Always Hungry

Who will I become?

2010-01-02T08:22:00.001-08:00

I am scheduled to have gastric bypass surgery 17 days from today. I’ve started my low-calorie, low-carb diet and I’ve already dropped a few pounds. I am excited for all the possibility that my future holds.

I imagine, though, that I know a bit what a drug addict feels like knowing he is going to rehab. Since I started the post-op diet, knowing that the success of the operation itself depends on how well I adhere to the diet, I keep thinking about all the drugs I’m giving up…sneaking through the Chick-Fil-A drive-through for a secret helping of nugs and waffle fries and eating them in the car before I get to wherever I’m going; gallons of coffee and diet Coke; bags of salty, crunch things like Doritos or chips and salsa. For years and years now, food has been my addiction. Although, like an alcoholic, I’ve tried to largely keep the volume of food a secret, anyone who looks at me can plainly see I eat too much and move too little. Not even my husband realizes the true volume of food I have been consuming. The day I realized that by giving all of this up, I was really going to be gaining a whole lot more was the day I decided to have the surgery. And although I know this is the right thing for me to do and this is the right time to do it, I am still mourning the loss of my old friend.

I’ve spent the past 9 months working with an eating disorders counselor, let’s call her Ann, and have come to realize a lot of things about myself and they way I live my life. Things that I think many people either take for granted or never give a second thought to. When I am anxious or bored, I soothe myself with something deep fried. Some people drink too much, so people have sex with strangers, some people are mean to their loved ones…I eat. It has taken me these past months working with Ann to learn better ways to take care of myself and to deal with my feelings. I spent a lot of evenings alone thinking about whether I’m actually going to eat the entire pizza I just ordered or not. I have gone so far as to throw food away or even throw it out the window of my car. I have made a lot of improvements and changed a lot of bad habits. All the same, I know I still have a very long way to go and I know that post-bypass, I physically just will not be able to indulge my food cravings and all those feelings are just going to be there and need to be dealt with. I guess this is why, when they do an intervention, they take the addict away to treatment immediately – no time to contemplate the loss of your way of life and way of coping.

Knowing and understanding this, I am wondering what my life will really be like post-op. Will there be a transfer of addiction? Having gone through the recovery process now with several loved ones, I know that addictions often get traded. Alcoholics often trade their wine for meetings. My mother became something of a compulsive shopper (a very expensive addiction) and then a compulsive home improver. It is harsh to say, but cancer came along and gave her something else to obsess about for a couple of years. Now she is healthy and she’s on to cooking. I think she also has an excessive number of “medical problems;” she’s always wearing a new brace or device or needing some sort of appointment with some specialist or another. My sister became a compulsive runner, running so much she was facing back surgery. Then it was dogs, always rescuing dogs to the point of getting herself in over her head. She flirts with a sex addiction, and now that she is engaged to man who will not sleep with her until they are married, she is rushing a wedding through, allowing sex (or lack thereof) to cause her to make poor decisions that are negatively impacting her family relationships and her future. Although both of them no longer drink alcohol, the addictive behavior has not stopped.

Will surgery and weight loss consume my thoughts and time? Will I spend hours at my support group instead of eating? Or will I finally learn to live a balanced life?

Oh, Christmas Tree!

2009-12-01T08:21:00.001-08:00

I love Christmas. I love the music, the decorations, the gift-giving, all of it. Christmastime makes me really happy. I especially love Christmas trees. Ok, not all trees, just my tree – my beautiful, elegant, simple, gold-silver-and-white-only tree.

My husband hates Christmas. He doesn’t like all of the expectations and subsequent disappointment that have gone along with his Christmases in the past. This is our fourth Christmas together, and over these past four years, we’ve alternated between having a tree and not. To my delight, this is a have-a-tree year. We got new furniture a few months ago, and now we really don’t have any room for a tree, so we agreed that we’d get a small, artificial table-top tree to place right on top of an end table in the living room. I was pleasantly surprised when Beau told me that he wanted to go with me to pick out the tree. We got to the store last night and decided on a larger tree than I thought he’d be in for. Excellent. We had the tree in the buggy and it was time to go home and decorate it! But then he says we need to get some decorations. What? No, we don’t. We have beautiful, lovely decorations already at home. Well, he’s really getting into this whole tree thing, and I love that he is. I don’t want to crush any of his new-found Christmas spirit. His excitement over the whole thing made my love for him and for the holiday grow even more.

