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Just a Dream

I dreamt my neighbors took me to a service at their church, which somehow ended up leading to a funeral. Since I'm no stranger to funerals, I went without fuss, but then we arrived at the cemetery. It was a night service and instead of a coffin, there was a litter with an old woman curled up on it - and she was still moving. Barely. She opened her eyes. She was waiting to die and the moment she did, into the grave she'd go. It was a new kind of horrible for me, so I stumbled away to wait it out. I think my neighbors agreed to take me home (and it's not like they'd ever take me to that in real life, thank God).

But then, the scene changed. It was a clear blue day, afternoon, and Amy was visiting with her baby. (It might've been a Sunday, since Amy seemed to be in her church clothes.) A little tremor started and as I asked Amy "Did you feel that?" she was sitting on my couch. Since it kept going, we both got in places where stuff wouldn't fall on us, and it was strange to think that it was Liam's first earthquake. But it wasn't that bad.

But later that day, when Marshall stopped by with the boy in tow, it happened again, and it was worse. Earthquakes are scarier when you've got delicate little people around but Liam was all right in his carrier. And for some reason, maybe because it's the style during a natural disaster, we started reciting the Lord's Prayer. I remember hearing the words very clearly in my dream, but I let Marshall go first because my dream-self was aware he'd memorized some newer version of it in those modernized Bibles I tend to dislike.

Not that I can give much credence to dreams like these. I haven't remembered many of mine lately, probably because I haven't been sleeping as deeply. And besides, in my next dream, a nice cop pulled me over and I was having the devil's own time trying to find my license. But he was actually being sweet, and making these flirty excuses to touch me, and either he was this close to asking for a date or we were this close to starting the porn music in the background. Which just goes to show, there's more of Freud and less to fear in a string of dreams that barely make sense.


Each time I visit downtown Burbank, I usually glance at the portraits of film stars surrounding the local movie house with a special twinge of nostalgia and child-like glee. There are the Ghostbusters! And there, smouldering as Othello, is my beloved Laurence Fishburne, calling me to join him with those spellbinding eyes.

But for the past few weeks, I have found myself stopping at the central mural of classic stars and wistfully staring at Elizabeth Taylor's youthful face. She is surrounded by other stars I have loved, such as Marlon Brando and Vivien Leigh - but Liz has been the only one of them yet living. I have found myself offering a small prayer each time I've passed that mural that she might remain with us a while longer and continue to represent the kind of Hollywood I would like to see grow.

It's not that I know Liz's films well. Truthfully, she has been more of a celebrity presence in my life and a piece of Hollywood history than a star whose works I adore. But she was an important piece of Hollywood in that she had to grow and change with the times. She had to react to new troubles and traumas, and not just in the soap opera of her own life, but in the world.Read more...Collapse )

My Measurements, As Of Today

I need to get out and buy some new bras soon because the old ones are 40 inches around, and, well - I'm not 40 inches around below the bust any more, and it's starting to get awkward.  So I took a simple measurement to see which size I should look for, and just decided to do the whole thing.  Here's where I'm at today:

Top of bust: 39 inches
Mid bust: 42 inches
Bottom of bust: 36 inches
Waist: 34 inches
Hip: 47 inches

On December 13th, I was at:

Top of bust: 40 inches
Mid bust: 46 inches
Bottom of bust: 38 inches
Waist: 36.5 inches
Hip: 51 inches

Just when it feels like you're not sure if you're still losing weight, the numbers come in to remind you!

259 Days

 259 - days since I started changing my eating and exercise habits
250 - my highest known weight, which caused me to swear off scales
243 - my last officially recorded weight (in 2009, well before I started to exercise, but it's the last reliable weigh-in I had)
50 to 100 - sit ups/crunches daily
20 to 30 - arm curls daily
45 - minutes of my workout 5 days a week
1300 - 1500 - calorie limit per day
2 - weeks without a workout, my longest stretch due to bronchitis
1 - week that it took me after recovering to be back to my regular routine
0 - diet pills, Hollywood solutions, as well as thoughts of binging, purging, or doing other horrible things to my body


174 - my weight as of March 10, 2011

And I ain't done!


How I Really Purge

I feel that I should start off by saying that it hasn't been a good weekend for me to interact with most people, despite my best efforts and intentions.  On Saturday evening, I began to suspect that I should have stayed away from people and turned off my phones.  A happy interlude with my neighbors made me wonder if I'd just hit a snag, but by Sunday afternoon, I could see my troubles with folks had become a trend.  With that in mind...

Saturday night, I posted on Facebook about doing some sit-ups before dinner.  Sunday morning, a friend posted a reply which said: "That sounds like purging just before the binge...."

And I could see where he was coming from, especially since he never sees me in real life, but I tell you, it got me mad enough that I couldn't help but take note of the bad taste in my mouth.  (Yes, that pun was intended.)  I had to take some deep breaths and wait a moment before I could respond without biting his head off, and the offending phrase has simmered in the back of my mind all day since.Read more...Collapse )

Chewable, Coated Doses of Life

I keep thinking that I should say something, write something while I have the chance.  After a day full of dentistry and work and a tooth that is quickly adjusting to its new state but not quickly enough to avoid some unpleasantness, I should find a way to say something that isn't just about work and pain and teeth.

