Over the river and...

I am a thirty-something year old woman living with her retired father. This may seem like an intolerable situation for most, but I’m an old-fashioned girl. I conform to older ideals, and I believe that, being unattached, my primary responsibility is looking after the older generation. I look after my dad in a rather covert manner. It is convenient to have free rent, and my primary responsibilities at this point mostly include making my presence convenient, and occasionally showing my father how to get rid of that pesky symbol for missed calls. My father is highly functioning with the start of senior dementia. In layman’s terms: His response times and short term memory is crap, but he doesn’t have Alzheimer’s. I do realize that, over time, I will have to be the one to see to my father’s needs, fight with him about losing certain freedoms, all while making sure that he feels that he is in control and useful. I have no doubt that in this culture of throw away seniors that I am unique, and that my job is difficult. As the years pass I become more and more aware of it. There are dreams I have that wait on the sidelines because I can’t leave home for extended amounts of time. I am not looking for an award of some kind, just recognition that I don’t have it as easy as every one thinks I do.

Do you know what bothers me the most?

The bathroom is about as far from my bedroom as you can get.

My house is a two-family home built before indoor plumbing. We still have the foundation of the outhouse in the backyard. The result of this is a layout that includes two floors, but one bathroom. Downstairs…

I have to go about as far as you can go to get to the bathroom. That is, I have to go out of my room, down the hallway, down the stairs, past the living-room and dad‘s big ol‘TV, through the dining-room, over the river, and through the fucking woods, before I can PEE god-dammit!

Honestly, if I’m drunk, (and under the circumstances how could you NOT be on occasion) I am screwed as I try to complete this obstacle course that could only be conceived of in JAPAN, under increasing intoxication!

If you don’t believe me, try walking past a crime-drama while being three sheets to the wind. You’ll get sucked in like Dorothy on her way to Oz. All of a sudden you’re babbling to your father about how you saw this documentary about how these things are really done, and it isn‘t anything like this. Dad listens because he’s 72, and as far as he’s concerned company, even drunk company, is just great.

My point is that life isn’t easy, but if the bathroom were a bit closer, it would be easier. I don’t need it really close, just somewhere between crime-dramas and the occasional monster movie, and my bedroom.

The Trans-formative Power of Blog

Here is what happened to me on Tuesday, November 2, 2010.

 The short story is I went to Boston for the first time and saw The Dresden Dolls, who were reunited after a very long 3 year hiatus, at the very lovely Wilbur Theatre before heading home.

There’s so much more to this story though. It includes things like massive revelations courtesy of one Amanda Fucking Palmer, and being figuratively mugged by a parking garage.

I’ve been planning the trip for a couple of months now. I wasn’t terribly worried about the prospects of going to an unfamiliar city alone, because frankly I’ve had plenty of practice in this area during my stint as a truck driver. If anything, this was far easier because I wasn’t trying to navigate in an 18 wheeler. As long as people knew where I was, and when I expected to be back, I figured everything would be fine. At least if I wasn’t, loved ones would know where to start looking.

People warned me not to drive in Boston, and I was a bit nervous. While it didn’t go as well as it could, it went better than I hoped thanks to my ability to read a map (thanks truck driving school). I was prepared with a good map and directions to the parking garage, and from the garage out of Boston (good thinking on my part since retracing your steps in a vehicle is not an option).

The problem is that Boston clearly wasn’t built to accommodate automobile traffic. The streets are narrow and most of them aren’t wide enough for two lane traffic. Boston has solved this problem by organizing itself into a series of alternating one-ways. This is something I’m familiar with, because I live in a city that found the same solution to the same problem. The similarities end right there however, starting with layout. Troy is planned in a grid pattern, for the most part, meaning that the streets run perpendicular to each other. Boston is laid out in a very fashionable (for the time) wheel pattern, so the streets do no such thing. A wrong turn in Boston is often fixed only by going way out of your way and trying to find your way back. This would all be super okay if it weren’t for the sea of impatient city drivers who will beep at you for simply hesitating for a second to read a street sign, and pedestrians who will cross a street whenever and wherever they feel like it (that part is just like home). Needless to say I allowed myself to be harassed into missing a turn, but managed to find my way back to an acceptable garage a block from my planned destination.

Boston did not give a very good first impression. All I could think about as I emerged from the garage was how much I really fucking hate cities. The place seemed overrun at first and cold. I walked past business men and desperate panhandlers. I passed city hall, a big ugly square building which didn’t fit in with the older architecture or the new shiny tall buildings.

I went to Quincy Market, which I would have been more impressed with if I didn’t work in a mall, and it wasn’t pretty much…a mall. I will say they seemed to have a pretty eclectic food selection. I think I was there all of ten minutes.

At this point I would like to say that hiking in the woods and exploring a city on foot are remarkably similar: It can be disorienting, scary, exciting, and while the main path is safest, taking a couple side trails (provided they’re marked) often leads to remarkable sites.