We spent an hour in Target picking out some of the worst Christmas tree decorations ever made. It’s our Christmas, I decided, and we can make it however we want; new traditions that are just ours, without all of the old heartaches and disappointments. We went home and decorated it up, with Beau’s joy growing all the while. There’s palm tree garland, a scuba diving bee, cars, a motorcycle, and flashing multi-colored lights. And sitting right on top, a life-sized cardinal with a long, feathered tail. It’s the awfulest, most wonderful Christmas tree there ever was.

My gift this year has been the best yet: learning that the power of a relationship can turn something bad into something wonderful.

Just the Good 'Ole Boys, Never Meanin No Harm

2009-11-18T09:02:00.001-08:00

My work can be incredibly rewarding. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saving babies and puppies from burning buildings, or anything like that, but every now and then, I realize that what I do makes someone’s life just a little better.

But most days, my job makes me want to rip my hair out. There’s nothing more frustrating that working on a project for months, putting your credibility on the line, collaborating and bringing groups together to formulate policies that are in the best interest of the entire community, only to be told near the end of the process that you can’t go forward because some greedy developer (who doesn’t even live in our community) might not be able to make enough money off of his project this way.

In the most recent election, less than 13% of registered voters bothered to vote. Maybe you didn’t vote because the choices were Dumb or Dumber. Maybe you didn’t vote because you think local elections don’t matter. Well, they do. I guess most people either don’t pay attention to local matters until they have a problem that affects them on a personal level or else they are happy with the status quo.

When will our community learn that the old way of doing things will lead to our downfall? We can’t be so afraid of change that we unwittingly rob ourselves of what made us great in the first place. When will our elected leadership (AND our electorate) learn that you can’t always do what’s best for your cronies/uncle/golfing buddy?

The old boy network is alive and well.

Oh, the Horror!

2009-11-05T18:26:00.001-08:00

The worst thing happened to me yesterday. I had my annual ladies exam, but I went to a new doctor this year. I was sick of the terrible customer service (yes, doctors, your patients are customers!) at the old office, but that’s another post all together. Anyway, the entire event was wrought with embarrassment and shame. It’s bad enough to have the exam in the first place, but this visit was particularly awful.

Each visit starts with a weigh-in, which is always fun.

Next, I walk into the exam room where they have a lovely backless gown waiting for me on the table. The nurse told me to put the gown on so that it ties in the back and to sit on the exam table, the doctor would be right in. So I trade my work clothes for a hospital gown. Of course there is only one tie (at the neck) on this gown, so my entire arse is hanging out of the thing. Not that the missing arse-level ties would have met one another anyway, since that’s the widest part of me. Not uncomfortable at all, right?

Fully gowned, I climb onto the table, only to realize that, even sitting on the table, my entire coin slot is exposed. This wouldn’t be a problem at the old, crappy customer service office where they have a curtain hanging between the door and the table. But not here, no sir! At the new, nice people office, my butt is facing the door so that whenever that door is opened, whomever is in the hallway will have a sweet, sweet view of my shiny white hiney.

So I sit on the table waiting for the doctor to come in, all the while trying to cover my crack with my hands. The logical side of me realizes this is completely ineffective, but I can’t stop trying.

The doctor finally comes in and does her thing. She is gentle and quick and I think the horror will finally be over, just as soon she lets herself out of the exam room, exposing innocent hallway bystanders to my big naked bum.

Boy was I wrong. Once she leaves the room, I jump off the table, eager to put something on that 1 – reaches all the way around me, and 2 – doesn’t expose any unsightly parts. Well, I am standing there cleaning myself up before getting dressed and for some reason, I look over my shoulder. BIG mistake. I look behind me only to realize that, for some unknown reason, there is a full length mirror there, so I get a full view of my naked back side, jiggly thighs, and lady parts. Who puts a full length mirror in the gynecologist’s exam room? This is not the sort of mirror a doctor might use to help aid an exam. No, no, no, this is the sort of mirror you hang over the back of your closet door. It was a frightening, ugly sight, really terrible. In my horror, I thought of my dear husband. He is a sweet, sweet man. I never saw myself from that perspective before, and the very fact that he can look at that and still speak to me is just amazing. You might think I am being dramatic or giving the man too much credit, but you didn’t see what I had to see. I never want to see that again!

When I got home last night, I just sat down and looked him in the eye and told him how very lucky I am to have him. I even got a little choked up. He just held my hand and told me that he’s the lucky one.