So, okay.  Tonight we'll talk about vitamins.  

I take them every day now, of some variety or other.  Most days I take my trusty Trader Joe's chewable multivitamin to make up for all the minerals and rocks that don't make it into my diet, which isn't as rife with fruits and veggies as all the experts say it must be.  (I'm an American.  I've managed to do a lot better with the apportionment of my daily bread, but I don't get fresh this and fresh that every single day of my life.  What more can I say?)  

Other days, I try an assortment out of the motley train of bottles Carol has passed on to me.  For every bottle I buy on a rare whim, she gives me two or three obscure things to try, and I figure, why not?  Most of them aren't even proper vitamins but supplements, like cinnamon pills and red yeast rice.  I mean, red yeast rice?  I hadn't even heard of the stuff before Carol asked if I wanted the bottle of 600 mg caplets, but they're far easier to swallow than my hair, skin and nails concoction, and at a small handful of pills a week, what could it hurt?

I mean, the other day a yoga teacher complimented my skin before I'd showered or moisturized or done anything to it, so something must be working.Read more...Collapse )

Living to the Beat

Last night I dreamt that I hugged my ma, and had my ear pressed over her heart. I could hear my own internal monologue saying, "I live to the beat of your life," something I wrote in an old romantic poem years ago. And her heart was the perfectly timed ticking of a clock - I could see the clock face, the smooth motion of the hands, the strong sound of each tick.


No Cure for Human Stupidity

Of all the fucking times to find something wrong with my grocery bill.

So, pop quiz, hot shot: You see a woman in your checkout line who looks okay but sounds sick from the moment she opens her mouth. She comes right back to you after your transaction and tells you that the sign for the coffee she just bought said 2 for 6.99, if you buy 2 in the same transaction. Something seems to be wrong with her bill. Do you A.) send someone from the store to check out the wording of the sign or B.) insist that she be dragged along to check the price?

After choosing B and getting rid of her for a moment, she returns hanging onto her cart looking tired with your employee, who tells you she read the sign completely right and chose the right products. Do you A.) believe him and work on refunds or B.) check the sign again, yourself, taking the same employee along with you so you can confer with him long enough that she ends up going after you?

And after you get her all the way back to the front of the store, do you A.) make it sound like you're a prince of the fucking earth by saying that she "lucked" into getting both bags free or B.) ask her if someone's used her card to purchase coffee, since that's the only way this should happen or C.) just tell her sorry for the inconvenience, thank her for catching the mistake on her bill, and make some insincere but human gesture toward wishes that she recovers soon? Maybe with a "happy holidays" on the end?

Guess which options this asshole went with every step of the way?

Finally, I told him: "Mister, I've sick for over a week and no one's used my card for anything."

God, help me to heal from this nasty illness and guard me against the idiocy of your children. Amen.

Waiting to Inhale

Today in the doctor's office, there's one girl sitting in the waiting room. Blond, pretty enough that I quickly think so, even though she's blond. I go up to the window and leave my John Hancock on the sign-in sheet, unhappy with the restrained sound of my own voice. When I turn around, I scope all the open benches and realize that though she won't say so, the girl is afraid I'll take a seat close to the window, and thus, close to her.

I move away to the far corner of the room and tell the girl that I don't mean to be unsociable, but I don't want to get her sick. She turns from worry to - what? Gratitude, I think. She says she really appreciates that, since she's only here ferrying someone (read as: she's not sick, and wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for some other sick person), and she's so simply pretty about it that I nod and leave her be. If I had a hat, I'd give it the cowboy tip and spur my horse on its way. "Ma'am."

But I don't have a hat or even an umbrella to fuss with, so I try to read the book I brought with me. Read more...Collapse )

A Conspiracy of Twistedness

Since it's my birthday and I'm too sick to go outside and too concerned about contagion to be around healthy folks, I figure I'll make myself useful by putting down a stream of thought that has been nagging at me all week.

It's about Chuck Palahniuk.  Or, at least about a couple of his works.

Anyone who knows me for a real length of time knows how I feel about Chuck, or at least about two of his most famous books, Fight Club and Choke.  I quote Tyler Durden and the rest of Fight Club all these years later because my feelings for the work haven't dampened.  Like the wearing of black clothing, it wasn't just a phase.  My feelings about Choke are even more personal and fresh, to the point that I don't know the book by chapter and verse so much as by walking around with it under my skin.

The first problem I had with Choke was when Chuck wrote that "nothing is as perfect as you can imagine it."  At some point in the past, I know I would have believed that to be true, probably without question.  But I've lived just long enough for several things to have blossomed beyond even my reckoning; I've experienced more than one moment that was even more powerful and perfect than I had imagined in my many fantasies.  Read more...Collapse )