After Quincy Market, I decided to ditch the tourist route and just walk the less populated areas to see if I can get Boston from a native’s perspective. I was rewarded generously for my efforts.

I found myself wandering the old narrow streets of the antique district. Amanda Palmer says one of the things she loves about Boston is its oldness. I agree, because I fell in love looking at narrow sidewalks and well preserved buildings.

It also depressed me just a bit. Boston managed to preserve its roots while still growing as a major city. I became acutely aware that my city looked like this once, before urban renewal took away most of our city’s heritage in the name of progress that nearly bankrupted us.

My wanderings found me on Longfellow Bridge just as the sun was setting. It was one of the best sunsets I had seen in a long time. I stood there and watched the sun dip below the horizon while the subway cars passed by, shaking the bridge in a disconcerting way. I made my way back over the bridge with my disposition completely changed. Joggers passed by me at an alarming rate (really I’ve never seen so many joggers, no wonder this place hosts a marathon), but I didn’t care, mine was the quick but measured pace of an invigorated explorer.

My route took me though Boston Common after sunset and even though the hot dog vendors were packing it in, the park was filled with people and dogs enjoying a bit of greenery in an otherwise tamed area. I thought to myself that I would very much like to live here. Not forever, but maybe for a year or two.

Dinner was too boring to mention, but on my way there I passed one Brian Viglione in the street. I didn’t say anything to him because what the hell could I say, but it was then that it really hit me: I was going to see one of my favorite bands perform in their hometown; I had made a sort of pilgrimage.

Outside the theatre was bustling with the line of freaks that made it clear you were in the right place (this is said with complete love, by the way). Street performers entertained the waiting crowd including the wonderful Emperor Norton Stationary Marching Band who came into the theater to play on the floor between sets.

I found my way in and ordered a rum and coke. I made that my first and only drink when I was charged a jaw dropping 8 bucks. With my ridiculously expensive drink in hand, I made my way over to the little corralled area that was my assigned section of the floor (side note: this put me directly below Amanda’s mother, who was seated in the box near stage left). I watched the audience watching the performers. Alone in a crowd, I was part of things but strangely separate, and for the first time I realized I was okay with this state of being there, but not quite a part of things. However, that’s a blog for another time.

The show itself was brilliant. There were a couple of fuck ups, but the crowd was in good humor about it because everything else was so perfect. If you have never seen these guys live, you really should make the effort. It wasn’t just as good as before, it was better. The break and the time apart really did both Brian and Amanda a lot of good. They missed each other, and they worked so well together, and you could really tell nobody was phoning it in.

After they played "The Jeep Song", Amanda said something that sparked something in me. The inspiration of that song is breaking up with someone who drives the same Jeep everyone else in Boston drives, causing a constant reminder of pain. She said that now when she sees a black Jeep Cherokee, she’s reminded of this thing that happened that made her write this great song that people like. It turned a bad feeling into a good one. She called it the remarkable trans-formative power of art. She went on to say that if there is something you’re dealing with, you should get it out, make art out of it, and show it to someone. Even if it sucks, you can replace those bad emotions with something else. Instead of thinking, “That reminds me of that horrible thing that happened to me,” you can now think,
“That reminds me of that horrible piece of art I made.”

I was so struck by this because I’ve had a lot of things that have been on my mind and weighing down my soul a bit. I didn’t make anything out of them because I didn’t think anyone would like what I made or understand it. I realized that Amanda is right and art (or at least its creation) isn’t really about everyone else. It’s about taking your life and experiences, creating something from it, showing it to people, and letting them take it from there. If I use these things to create something, it might just get it out of me, or at least change how I look at them…which would be good.

After a two and a half hour set it was time to go home. I got to my car and made my way to the entrance of the garage. The night fee was supposed to be 15 dollars. I apparently did something screwy when I entered the garage, because when I put in my card it said 30. I sat there and stared at the display feeling like I dropped the soap. Then I looked at the bar blocking my way. They had me right where they wanted me. With a resignated sigh, I dug for my debit card and submitted. Bastards. I found my way to the interstate easily enough and paid to be allowed to leave the city, and to use the toll road that got me home.

It was still completely worth it.

Beginning of Week 5 (Big Weigh In)

Weigh in for beginning of Week 5:

Last week: 211.2 lbs
This week: 211.6 lbs
Weight lost: +.4 lbs
Total Weight lost: 5.2 lbs

Measurements:

Waist: 39 (Down 1.5 in)
Hips: 46.5 (Down 2.25 in)
Thigh: 23.5 (Down .5 in)
Upper Arm 12 (Down .5 in)

I didn't stick with my regular eating or exercise last week. This shows in the weight gain. Otherwise, it seems this works and it works well.

Week 3 Numbers (Week 4 Weigh in)

I don't think I posted week 3 because there was an issue with Blogger and I just forgot. Long story short, I gain one pound last week.

