready for this move and I’m scared at the after math.

So where did the love go? I’ve let myself get so caught up in my insecurities instead of dealing with them that I’ve let them built them into a mountain! But just by writing down these feelings, make them easier to dig myself out from. And I think I need to process my feelings in a daily format for a while. I’ll do both, write in article style like I have been, where I have a point to make but mostly will be uninteresting nonsense as I confess to every whim I can jot down from my head. At least I’ll be writing in that journal style for awhile. Because sometimes you just realize that what once helped you before, isn’t providing that same emotional strength. So here’s to new “growth”.

Falling In Love at a Coffee Shop

I process emotions differently than most people. Like for instance, most of the time, before I become upset, I have to take time to process the events that had taken place. I have to have time to go back and re-visualize what exactly what just happened. Sometimes I’ll re-visualize the same scenario a hundred times. I have to have this time to process. I have to ask questions that begin with ‘what if’ and end with at least trying to see the other person’s perspective. When I’m caught in this in between of a frozen moment, I can tell you I’m fine, smile, and seem like everything’s okay. But inside, I’m numb. Inside, I haven’t allowed myself to process what you just told me. And why do I do this? I guess you could say part of the reason is that I am subconsciously self-conscious about the environment that’s around me and another part is that I’m not quite sure how to feel. Which is a good thing I guess because being in the front line of my over emotional self, there are very few survivors. It’s enough to make more than one man run away with his tail between his legs. So I put up a barrier so I can process my emotions alone, and rationally.

It’s enough to make a woman feel unloved, emotional, obsessed and quite frankly… nuts!

I have a different process of understanding information when I’m learning. Sometimes I’ll be reading a paragraph from a book I’m reading and, just not understand what it means. I’ll put the book down for a few days and subconsciously harp on it till I have that ‘ah-ha’ moment. I’ll subtly ask for second opinions from those around me and keep my eyes open for answer’s. At any given moment, I’m trying to process a hundred different ideas, thoughts and voices within just a day. I just want to know why and how, I just want to understand. I want that ‘ah-ha’ moment.

My ah-ha moment today was about food that loves you back. What? Your probably asking. Food that loves you back? Okay, Sarah, your probably thinking, you actually have lost it. Or maybe you’re not thinking anything and just waiting for me to get on with some cheesy monologue about how we’re all beautiful inside. Sorry, but this trip the train is not stopping there. I don’t really believe food can physically love you back. Or at least not love in the typical sense of the word love. A few years ago I read a book about how French women can take three bites of a dish and be satisfied. While I thought this was a gross exaggeration back then, and I still do, I understood the meaning behind it. When I take sinful bite of chocolate raspberry cheesecake or the first bite into an eclair, I black out into ecstasy. I let every flavor be savored and relished. I swallow and the moment’s gone. For a moment, just a moment, I’m utterly content. Then I want another bite. And another. And another. Eventually I become numb, not completely, but I still search for that sense of completeness I had within the first few bites.

It never happens. Sooner or later, I become full, but not with satisfaction. I don’t feel that love that I had with the first bite. A couple of days ago I read about cultivating a relationship with food. At first I didn’t understand. They wanted me to let food love me back. “Huh?” I thought. I didn’t think they were crazy, I just didn’t understand. I didn’t understand how someone could develop a relationship with food. If anything I thought I needed to break up with food instead of falling in love with it! But, what the hell, I thought. I’m game. I’ll give it a try.

At first I didn’t feel anything different. I felt like me. I didn’t feel like my hot pocket was loving me back and honestly I felt very silly. So I finished my hot pocket in silence while I caught up on my weekly TV shows and tried not to think about how my hot pocket was not in love with me. But what can I say, I’m stubborn. I wanted to understand because I felt like I had a vague notion that deep down inside of me, that I did know what this author was talking about. And because I’m stubborn. Obviously, food can’t physically love me back. I knew that. So I needed a different approach. When I eat a hot dog, or a frozen dinner, I never feel fully full, or satisfied. I feel bloated and full of empty calories. And so I sat back and though. When do I feel satisfied? When don’t I feel bloated and when do I feel contentedly full? And the answer to all of those questions popped up with Chris. Or Chris’s cooking to be more exact.

I feel full around Chris’s food. Maybe I’ll be a cornball and say I can feel the love Chris puts into his food but I think the answer is much simpler than that. Chris cook’s in a way that many of us have simply forgotten, with natural ingredients. He cooks with his soul, and not just in the impatient rush that I’m always in to just eat. When I eat his food, I eat it slowly and I enjoy it. Maybe not the same orgasmic level of a chocolate raspberry cheesecake but enjoyment all the same. I feel like Julia Robert’s in Eat Pray Love when I eat his food. I shake my head back and forth, smile with my eyes closed and make lots of mmmmm’ing noises. I can feel it nourishing my body the way a microwaved hot dog can’t. It’s not a feeling I can justly explain unless of course you’ve felt it. I guess you could ration it off as love. I asked myself, is this what the author meant by food loving you?

But I had to make sure, I had to cover my bases and I had to try this theory again. When my mom asked me if I wanted anything from a fast food restaurant, I said sure, thinking it would be a great opportunity to retry. I had felt nothing with the hot pocket’s and I had to know for sure what food loving you meant. I took the burger, fries and soda upstairs to my room and sat on my bed. I didn’t let my eyes glaze over and forget what I was putting in my body but actually tasted what I was eating. I ate the fries first and besides the unusual blandness I felt nothing. I didn’t feel any love but I didn’t feel well… anything! I tasted icky bland starch but I kept on eating. When those were done I started on the double cheese burger. I was a couple bites in when I realized I had to improvise a new tactic. Instead of waiting for the food to love me, I tried to love it. I took a bite and tried to love it and let it satisfy me the way the cheesecake did. But it never happened. That moment never came. And all I was left with was regret, shame and feeling bloated. I had tried to let the flavors of process meat and cheese satisfy me but in the end, it just didn’t do the job.

Letting the right food love you is like getting a heartfelt hug from a friend who you care about. And trying to make the wrong food achieve the same purpose is like letting a frienemy pick out your wardrobe. I know those are cheesy and weird examples but it’s the best way I know how to describe them. And I know that I need to find a way to make these choices more often. I know now that I need to develop a relationship with food. The rest will play out in time.

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