all the pretty faces
That’s me, August 2007.
I was at a carnival where I didn’t go on any rides except the Tilt-A-Whirl and watched my sister and brother-in-law go on the rollercoasters and various other death-defying contraptions that make my stomach turn…not only because I am not much of a thrillseeker by nature, but also because when you weigh over 300 pounds there isn’t much room for you in those molded plastic seats.
Last year I worked all day every Saturday (10-12 hours). Sunday was my only day off and I would have to get laundry done, dishes, anything I needed to do but couldn’t during the week, as well as catch up on some sleep. I didn’t go to the beach or any carnivals. I was a prisoner of my own doing working the schedule that I did, trying to live on my own, adjusting to being in my house. I haven’t been to the beach since 2006. I haven’t been on a vacation since then either. I’ve barely had anything other than Thanksgiving and Christmas day off from work. I worked every other holiday and never got a day off. Not even on my birthday.
This year should be different. My work schedule is more lenient and I know I can ask for Saturday off. My 23rd birthday falls on a Friday, which I have no problem working on, and I will start the party as soon as I punch out and hopefully will be so shitfaced drunk that night that I’ll wake up sometime Saturday afternoon not knowing exactly what happened and I can’t wait.
I’ve continued working out every day since March 9th. The day after the debacle seeing Steve the last time. Everything seemed to shift into focus for me. I was spiralling downward and wallowing in my misery rather than doing anything about it. So the next day, after many tears and restless sleep and more crying over my dilemma, I packed up the dogs and we took a walk. Of course it was very cold outside then and rainy and oh yeah, we also happened across the dead dog that same day. But it didn’t discourage me, and I also had the Gazelle at my house. When the weather is bad I stick to that—when it’s nice outside I take a walk and then come back to workout and do cardio. That first two weeks I could barely do high knee lifts for five seconds and that was without working out before hand. Now I do several 30-second intervals throughout my 45-minute/hour long workout session. I really strive for at least 45 minutes. Some days I can only do 20 minutes but it’s rare. And usually I’ve walked a couple miles with the dogs. They’re starting to revolt after no walks since Monday. Bad weather, threat of rain, strong winds…and just no desire to walk outside in the dark in this neighborhood.
Thankfully tonight we were able to get out and walk around, I took some pictures and tried to keep from letting Israel loose when some asshole yelled loud enough for me to hear that my dogs were going to kill his kids. I’m half a block away, my dogs are at my side and not making a sound. I don’t even keep noisy tags on them. That is why I hate walking around other people/the public with my dogs. They are so beyond ignorant it makes me want to get violent. Israel might scream and bark at other dogs, but he shuts up after a few seconds while the other dog (usually tied up in the yard never to move no matter the day or time I walk by…) is barking incessantly. I have control over my three dogs, I walk them with confidence, THEY AREN’T GOING TO HURT YOU. But I might. Even better was when the guy decided to stare at me through his screendoor until I passed by. I was still nowhere NEAR his house—I was walking along the street parallel to his house, on the other side of it, and there was no way my dogs were getting away. Some assholes deserve to die.
Everyone is exempt from feeling sorry for me after this weekend because I have chosen to see the vampire against all better judgment. He’s like a lodestone. It’ll be nice to get away for a bit. I’ve felt a tad cloistered the last few weeks. Money is a big issue right now (which is part of the reason I’m seeing him) and I’m working out every night and eating better. (Nevermind the pizza I had tonight—I earned it!)
I ran for about two minutes on the treadmill without even planning on it. And as I did so Anamarie was on the computer next to me (like a foot away), already irate because our mom is out of town visiting with her parents, the treadmill is old and squeaks no matter what. Annoyed at my presence, she snarled, “IT’S TELLING YOU TO GET OFF!!!!”
Angry sister aside, I was so overjoyed that I was running for longer than a few seconds. I asked if I could take the treadmill to my house since they only use it to store things on (it’s covered in dust and cat litter) and I really want to use it (I’d love to get up and run every morning). My dad said no. I asked why.
“Because I like to get on it sometimes!”
I couldn’t stop laughing. Because for the last five or six months it’s been covered in paperwork, boxes, bags, toys, etc. I was the one to clean it off. It’s moved around a few feet in the basement depending on where they put furniture, but I’m the only person who’s used it in the last few years. He just wants to be difficult. I think I’ll convince him to let me have it though.
I have 8 weeks until my 23rd birthday. I’ve been working out, and gradually stepping up my workouts every few days, and really adhering well to my diet. Eating as many fresh foods as I can, focusing on low-fat, high protein, low-carb (starches, flour, sugar) but of course with the occasional slip up. Usually a cookie. THOSE COOKIES! The cravings are waning. The self-control is growing.
It’s one day at a time. It’s every few minutes having to adjust my way of thinking. This is so much harder than I expected but for once I am more concerned with the journey than the destination.
As life gets longer, awful feels softer,
and it feels pretty soft to me.
And if it takes shit to make bliss,
well I feel pretty blissfully.
If life’s not beautiful without the pain,
well I’d just rather never ever even see beauty again.
Well as life gets longer, awful feels softer.
And it feels pretty soft to me.
- “The View”, Modest Mouse