Onward!


Weigh in for Week 4
Last week: 212.8 lbs
This Week: 211.2 lbs
Weight lost 1.6 lbs
Total Weight lost: 5.6 lbs

I knew last week was a fluke.
Next week: Measurements.

Week 2 numbers

Week 3 weigh in:
Last week 211.8 lbs
This week 212.8 lbs
Weight lost + 1 lb
Total weight lost 4 lbs

I'm not going to let myself be discouraged. I did everything right. Perhaps this is muscle gain slowing my momentum a bit.

Week one in detail.

Week one of my new way of eating is over. While it is too early to tell, so far it is a resounding success.

I have lost 5 pounds, which is quite a lot by normal standards. I credit this to my body responding to suddenly getting what it needs and not getting what is harmful to it. I predict as the weeks progress, weight loss should be less dramatic.

As predicted, my new diet is leaving me sated with far fewer calories. I am not controlling calories and fat intake as such, but Sparkpeople automatically records them. I have found this diet results in less fat and calories eaten with the same or better levels of satisfaction. I feel more in control of my eating and I find myself eating smaller portions automatically, though there was no limit on how much I could eat as long as the foods were high in fiber and contained no processed sugars.

While I still crave unhealthy foods, I feel that the choice to eat them is more in my control. I also am going with the knowledge that I have not given up bad food altogether, but will be more measured and careful about how I consume them. As one should with alcohol, I plan to indulge only occasionally. The first time this happens will be a test. In the past this has led me to spin out of control and resume bad, addictive behaviors.

I’m being careful with exercise, because overtraining has been my other downfall, leading to burnout. I’m making sure to give my muscles plenty of rest and take progression of workouts slowly. The goal is to feel challenged, but not exhausted. While I was sore up to my rest over the weekend, I seem to have recovered completely.
The most unexpected aspect of the changeover is my energy levels. In the past, I would experience a spike in my energy when starting a new diet. I became restless and overly obsessive. This usually led to overtraining. With this diet, my energy levels are moderate. I do not feel sluggish, nor do I feel overly energetic. I believe this is a good sign, but since the body usually takes about 2 weeks to stabilize, I’ll have a better idea of how my energy is affected in the next week or two.

Overall, my results are positive, and sustainable good health and weight seem to be a possibility. So far, it would seem that food addiction is indeed treatable. I do not feel like I’m fighting with my appetite, and this is almost easy. That’s important to success I think.

I’m reminded of when I gave up another addiction, smoking. I remember that every time I quit was horribly difficult, except the last time, which was quite easy. I had decided that I really didn’t want to smoke anymore, which meant I psychologically was not working against myself. This made the treatment go smoothly. I think all addictions work in a similar fashion. You have to really be ready to make a change, if you force a change on yourself, it will never work. It is not so much the desire to lose weight and become healthy, it is the desire to commit to what needs to be done to make this happen. And of course the careful application of the right methods of treatment, which is the basis of this experiment.

Most importantly I decided to stop hating myself for what I have done, and to stop hating my body for not looking the way I want it to. I am as I am, and I want to be healthy. If my body takes on a more pleasing shape, I will be happy, but I will not hate it if it doesn’t.

Start of week 2

Last weeks weight: 216.8 lbs
This week: 211.8 lbs
Weight lost: 5 lbs
Total Weight lost: 5 lbs

Full entry about my first week to come later today.
If you're wondering what I've been eating and doing for exercise, it's all posted here. my.sparkpeople.com/AMAZONPAGE

Lifestyle Change Update 1

Alright, here we go, and here are the big numbers. Sort of embarrassing but necessary.

Weight- 216.8 lbs (The lowest weight I've started any eating plan or lifestyle change)
Waist- 40.5 in
Hips- 48.75 in
Thigh- 24 in
Upper Arm- 12.5 in

Next week at this time I will post a weight update and the difference. In four weeks I'll update the measurements the same way.

in which research is carefully applied...

It isn’t a secret that I’ve struggled with my weight for all of my adult life. Becoming obese wasn’t intentional (is it ever?), it was just something that happened and before I knew it, it was kind of out of control. Over these years I developed binge eating disorder, which I kept a secret for a long time, and that made it quite difficult to take any weight off despite attempts at a healthier lifestyle, and health concerns.

Over the last year and a half, after yet another renewed effort to get my eating under control failed, I decided that if I was going to ever lose weight and get healthy, I would need to find out why I overeat in the first place and fix the cause.

This is what I found out:

My reasons for overeating are a combination of emotional and physical (yes physical) factors; to succeed I need to treat both.

People are drawn by years of evolution to seek and eat as much fat, sugar, and salt as they can. These are available in huge quantities now, yet we haven’t changed.