Do you think they sat around at the gynecologists convention thinking up ways to traumatize their patients? As if the exam isn’t enough fun.

An Ounce of Prevention

2009-10-31T06:21:00.000-07:00

Last night was a bad, bad night. I was home alone and I let it get to me. In my quest to unlearn years of disordered and emotional eating, I have learned - ok, I guess I always knew – I have acknowledged that, for various reasons, my anxiety level can get really high when I’m left alone and I soothe myself with food. It happened last night. I’d been mindful and without a binge for so long and last night was a relapse. I almost feel like a recovering alcoholic who got drunk last night. Except that I’ve always thought it would be easier to recover from alcohol addiction (to clarify, I KNOW that this is not easy, just easier) than from food addiction just because you don’t need alcohol to live the way you need to eat to live.

I am disappointed in myself, not so much for what I ate this time, but more so for having put all this effort and time and money into getting better only to blow it last night. I won’t let this ruin today, though. So yesterday was a bad day. A really bad day. And now that I’m thinking about it, it was worse that I first thought. I grazed all day long yesterday. I think it was all related to knowing that I’d be alone last night and having some anxiety about it.

The last time this happened, my counselor told me that, if I have WLS, I simply will not be able to do this. Your body is just not capable of handling that volume of food, so you need to find some other way to deal with your anxiety, she told me. She helped me think of ways to stave off relapse - ounces of prevention - don't bring trigger foods home, have a plan for what to do, sort out the thoughts before acting...why didn't I do any of those things last night. I knew all day long that I was going to be home alone last night. I did choose to meet my friends for sushi for dinner, knowing that would keep me busy and satisfied for some time, but it didn't last. As soon as I got home from dinner, I made myself a second dinner. It's disgusting when I think about it that way.

Does this relapse mean I’m not ready?

Water Ruins a Perm

2009-10-29T14:34:00.000-07:00

I've taken up swimming. It's a great workout, burning more calories that running (I didn’t believe it at first either – check out this calorie burn counter http://www.healthstatus.com/calculate/cbc), without leaving my feet, knees, and ankles screaming for hours afterward. I love swimming…once I get into my rhythm, I’m able to push through the “I can’t stand another second of this” to get in a really decent workout. And it’s quiet in the water. Sure, there are a million people at the gym at any given time, but once I’m in the pool, all I hear is my breathing and my thoughts.

When I run or use the elliptical, I feel like I’m on display. I hate running outside because I’m being watched by so many people and it makes me really uneasy. I know I shouldn’t care, but I do; all I can think about is the jiggling and shaking and how fast I'm not going. It’s not much better inside the gym. The way my gym is set up, there are windows all around the fitness equipment room so that even people who are not at least jiggling about with you can still watch. But in the pool, it’s different. I feel like the water gives me some sort of cover. Sure, the lifeguards can see me from their vantage point, but the other swimmers can’t. And due to the location of the pool, which is somewhat segregated from the rest of the facility, there aren’t really any casual bystanders milling about. The other swimmers have their faces in the water, so there’s just this feeling of having some sort of privacy.

While I love the cover of the water, I’ve discovered a whole new group of people for me to watch (I know, I know, I like it both ways): the blue hairs. There are all sorts of old ladies who come to the pool in the middle of the day. They do water aerobics wearing floral-print swim suits and aqua socks. The best part, though, is that they all get into the pool and then try not to get wet. Seriously?? Who gets into 30,000 gallons of water and then tries not to get wet? I guess water ruins a good perm.

Who knew the best part about swimming would be the people watching?

NEWSFLASH!

2009-09-22T10:51:00.001-07:00

Newsflash: I can be full on just a little bit of food. In my pre-surgery quest, I have decided to see what it’s like to eat like one must following weight loss surgery. Of course, I do this knowing that I have a giant stomach stretched to the max from 20 + years of overeating and that post-WLS, most people are left with a stomach pouch roughly the size of an egg, or about 3-4 ounces. I didn’t think that I’d get full on just a cup of food. But guess what? I can! I am hungry again 2-3 hours later, but then a ¼ or so of food goes back in. Because I like to think I can think my way out of (or into) things, I think that if I’m going to expect to adjust to such a major life change following surgery, I ought to test it out first. I mean, what happens if I don’t try it first and then I’ve got this crazy, altered anatomy that doesn’t do what I want it to do? I heard one person who is five years post-op say she would never recommend the surgery to anyone because most people simply do not understand how great of a life-style change it really is. So basically I need to know if I can do it before I do it (like I said, sometimes I think too much).

