Food is an Addiction

There is so much to do that when I stop to think about it, I get paralyzed. This sort of paralysis, of course, does not lend it self to accomplishing my goals. The goal is so overwhelming right now that I can not even conceive of accomplishing it. This definitely does not bode well for success.

There is a constant battle going on in my head. The rational, smart, compassionate part of me knows, absolutely knows without a doubt, that I am smart enough to solve this problem, conquer this battle. I need to loose some weight. I know how it is done – eat less, move more. It is so simple.

Then there is the part of me that has, historically, always emerged the victor. This is the weaker, less rational side, yet somehow, someway, this is the side that dominates. This is the side that does not stop to think first, the side that allows the pleasure of the hand-to-mouth action, the chewing and swallowing, and the subsequent feelings of physical fullness to dictate my life. If only I would just stop to think first, I could fix this. But this side of me does not think, this voice is louder than the other, talks more, wants more.

When I come down from the high, I only feel worse. I realize that I am not in control. Feeling out of control is horrible.

Both of my parents are followers of the 12 steps. I have witnessed my mother’s success in conquering her addiction by following these steps. Rest assured that eating the way I do is nothing short of addiction. This is the first time I have acknowledged this about myself. Maybe it is time for me to embrace these 12 steps myself. I was in high school when she started getting herself together and I have clear memories of this time. I distinctly remember her “one day at a time” mantra. I must adopt this for myself, only modified slightly. One minute at a time is all I can handle right now. Just one minute. For one minute, I can be strong, do the right thing. And if I can do it for one minute, then I can do it for the next. And hopefully all those minutes will eventually add up to an entire day of success.

I am determined that, from now on, the rational, smart side is going to have the louder voice.

Myself is an Epidemic

My English 101 teacher would not pass a student if she could not master basic grammar. Most of us graduated from high school with these skills. Others of us, however, had to take the test more than once to be eligible for sophomore status. We all make mistakes and typos here and there. But if you consistently make the same “mistake,” you just do not know the correct way (just yesterday I told someone in an email that “we road from Raleigh,” but I know that I was wrong).

There are certain things that really bother me. “Myself” rates at the top of my list. “Myself” is chronically misused. And the worst part about this misuse is that, I think, most people are actually trying to do the right thing. For whatever reason, they believe that “me” or “I” is incorrect and use “myself” instead. Sometimes I think “myself” is used in an attempt to be more formal. “Me” and “I” are correct and should be used where they belong. “Myself” is a reflexive pronoun! Here’s a tip: never use “myself” unless you have used “I” first; “myself” cannot stand alone. As in, “I fixed the car myself” or “I can help myself.” Never, ever say “the committee members are John, Sarah, and myself.” You would never say “myself is on the committee” (although I am sure there are people out there who would, much to my chagrin), so why would you use “myself” because there is an additional noun?

I also hate quotation marks where they do not belong (forget about where to put the punctuation mark around them) and unnecessary or excessive use of apostrophes. My last name ends with an S. There are people out there who believe that, when referring to my husband and me collectively, that do not need to pluralize our name. The fact that it ends in an S does not make it plural! One Jones is not the same as two Joneses. The Jones house is not the same as the Joneses’ house. Is it possible that most of us to not know when an apostrophe is used to contract two words instead of indicate something is plural? I actually saw a sign in a shop that read, “Available size’s.” I, of course, had to tell the shopkeeper it was incorrect. And why is it becoming acceptable to start sentences with “however,” even when it is used to mean nonetheless? There are so many others.

I blame it on the rise of “reality” television. We regularly see people on TV misusing and abusing the English language. This is what we are teaching our children. Sigh.

I realize that there are bigger problems in the world than bad grammar. There are other causes that need my attention. I am in a profession, however, where I have to write (and read) reports, policy documents, and newsletters on a daily basis, so I suppose I am particularly sensitive to these things. The bottom line, I suppose, is that if you’re going to do something, do it right. How is it possible that so many graduate not only from high school and college, but from graduate school, and they cannot correctly construct a sentence in their native language?