Sugar is in everything, and while it’s quick energy, it’s like alcohol in our liver. We can neutralize the effects of sugar with fiber. Fiber also controls appetite. Nature pairs sugar with fiber. Fruit is high in fiber, and sugarcane is loaded with sugar, but has so much fiber it’s a stick. When we process sugars we remove the fiber, so there’s no antidote to the poison. In order to preserve foods, we processed out the fiber from them as well. When we removed fat from all our foods, we added sugar to make them tasty. Sugar covers up the fact that the processed food I was eating was the nutritional equivalent of packing peanuts.

Like alcohol, tons of sugar can cause dependence and yes, binging.

The result of our modern diet is weight gain and dependency.

The result of weight gain is emotional alienation that results in further dependency.

While it might not have been totally my fault, I got fat, it is my responsibility to fix the problem now that I know what caused it.

Starting Monday, I’m going to try to apply my research and try to “cure” myself. The plan is to lower my sugar levels as much as possible. If I do have sugar I must pair it with fiber. I will also raise my fiber intake to at least the daily recommended amounts, higher if possible. My diet will mostly contain fruits and veggies, beans, nuts, and whole grains. As little processed items as possible, no juices or flavored drinks (all sugar, no fiber). No aspartame or sucralose because I don’t think those are better. Little or no high fructose corn syrup. For this plan, I will not be necessarily monitoring fat or calorie intake, though I will do my best to keep these reasonable because 60 grams of fat in one meal isn’t all that great either.

Exercise is supposed to help you purge toxins, so I plan to exercise a minimum of 5 days a week for at least 30 minutes consisting of 3 cardio days and two strength days.

If my weight is a sign of my illness then it should regulate itself once I fix what’s making me ill. To that end, I will be weighing myself once a week, and measuring my waist, hips, thigh, and arm once a month.

I’ll be using Sparkpeople.com to report my weight and monitor my exercise and food intake. My name is Amazonpage, and you’re welcome to check that out, though I will be reporting my weight weekly on Mondays, and my measurement progress every fourth Monday on both Blogger and Facebook.

I’m treating my attempt at weight loss as an experiment. What happens when I neutralize the toxins in the environment? Is food addiction treatable? I think it is, and I’ll be excited to see where I am one year from now.

Common Sense 2.0

Some time ago, a customer told me her childhood friend married a graduate from RPI, an engineering school in my hometown. She said this guy invented the strips that allowed credit cards to be read. Apparently, this guy had capitalized on his invention very wisely, because this customer told me he had a ton of money and 5 homes around the world. She said this with the wistful look in her eye that people get when they talk about winning the lottery or watch rich people on television.

This is what I said to her: “I would hate to have that much money.”

I don’t think it was the response she expected from a register jockey, because she looked at me a little strangely. I elaborated, “If you have a lot of money there’s a lot of extra work and stress that goes into managing that money. You have to hire people to look after it, to look after your houses, to look after the people who look after your houses. That much money needs to be handled in a special way and it’s really noticeable when you screw up…so you have to hire more people. All these people have to be paid. While it might be nice to have a lot of fancy things and travel a lot, it seems like it would be more trouble than it’s worth.” Or if you prefer the boiled down version: “Mo money, mo problems.” She agreed with me, but I had the distinct feeling she didn’t go into it feeling that way.

Long after the conversation ended, I was struck by my own response. I realized that I really meant it. While there are things that I would like, I don’t really want money itself. The things I want are simple and attainable by my social class. However, there was not a single thing I felt I needed or would feel discontented if I didn’t get. There’s not a tangible item I own, no matter how sentimental, that I wouldn’t be able to do without. The only things I need are the basics of health: Food, shelter, and social interaction. I believe that if you are unhappy, money will not change that. I honestly just want to get by and I hope that I can do just a little bit better for the sake of stability, security, and comfort. It is happiness and contentment that I seek in life. Joy comes to me, because I succeed at it often.

Somewhere along the way, and without my realizing it, I became non-materialistic. I realized that I had no real interest in capitalism or a capitalist society, and in this society that made me a bit of an eccentric. I don’t fit in, because I don’t desire infinite growth. I don’t understand profit for the sake of profit, and at the expense of others.

I see the inherent flaws in the infinite growth paradigm. It is alarmingly obvious to me that the way we are doing things isn’t working. We have grown as a culture to desire growth over our, and our neighbors, well being. However, we’ve grown to accept it out of habit. We ignore or understate the flaws in the system because we don’t want to admit it doesn’t work. We have finite resources, so unless we start doing things very differently we might lose everything we’ve built so far.

I am no longer convinced that our government is able to fix what they have brought to pass. I am of the opinion that our current government is no longer doing what it set out to do. I cannot expect the Obama administration to fix all our problems because it has been given the task of the near impossible. Perhaps if we consider Thomas Jefferson’s political philosophy, we have been too long without a revolution. I am convinced that the solution is to scrap the current methods and find a better way of doing things. However, we better do it quick because if things keep going the way they are we won’t be given the option.