So anyway, here I sit, measuring, weighing, and counting like never before. I mean to be serious this time. I’ve been eating no more than one cup of food at a time. One cup isn’t all that much, especially compared to the way I’ve been eating. Of course, post-op diets should have very limited amounts of fat and refined sugar and protein comes first. And so it has been for me the past few days. Full disclosure: I’ve only been doing this for three days, but what a difference it has made. I realize that I have to be committed to this for the rest of my life. And right now I understand that my health and longevity depend on my ability to do this for the rest of my life, surgery or no surgery.

Realistically, I think most people, me included, grossly underestimate how much we consume. We really, really, really don’t realize how much we take it. My husband says he just had a couple of beers when really it was six. Sure, to him, it honestly seemed like it was just a couple. I say, “oh, I don’t really eat that much and somehow I’m still so fat.” Ha. I challenge anyone who thinks that about themselves to take a hard, honest look at the volume you consume. Before you put a single thing down your gullet, weigh and measure it. Take a good look at how much food 4 ounces really is and eat only that amount. Track it for a few weeks and then take a look back and see how much you were consuming before. I bet you’ll be surprised.

I am so on the fence about this and I don’t think you should go into it unless you’re sure. While it is not impossible, it’s very difficult to get a do-over in this scenario. So, gone for good are the days of eating until I’m stuffed just so that I won’t be hungry later. No matter what I eat now, no matter how much, at some point, I’m going to be hungry again later. There’s absolutely no reason to eat enough for two at one sitting. Eat just enough to satisfy my physical needs and stop. This is a skill we’re born with – new born babies are smarter than I – but so many of us need to relearn this lesson.

To Cut or Not to Cut...

2009-09-20T12:30:00.000-07:00

I've been seeing an eating disorders counselor for a few months now. She has really helped me see my Ed for what it is - a compulsion driven my anxiety and emotion. I know now how to distinguish my own voice from Ed's. If you are reading this and you think you might have an eating disorder of any sort, please read Life Without Ed by Jenni Schaeffer. It's changed my life.

My counselor - uh, I hated her at first - horribly cute, perky, young, skinny - is wonderful. She has urged me to stay open-minded when it comes to weight loss surgery. So I've been considering it. Of course my experience with my father's WLS has left me skidish about malabsorption procedures. Be open to it she says, learn about it she says, decide for yourself she says. So I went to see a surgeon. And guess what, I was diagnosed with MORBID OBESITY! I am so fat it's going to kill me. Nice.

I've really been considering the lap band surgery. But I can't really find anyone who has had it for more than 5 years to talk to me about the long-term effects. Seems like most people start having a lot of trouble with it and have to have it removed. I've found lots of people out there with up to two years of being banded and many seem very happy with it. And then there are those who have had so many problems they've had it removed. And the doctor tells me that, based on my history and BMI, I should really consider gastric bypass.

OK, I've stayed open minded, I've been reading, listening, asking questions. But the idea of gastric bypass scares the crap out of me. From most accounts, there's rapid initial weight loss (frequently accompanied by hair loss) within the first year or so. Sounds appealing, right?! How about this - 5 years pass and suddenly you're in chronic pain, your bowels collapse, your intestine starts pushing up through your stomach, reflux, constant nausea, weight gain, vitamin and mineral deficiencies...NO THANK YOU!!!

Weight loss surgery is all I can think about lately. Should I do it, should I not do it? Can I make the life-long lifestyle changes it requires? If I can, why do I have to have surgery, why not just change myself? If, post-surgery, you can only eat 1/4 cup of food, then shouldn't I practice doing that? I can't imagine going through all of that only to end up being fat again and possibly fat with life-threatening complications from the surgery.

Oh, surgery...I've been dreaming about it. I finally had to quit reading the "support forums" because I'm becoming obsessed with it.

I rejoined Weight Watchers today. It's a good place to start, I think. I was watching Jillian on Biggest Loser last week and she told this girl who wanted to quit, "all you have to do is change your mind." What if she's right? Honestly, after reading all of these forums, I realize that she really might be right, but for some of us, it take a surgical procedure to help us change our minds.

Too Fat to be Attractive

2009-03-10T17:56:00.000-07:00

Last night my husband told me he is not attracted to me physically. My heart breaks each time I think about it. I can hardly be mad at him for feeling that way; I can barely stand to see myself in the mirror. But having him admit it aloud, right to my face...it is just heartbreaking. It knocks the wind right out of me.