I totally judge you when you use poor grammar.

For How Long?

Just the other day, my husband looked at me and told me how much better his life is with me in it. He told me how, when he was single, despite his overall satisfaction with his life, there was something missing. He made me feel loved and appreciated. I laid awake in bed that night thinking about what he'd said. I was touched; I always enjoy it when he expresses his affection and care for me. But my thoughts quickly turned. When we first married, my body was soft and curvy, never skinny. But now it is lumpy and distorted, stretched and swollen. He has never, not once, criticized my appearance. Have I dissapointed him? Does he long for someone else? How long will he tolerate this?

Is it possible to let someone else love you when you can barely tolerate yourself?

November 5th cannot get here fast enough. I'm not sure which is worse, that people are so fickle (or stupid?) so as to believe 15-second sound-bites equate to actual policy/decision making/reasons to vote for someone or that politicians and news media perpetuate the cycle...

I wish people would pay as much attention to local matters and local elections as they pay to national issues and elections. A person can affect the most change on the local level, do the most good (or the most harm). We have a global economy and instantaneous information at our fingertips and of course national policy is neccessary. Most, if not all, of our ills, however, can be cured at the local level...poverty, the environment, unemployment, housing, homelessness, energy, education, all of it. Improving social capital on the local level is the best way to improve our society on every level. One man in the White House, 435 men and women in the House, and 100 men and women in the Senate cannot do as much to better this country and the lives of our citizens as the indiviuals and families in our own communities.

As an ardent follower of local matters, I often find myself wondering if I am the only one paying attention to those...people...we've elected to run our city or am I just the only one who votes? Do people not realize the decisions being made and their impacts on our lives? Surely we are intelligent people and would not let this nonsense carry on? I'm not sure where the blame lies - with those of us who voted them into office or with those of us who do not bother to vote at all.

I am encouraged and impressed with voter turn out for this election. Already, even before election day, we have seen record nubmers of voters at the polls. I hear that it is expected that half of all eligible voters will be voting this year. How do we leverage this historic turn-out to improve ourselves on the local level? Afterall, true democratic decisions can only be made on the smallest level. "We the people" are not in Washington; we the people are here in our cities and towns, in our neighborhoods. All this talk about Wall Street and Main Street - Washington doesn't even know what Main Street is anymore.

It's official - I'm fat

I've always known this to be true. After all, it's been the case since I was seven years old. I remember waiting in line for school uniforms with my mom before I started first grade and having to get a "special size." I see it and feel it every single day. But this morning, it was like my fat pants slapped me in the face.

It was cold this morning, the kind of cold that makes you want to snuggle deeper under the covers instead of facing the day. Alas, I have to earn a paycheck, so I had to get up. I had to put on pants, it was too cold for anything else.

I pulled out a pair of black pants, my go-to work attire. They are too small. I can't even get the button to meet the hole, much less get it through the hole. I reach for a brown pair, first checking the size. Same size as the black pants, but surely the brown pants will fit. I actually manage to get these buttoned, but I know that if I sit down, bend, or exhale, the button will no longer be attached to the pants. I stood there, stupidly staring at my closet as if new pants would magically appear. Or as if I could magically make myself fit into some of the pants already in my closet.

I resign myself to wearing a skirt with a nice, stretchy elastic waistband. It's too cold for a skirt, but I'm pretty sure they would frown on my comfy, elastic-waist track pants at the office. I want to cry. These are the fat pants that I keep at the back of my closet. The "I'll never get that big again" pants. How is that I've managed to not only get that big, but bigger? The pants beg the question, what are you going to do about yourself? The pants, literally, looked me in the eye and said, "how did you let this happen?" My pants call me names. I feel a deep sadness that I can never fully verbalize.

Maybe tomorrow the pants will fit.