I worry about us, because as a culture (sadly it is a world culture) we have become so detached from each other that we’ve lost our sense of community. We no longer interface with each other, we interface with machines, and honestly it isn’t the same thing as face to face interaction. To see this in play go to any public place: People are not interacting with each other; they are interacting with their devices. I love technology myself, but it should be a tool for relaying information, not a substitute for social interaction.

Something is wrong with the way our society is changing…

Then I had to wonder what I’m going to do about it. I’m one person, I hardly matter…

I guess I’m going to do everything I can…

Crossposted to Facebook

What I'm thinking about today

I've been thinking a lot lately about how sites like Facebook really stretch the word "friend" to include people I consider only acquaintances. Likewise there are people in my life who I was considering my friends, but may only really be acquaintances.

To me a friend is around and supportive in good times and in bad. These people can be counted on, even if it's for nothing else other than a kind ear and maybe some advice. They realize that things aren't always good, but are willing to be there when it's not because they really like who you are. They care for your feelings, and when there's a disagreement they try to repair the breach because you're important to them.

Then there are acquaintances. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with acquaintances. They can be good to celebrate occasions and occasionally get together with. They are also good for networking purposes and a laugh. Acquaintances are like the hearty stock in a stew: On their own they are lacking, but they fill in and enrich the spaces in your life. They also give your friends a break from time to time. However, they are not the people you turn to in crisis or when things get rough. They aren't there when it really matters. That's what your friends are for. Also, the loss of acquaintances isn't a big deal.

Facebook is like a picture of your social stew. Friends and acquaintances and family all jumbled together, like your real life. These are all the people you know.

Regarding the people mentioned in the first paragraph. I think if they aren't really there in good times and only really act like acquaintances, then I should really treat and regard them as such. Now that leaves a lot of empty spaces in the "friends" category, but those spaces will be filled if there are people who really want to fill them. If they remain empty then more of my energy is devoted to those who remain.

Maybe this is like spring cleaning of the soul. I'm gathering up my love and figuring out where it should go.

Crossposted to Facebook

But what do you really want...

My entries all start out the same: as entries in my personal journal where I keep my private thoughts. There are many that are too private to post publicly, and some that have had to be edited to make the cut. I almost didn't post this entry. Then I thought that if I really want the things I say I do, I need to give a little away. I need to show more than I have. I need to have the courage to be a little vulnerable from time to time.


Without further ado:



Instead of wishing that I lived in a world where my desire to create and my desire to make a living were not mutually exclusive, I have decided to make that world a reality on some level. 

My idea is to not quit my day job, but to make my hobbies somehow, someway, my the most important aspect of my life. I wish to have the bravery to not only pursue my interests, but to present my labors as well.

I have considered myself first and foremost an artist (of various mediums) for a long time. I suppose I should remain true to that instead of turning my back on it. After all, art is the only thing that has really been good to me.


However, doubts linger and I’m afraid this will go the way it all goes. And deep down I hope that it will bring me the acceptance I’ve craved my entire life but always somehow fell short of. I may continue to fall short, but creating gets me closer to acceptance than any other thing I’ve done.


I really want to be a kinetic force in the universe. I wish to do things that are interesting and thought provoking. I wish to amuse myself and others.


I wish to push past the wall of apathy I’ve built between myself and the rest of the world over the years, because it has brought me nothing but sorrow.


I want change so badly, but I’m afraid I’m not good enough to achieve it. I fear that somehow I’m not worth being better, or having more. I’m afraid that when it comes right down to it I won’t be able to follow through and really fix what has gone so wrong.


I need strength, not a short burst, but the kind that lasts. The kind of strength that you see on the faces of those who have persevered and made something, however small, out of nothing.


I need friends, old and new, and the kind of inspiration that comes from the open exchange of ideas.


Most of all, I need faith in myself and the courage to finally see it through.


Crossposted to facebook.

A Story

Did you know that I draw too?

Over the years, some of my friends have been surprised to learn that I can draw at all, because I don’t do it that much anymore. In my room hangs one of my paintings, and there is a book tucked away somewhere with the best of what survived my tumultuous teenage years, but there has hardly been anything in the visual art range from me in some time.

I’m thinking about this because recently I began drawing again and what has come out of me is surprising. Mostly I’ve been doing rough drawn cartoons, but they have become an outlet of creativity that I haven’t been able to express otherwise. So drawing is my latest thing.

I didn’t really begin drawing in earnest until I went to high school and not until my junior year. I was surrounded by a mass of extremely talented and creative people. Everyone sort of had their thing and mine was acting, some could sing, some played instruments and one or two could draw. Many of us dabbled in more than one thing.

My defining trait then and now is I have an unrelenting need to express myself creatively and any way I can. The medium changes over the years and sometimes it lapses entirely, but the need is there and I assume it always will be.