He also told me in the same conversation that I am everything he wants for the rest of his life. That I alone am the one person that he wants to be with. But he has trouble making love to me because of my appearance. How do I reconcile such a conflict? I love you but I can't stand the sight of you?? I asked for honesty and I got it. Now I have to live with consequences of it.

Over a year ago, I proposed bariatric surgery. He told me that is the easy way out and that the resulting flabby skin would be too ugly. And then he turns around and tells me this now. Well, to be fair, I've gotten a lot fatter in the past year, though I've been plump since he met me. But I put off the idea of the surgery in part because of his reaction to it. Why does it matter to him if I have the surgery or not? Seems like either way, he wants nothing to do with my naked body. I know surgery is not what I want, not the answer for me because of my experience with my dad.

Am I just destined to be stuck on this horrible and now insipid rollercoaster for ever? What am I missing? What, exactly, is it that I just don't get?

I've seriously started considering grown-up fat camp. I'm afraid of something too "Biggest Loser," but maybe I really need a few weeks away to regroup and refocus. Maybe I just need to give up.

Doctors Don't Know

2009-01-26T17:05:00.000-08:00

Unbelievable. I just heard a "The Zone" diet doctor giving an interview. He was going on and on about how, if you keep your blood sugar within a certain zone, you never feel hungry and therefore, it's easy to lose weight. That just goes to show that doctor's don't know.

Honestly, if it were only about being hungry, we would not have an obese society. HUNGRY?? Please. I am ALWAYS HUNGRY. Getting to this level of obesity has so little to do with actually being physically hungry. All these experts yapping about being hungry...that's soooo not the problem. It's about being bored, sad, lonely, scared, angry, all sort of things, but not hungry.

It's about being in control. Or feeling out of control. It's about finding a calm satiety. Only the satiety is followed by guilt and despair. This, of course, drives the cycle to repeat.

It took years for me to even know what physical hunger is. I spent 20 some years thinking that hunger was an emotion rather than a physical state of being. Clearly, my problem is not about being hungry. Surely someone with an MD ought to be able to realize this.

My dad has a load of problems. Always has, always will. Chief among them, he is always hungry. In 1976, he had a radical surgery - intestinal bypass - that left him malnourished, constantly dehydrated, and suffering from life-long diarrhea. Today, he is more than 100 pounds overweight. Anyway, I am a lot like him. I learned from him, his eating habits, his emotional immaturity. Luckily for me, I've learned to take better care of myself than he has. I have accepted responsibility for my life in a way that he never has been able to do. I have not overcome all of my "issues," but I have grown and learned and bettered myself. I am still growing.

For years, I was terribly jealous of my sister. She had managed to escape the "fat gene" that our father gave me. She was always cute and little and had a very, very different experience growing up than I did. In recent years, I have come to realize that she has her own issues, that she was damaged as well as I. Growing up as my father's daughter has manifested itself in different ways for my sister. She is emotionally stunted. I have very, very recently come to the realization that she can be mean. She dealt with the situation by hardening herself to it, whereas I soaked it all up like a sponge and took it all upon myself. She is mean and I am messy. I am no longer jealous of her; rather, I recognize the scars and respect her distance from us. She has done what she has had to do to survive, just like the rest of us. Turns out, she's hungry, too.

You Can't Just Stop Eating

2009-01-26T16:59:00.000-08:00

It almost seems unfair. There a lot of things in the world to be addicted to, but food must be the worst among them. You have to eat to live. Don't get me wrong, I'm not implying that quitting drinking or drugs or any other addiction is easy. I know that it is not.

I have recently set new goals for myself. In the past it was always to loose some number of pounds or to wear some certain size. Those goals are gone now. Today, my goals are to heal myself, to overcome compulsive eating, to reach a healthy state of being. Certainly reaching those goals involves weight loss, lower numbers on the scale, and smaller sizes in the closet. But those are just the side effects.

I'm 32 years old and already taking medication for high blood pressure. God only knows what 40 would look like in this body. No matter, things are changing.

I finally feel good and strong and willing to make change, real, lasting change, in my life. I am finally looking at the bigger picture and now, after 25 years of struggle, I am finally making changes, not dieting. Anyone who has ever dieted knows the difference.

Food is an Addiction

2008-12-12T04:35:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-25T12:42:00.001-08:00

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?

2008-10-30T11:10:00.000-07:00

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?

2008-10-30T07:43:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-28T12:08:00.000-07:00

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.