2003-04-20 - 12:41 am
I had coffee tonight, two cups with lots of sugar. My legs ache from standing all day and my back hurts from my weight. I can't seem to keep still but my stomach is gurgling, trying to digest the caffiene, and my joints are creaking. I'm on my second litre of water and I've gone to the washroom a dozen time just this evening. At least my blood feels clean.
The cut on my finger doesn't seem near as dramatic as I had made it out to be, just a painful papercut with the ability to scar. The rash is coming back on my right wrist but I'm beginning to think it's a nervous habit to scratch in the exact same place until I begin to bleed and not notice until a few days later, the tiny cuts sprouting in clusters over my skin. Sometimes I am so amazed and uncomfortable in my body, knowing how my skin stretches and scars.
My weight has moved up five pounds and I'm now at a suprisingly neutral 160+ lbs but I don't feel that heavy and my pants still fit. I've decided to avoid scales from now on because although numbers don't mean a thing in theory, seeing that total taunts the twelve year old girl still trapped in the back of my mind. I have to continue to tell myself that being tall does not equal being fat and being tall does not mean I'm ugly. I can't believe I'm still going through this shit, after years of accepting and being proud of who I am.
The other night I grabbed the flesh at my hips and pulled it up, simulating what it would be like if I were 10 pounds lighter, and let it go again to reveal how I really am. I have a full figure—soft hips that curve, an ass that's good to grab, and a stomach that is anything but flat and washboard. Most of the time I'm okay with that, I even love it, but at the same time I catch myself thinking about what it would be like if I were 20 pounds lighter, if I were 140 instead of 160. Though, if I really believed things would be different, if I really believed that I would be happier and a better person if I only lost 20 pounds then I would be there by now.
Just like my drawing instructor said in regard to photorealism, "If you really wanted it, you'd already know how to do it, so maybe you don't really want to be like that."
Yes, ultimately I am happy with what I am: a red headed girl standing at almost five feet and nine inches, a size twelve/thirteen with B-cup breasts and size ten feet. If I wasn't happy I wouldn't wear the clothes I wear and I would care if my belly poked out from under my shirt. I think I'm more concerned with being accepted for my personality, for being liked based on my intelligence and sense of humour than how I look. I could care less if someone thought I was fat or too tall, but if they thought I was boring or self-centered I would probably have a fit. Funny how things change in such subtle ways since high school.
Anyway, I have no idea where this came from. This is what I get for sitting down with nothing to do but write straight from a stream of consciousness. Let's get to something more mundane....
My first afternoon at the card store was long but not painful. It was spent wearing white overalls not meant from someone quite as tall or big as me (they were more like flood pants, stopping at the ankle while all the other girls could cuff their's two inches at the bottom) and handing out balloons to kids in the mall, wishing everyone a "Happy Easter". Aside from not knowing any of the merchandise, I still helped customers by blindly leading them around with "Yea, I think it's over here...Let's go see!". It all came so naturally, which still amazes me. I'm getting better at opening up to strangers and socializing without anxiety. And I really like that.
I have my schedule right up to the second week of July and it's fairly permanent so I can start to plan things around work. My summer will have structure in that sense which is a relief. I think I'm really going to enjoy working there, not only for the hours I get but for my coworkers because everyone there seems to have so much fun with what they're doing and I desperately need that in a work environment. I can't stand tension.
Hm. Yea. So work was good.
It's getting late and I've lost interest in writing. Time to call the boyfriend and see if he's home and awake/sober enough to talk to. Heh.
Happy Easter everyone.