However, in high school I suffered from a massive inferiority complex. Aside from acting, I didn’t feel that anything else I did was worth shit. It didn’t help that I was surrounded by people that I thought could do it better and usually did. For that reason I doodled but that was about it.

In my junior year, I had to take a visual arts class to complete my arts sequence and get my diploma. I took the initiative to show my teacher, Ms. Jordan, some of my rough sketches. I still don’t know why, but she decided to take me under her wing. She gave me my first real sketchbook, a bunch of different pencils and a book of classic art and told me to draw at least 15 minutes a day 30 on weekends and show her the results. She told me to draw anything, pictures from magazines or stuff I see around me. She gave me tips and told me about shading techniques, lighting sources, lead densities, and anything else she could think of. She told me not to worry about what my friends were drawing, to not even show them if I didn’t want to.

After a short while, something really weird happened: I started to get pretty decent, and Ms. Jordan started to encourage me to show my work. She gave my final project a spot in the art show downtown without ever seeing it. I think I almost cried when I saw she put my painting with the projects for the advanced class even though I wasn’t in it. There’s still a picture somewhere of me standing in front of that painting, and aside from being on stage it was my proudest moment in high school. It was the first time I really felt like an artist. I don’t think any of those friends of mine went to the show, but that’s okay. This was something that I genuinely felt was just about me and I was finding I liked being on my own.

I continued to draw even after high school. I only stopped when I got into my first real relationship with a guy who I considered a better artist than I, and who also left little room for me in our relationship. The irony is the inferiority complex that kept me from drawing in the first place made me stop.

I may have taken a long road back here, but you don’t stop being an artist, and so I pick up the pencil again. We’ll see where it takes me this time. I am the true jack of all trades, and if enough time goes by I might just get good at everything.

A silly picture.

Because I decided that it would be a good idea to walk four miles in the blistering sunlight, I now have a sunburn.

However I did see this on a traffic light control box, so it was worth it.

"Now I'll not have things getting silly...."

Early Wonder Woman wore a skirt!

This morning I made the comment on Faceyspace that I only seem to be attractive to the Serial Killer demographic. That I was a specialty item that has only one use that no one ever needs. I then said that the one use is probably being dressed in a wonder woman costume and stuffed under a porch.

I then decided to do an artists rendition.

Rebel Yell

Every time I relapse on my health and fitness I learn something about myself. Every time I try again I lose and keep a little more off. The journey, and my desire to find compromise between loving myself and changing myself, is emotional at best and I am on fire to succeed.

To the casual observer it may look like I’m on again, off again. Every idea I have may seem like another scheme that will not work. To me it is as if I must climb the tallest and most daunting of mountains. I make progress and sometimes I slip back a little. I try again and I hope I don’t make the same mistake because I learned what made me slip last time. To me it’s slow, it’s agonizing, and I feel as if I have sweat out and cried out every single one of these pounds. Every one of them takes everything I have because it’s hard, but it proves I’m human. If I am simply an animal I would just succumb to my base urges. In this toxic environment I would surely eat myself to death, as I have seen many others do. My primate brain wants fat and sugar and salt and it wants it all the time. My humanity allows me to decide to not give in to my desires and do what is best for me. That is why I will eventually succeed.

But I was born starving. Starving for food. Starving for love. Starving for joy. That primate feels it and she wants and she screams so loud that sometimes I can hear nothing else. If I don’t eat enough, if I don’t love enough, if I train too much she screams and I lose my footing while I just shut her up. While I try to find a little temporary peace.

So please forgive my setbacks, my renewed efforts, while I try to be a better me. I have to learn to live with the animal inside me. I have to learn how to keep her quiet or how to ignore her when she bellows about needs. She doesn’t understand that it’s a slow road to fulfill them.


It’s a good thing that I am human after all…

The Young Woman and the Sea

When I am seeking peace from my stress I want to visualize myself standing on top of Skytop at Mohonk Mountain house. However, I find myself instead on a beach with a glass jar. The water is warm and it washes over my feet. As I walk I collect seashells, putting them in the jar.

I figured this had something to do with my mother. She loved the ocean, and she used to collect seashells and put them in jars all over the house. I don’t think this is entirely inaccurate; I think my subconscious is putting this in terms that I understand on some level. However, I think it is not really about my mother, but what those images invoke in me. They brought peace to my mother, who was almost never at peace, and so I associate them thusly.

Today I had a revelation. The beach is my mind, the shells are my duties and responsibilities, and the ocean is the restless current of my emotions and emotional needs, pulling my attention away from my tasks. The waves promise serenity, but serenity only comes when the jar is full.

Today would have been my mother’s 65th birthday. What a fitting day for revelations about the shells, the beach, and the sea.

Contemplations of Mohonk

Kim has created a monster. My trip to Mohonk was just what I needed. It is one of the most, if not THE most wonderful place I’ve ever been to.

