Lightening

On Monday, I visited my doctor for my annual physical, just the routine stuff. As usual, when asked to get on the scale, I took off my shoes, watch, bracelet, and would have emptied my pockets had there been anything in them. I stepped up, thinking, well, more like hoping it wouldn't be too bad, while knowing in my heart it certainly wasn't going to be good. Still, my panic rose with every little push I gave the balance weight, thinking, please stop now, come on, come up, oh no, this just can't be. . . 176 pounds? The office nurse told me she'd take off a pound for my Carhartts (heavy carpenter's pants- typical dyke affectation), like 175 pounds would make me feel better.

Sigh.

I suppose that sooner or later everybody -at least women- mentions how fat they are, or think they are, in their blog. Food and weight, especially when the issue is too much of them, aren't a big issue for many people of the earth, but they sure are for me. I usually get told, "Oh, you're lucky, you can eat whatever you want." Well, so can you. I was born hungry, I will die hungry. I have no stable weight. It's been a meal-to-meal battle my whole life. I'm constantly thinking about what I'm going to eat next- even if, like now, it's not much and it's a long way off. I was a rather chubby child, and my parents actually had me on Weight Watchers while I was still a pre-teen (ah, conditional love). I didn't manage to lose the "baby fat" until I was sixteen and my parents took me to buy a couple of nice outfits and the salesperson (who was marking things for alteration) made a completely innocent comment about the size of my ass. My parents didn't know whether to be happy about the ensuing weight loss, concerned about the speed it occurred, or pissed that by the time those new outfits were ready, they were already too big, and never looked good on me. By the start of my junior year of high school, my belly curved backwards when I sat down, and my favorite look was a pair of skintight bellbottoms- remember Landlubbers?- with a clingy scoopneck top. Just typing that makes me laugh now!

Monday's little session at the scale had about the same effect on me as the sales clerk's indication that we'd need try the next larger size to accomodate my derriere (can't figure out how to do that cute little accent thing). It's now Friday, and I'm lightening- day five. "Dieting" is a word that has given me the horrors since those days on Weight Watchers (which does work, BTW, but it's slow), so I can't use it. I like "lightening" better anyway, since that's how it feels. My body feels light, and nearly transparent, like light is shining through it. My head feels light, too, blood sugar low, probably a little toxic with whatever junk is trapped in those fat cells getting released, and just a touch of the buzz, the euphoria that anorexics know. Yeah, I'm dancing with the dark side, a little. I eat on a rigid schedule, the portions are small, and a nutritionist might get a bit stern with me, particularly over the PB&J I eat every night for supper. Look, I have yogurt and fruit for breakfast, a salad for lunch, four cups of tea during the day. The peanut butter is organic. The preserves are a boutique brand. I make the bread myself, and I have a glass of lowfat soymilk with it. I love it, and better yet, I start feeling bloated before I finish eating, so I don't even feel like eating again before I'm in bed, asleep, safe from food for another day. Oh, and no, I don't purge- but only because I know it doesn't work.

For all the issues I have with food, I do love it so. I've been cooking since I could reach over the kitchen counter, and baking bread since I was eleven or so. Total trivia: one of the most important aspects of my move from NJ to NH for college in 1976 was the switch from Hecker's Flour to King Arthur; they're very different to work with! Of course, in those pot-smoke-tinged days, there was always a big box of Jiffy Baking Mix in the cupboard, and when my housemates would awaken in the wee hours to small, purposeful sounds from the kitchen, they'd smile and head downstairs. The munchies for me meant pancakes, great golden stacks with plenty of cheap margarine (four pounds for $1!) and Log Cabin. I make wonderful, healthy stir-fries with mounds of vegetables, and amazing grilled cheese sandwiches, crisp on the outside and liquid on the inside. Mmmmmmm. . . this is dangerous territory, especially on a Friday.

How's it working? Okay so far. My belly skin is sagging, a good sign that means what's under it is shrinking faster than it can keep up. The problem, of course, is that I have no idea what I look like. I know that when I look in the mirror, I get a fat-lady funhouse-mirror image that bears very little resemblance to what's actually reflected. I'm aiming for about 155 pounds, which has always been a good weight for me. We'll see how it goes.