There is a TV room, but I had no interest in seeing it. The place had a very distinctive smell, which is probably some combination of the natural woods they use and the fires burning in fireplaces throughout the hotel. It defies description.

When you are outside there is no one great view. Every direction you turn your head you see fantastic natural scenery. While you may exercise quite a bit you become rejuvenated. Life outside of Mohonk matters not quite as much as it did before.

You would think that time would fly because you’re having a great time, but for some reason it doesn’t work like that at Mohonk. I found myself amazed that time seemed to be slowing down, debatably at one point I think it even went in reverse, and it may be because you aren’t distracting yourself with media. I was only there for two days but it felt like twice as long, which when you’re at a place as wonderful as this is a good thing.

Finally, it was time to leave and I said goodbye to Mohonk vowing that I would come back as often as I could. Yet another great reason to go to school and get my life together. More chances to visit Mohonk!

I don’t know if Kim knows how grateful I am to her to be introduced to such an awesome place. I like the fact that she knew I would love it and what that says about me.

While I was there I spent a lot of time contemplating the effect that negative and positive attitudes and environments have on you. It reinforced my idea that what you bring to life really affects how you see it and how life affects you in return. If you bring a positive attitude to life, you see more positive than negative things in it, the bad things that happen become opportunities and not misfortunes. We may think of ourselves as mirrors who reflect the world around us. This is true for many people, but I think they are just reacting rather than acting. I decided that I will always try to act as a positive force instead, and let the world react to that, hopefully reflecting positive things back at me. It may not work all the time, but I think it will work often enough to make a difference.

I had an opportunity to try out the results of my contemplations last night. You may have heard me complain about my noisy neighbors. They are frequently up late and they love loud music. Last night they were partying late and I found myself getting angry that they weren’t being quiet. I then remembered my ideas and decided if the noise was really too loud for me to sleep or if I was just pissed off I could hear it at all. It was too loud for me to sleep. I then decided rather than be pissed off all night, or go over there with an attitude problem, I would go over and politely asked them to turn it down and see what happens.

What I said was this with a smile: “Hi, I was wondering if you could turn down the music a little bit? I’m having a little trouble sleeping… Thank you so much and have a good night.”

As I was leaving my neighbor even commented that I was wearing no shoes in the rain (I didn’t want to get my slippers wet). I told her that it was okay and went back to my home.

I didn’t hear a thing from them for the rest of the night. I think that it had a lot to do with how I decided to approach the situation. It is a rehash of the old “you get more flies with honey…” saying. Though I’m not sure why anyone would want flies.

I wonder if they get irritated by the crowds and noise from the bar on weekends. Maybe we can all join together as a neighborhood and do something about it.

The world is not always wonderful, but it is the way you approach that which is less than good that defines you, and may change the way that people react to you.

Don’t simply react to your world. Act on it and shape it, make it react to you.

Crossposted to Facebook.

Story of a Food Addict

It always happens eventually. I’ll be sitting across from a friend in a restaurant after months of eating healthy and getting fit. I may have even lost noticeable amount of weight, which is impressive for me. Sometimes I’ll start it, sometimes they will, but suddenly my friend will turn into a pusher.

“I’m getting the chicken tenders.”
“They’re good, I used to love them, but I can’t eat them anymore.”
“Oh common, you should go ahead and order them. You’ve doing so well and you look great. One serving of chicken tenders isn’t going to hurt.”
“I guess you’re right, yeah I’ll order the chicken tenders (or have a slice of pizza, or have a chocolate).”

Here lies the secret of my failure. The backbone of my yo-yo dieting. The incident that begins a horrible guilt-ridden downward spiral back to where I started.

I am a binge eater and a food addict. A lot of people laugh when I tell them I’m a food addict. Society has not wrapped their heads around the concept of food addiction. Many people discredit this because we need food to survive; how can you be addicted to something like that?

Honestly I’m not 100% sure, and I’m the one affected by it. My best guess is in this society filled with foods that are dense and rich and easy to come by; people like me stopped using food to survive and started using it to medicate themselves. Eventually those people began to rely on the food to get them through life. If this comes with weight gain, like it did for me, the social isolation becomes a whole other reason to use food to fill the void.

My personal struggle with food addiction was joined (as it often is for people) with binge eating. I didn’t just want to medicate, I needed to eat as much of this food as I could. When this behavior made me feel bad, I would just do it again and feel worse. This cycle would continue until I’d hit a bottom of sorts (usually frequent stomach aches or chest pains) and I would start getting healthy and staying away from those bad foods. I’d meet with some success until I ate what I call a “trigger food” and eventually, like a house of cards tumbling down, I would be right where I started again and feeling more like a failure.

To me an addiction is a behavior or behaviors that you have no control over that affect your life and your health negatively and if left unchecked could even lead to your death. Yet I think the word “control” is where the debate comes up with food. People who don’t share my problem can not understand why I can’t just dig in and practice self control. Why can’t I just eat one slice of pizza without my whole world falling apart?

After my last big burn out, I started reframing my thinking. I used other addictions as a framework for understanding and dealing with mine. Just like an alcoholic cannot have one beer, no matter how “good” he’s been, I cannot have certain foods, no matter how long I’ve been healthy.

I started by making a list of trigger foods. Trigger foods are those foods that I cannot eat under any circumstances because I cannot control how I take them in. For instance, I can’t have one piece of cake, because even if it doesn’t happen right there and then, (I don’t binge in front of people) I will eat an entire cake in one sitting. I noticed by the way, almost all the foods on the list are high in fats, salts and sugars, usually all three.

Next, I thought of other ways to reward myself that do not include food. I could buy a new shirt, or download a new song for my IPod, or take myself out to a movie. Or get my nails done.

Next, I told those people who spend the most time with me what I was doing and asked that they not encourage me to eat these foods, even on holidays and other special occasions. My sister even asked for the list of my trigger foods, so that she doesn’t serve any of them when I’m at her house. I can’t stress this enough, because success comes from the support of those closest to you.

Finally, I’ve come up with ways to deal with temptations. Most of mine are exercise oriented. I find if I dance for a few minutes or play and interactive game, the craving is gone by the time I’m done. Also, don’t let yourself get really hungry. Hunger leads to bad decisions.

I know eventually I’ll be starving at the mall, or I’ll find myself in the restaurant again. But this time when I’m told “You have to indulge sometimes,” or,
“Just once won’t hurt.” I’ll be armed and let them know that I do reward myself, just not with food.

The real question is should I tell them?

I was taking the bus to work today and we pass a sign in front of a bar that says, "Beer is cheaper than gas! Don't Drive, Drink!" The sign then advertised some beer at $2.00 a bottle.


No it's not...and you just proved yourself wrong on the same sign.

I know the sign is just a clever advertisement, but I just can't let it go. I know the sign is wrong but now I need to figure out how wrong the sign is.

I then begin making the calculations in my head to figure out how expensive a gallon of that beer would be, assuming it's being sold in a 12 oz. bottle.

For the record it's $21.33, which is way more expensive than a gallon of gas. How much more? We'll get to that.

I also have to mention at this point that this went on in my head, on the bus, while I got to work.

I also had no control over whether or not I made these calculations, my brain was doing this whether I liked it or not.

It's not over yet. Later on, while sitting in this very chair I remembered my time on the bus and I felt compelled to look up the average price of a gallon of gas in Albany and figure out how much it would be for 12 oz. of it.

Albany's gas is currently $2.801* a gallon, making it .26** cents for 12 oz of it.

This part and the next part I have some control over, because I needed a calculator and a website to make these calculations. However, I didn't have much of a choice because I wouldn't be able to stop thinking about it until my curiosity was satisfied.

Then by idle curiosity I thought why not just figure out how much more expensive beer was.

Beer is more than 8 times more expensive than gas. Not only was that sign wrong, but it was ridiculously wrong.

I compulsively do this kind of thing in my head all the time and I'm not sure what that means.

By the way, the math changes if you choose to drink at home depending on the beer you're drinking, but either way the sign is wrong.

I'm like a poor man's xkcd.

*Gas prices supplied by http://www.albanygasprices.com/


**Some figures were rounded.

What Happened to Jean

It’s a shame what happened to Jean.

No one knows why exactly, but she always said that she spent all her time fighting off madness.

No one paid much attention, because she always said things like that.

The last day I saw her, she had gathered up all of the things she loved and arranged them in neat piles all over her room. She said she was only going to eat rice and steamed vegetables from then on, and that she planned on duct taping the windows and all the cracks in the room to block out the light. She said that it was because beautiful women were thin and pale. She said it was because she couldn’t stand outside anymore.

Then she said that she never wanted to die, but sometimes she wanted to fade away like pencil on very old sheet of paper. She wanted to go somewhere far and distant, where the world can’t get close. She said that she wanted lay in the grass and let the pain drain out of her like ink from a pen.

I didn’t pay much attention, because she always said things like that.

Later, we saw her standing on the bridge. She wore a pair of slippers and an old-fashioned bathing suit she had found in a thrift store. She had wrapped chains made of many colors of construction paper around her body. They blew in the wind and got tangled in the veil that trailed from the back of her head. Her make-up was perfect. We were drunk and tired, and we laughed and told her to come down so we could go home.

She laughed too. She tipped her head back and laughed so hard right before she jumped.

Her note only said that she had discovered how to fly and it wasn’t a moment too soon because she was very tired of being bored.

No one knows if it was a suicide note or if she meant it.

But I think it was both…

These days, we talk about and think about everything Jean ever said.

Now that Jean doesn’t say anything anymore.