Dichotomy

I talk to my dad every once in a while. Sometimes, once or twice a week, other times, not for months in between. Sometimes, it's easy; sometimes it's hard. I miss him, you know? I miss the guy I remember growing up with, the guy who taught me to throw a football, started tickle fights, took me with him to his work in the summer. Those are the times it's easy, the times I call often. And sometimes? Sometimes, I'm so mad at him, I can't breathe. I want to shout at him, or shake him, or smack him upside the head and ask how he could be so blind, so stupid, so complacent! But I don't do any of these things--besides, it would have to be a hell of a smack, considering he lives about 1400 miles away. I remind myself that 1) he made his choice, and for him, my mother will always, always, always come first; and 2) he's taking baby steps. It's better than nothing, the small bits of defiance, and stepping away from Larry's control, well, it takes time to do something like that, and it's not like it's a surprise that Dad's passive. He's been that way as long as I can remember. But those are the hard times, the times when months pass between calls. It's especially hard, now that Anthony and I are talking more about babies and such. The dichotomy is I'd like my (potential) children to know their grandfather, but I don't know if I want them to know him like this. I want them to know him like he was.

I'm even more conflicted when it comes to thinking about my mom. I mean, she doesn't even want to talk to me, or at least, she's not willing to defy Larry to do it. She certainly endorsed sending back my letter, since it was her handwriting that said "return to sender". So I have even more reason to be angry with her. It seems like the more involved my mom got with Larry, the more she pushed the "traditional" woman's role for me... which... what the hell, mom? I mean, really? And at the same time... what? I don't know, exactly. I mean, it's stupid, but... I was experimenting, making up a soup recipe, and I put in too much pepper. I couldn't think what to do to rescue a soup with too much pepper, I mean, I know what to do if there's too much salt, but pepper? Even after all these years of her not talking to me, the first thing that popped into my head was, "Better call mom, she'll know." And then I wanted to cry. It's stupid, I mean... except, not really, because the underlying issue is that I want her in my everyday life, even with all the dumbass choices she's made, and I can't have that. I can't just call and ask her what she'd do to rescue an over-peppered soup, and what if it was something big? Like me struggling with depression? Or fear that I may not be able to have kids? Or that I'll be a horrible parent? But, of course, that would just turn into an ugly, nasty, messy fight, because I wouldn't even these doubts if it weren't for everything that happened. I mean, sure, I'm sure I'd be wondering if everything would work out ok, and thinking about whether or not I'm actually able/ready/willing to be responsible for someone else's life--eep!--but, I seriously doubt I'd have this bone-deep fear of screwing it all up so badly, of passing on this... sludge to another generation.

It's just, awkward. And difficult. And it's a dichotomy that I don't really know how to resolve. Some part of me keeps hoping for the magic wand/fairy godmother solution. But the fact of the matter is, that as long as Larry is in the picture, there is no solution.

Public persona

I think I've mentioned that this time of year is difficult for me--in between classes and tutoring both--I don't have a lot to occupy me. I turn introspective, and, more often than not, I tend to get a bit depressed. I don't make friends all that easily--superficial contacts, acquaintances with whom I get along quite well and chat freely, sure, no problem. I have my public persona, and she is quite amazing at getting along with people. I mean, it's not like I have multiple personalities, or anything. We all do this, we have a professional self that we present to the world--it's not the same as the self we show at home. For me, at least, that self is quite confident, a surprisingly smooth-talker, endlessly patient, and . The me at home? Not so much.

The thing is, when I present that self, I don't particularly feel like it's false, or an inaccurate representation of who I am. When I'm tutoring, or in class, I generally am quite confident; I'm in an arena in which I excel, and I relish it. So what does that say about me when I'm at home?

Control issues

I know a lot of my issues with weight and controlling what I eat have to do with the household I grew up in. (shush, yes, I know, ending with a preposition is bad.) Because everything was so strictly controlled--we got the crappy stuff, Larry got the good stuff--when I try to change what I eat or how I eat, I feel like I'm putting myself back there. I feel helpless and frustrated and angry all over again. It's not about the food itself, it's about the feeling of control. And I've tried to turn it around, to think, hey I'm controlling what I eat by, you know, actually controlling it rather than just eating anything and everything. It never seems to work. I can logically see that what I'm doing--choosing to eat or not eat particular foods--is putting me squarely in control. But emotionally, it feels like I'm right back where I grew up. It makes it so hard...

I guess, in a lot of ways, my behavior is the antithesis of a controlled environment. Housework? I hate it, barely do enough to keep the place presentable, resulting in massive panic and cleaning marathons when I have people over. I don't want to know what the people I love are doing every minute of every day--in fact, sometimes weeks (eep! Months, occasionally) go by where I don't even call family members to see what they're doing. I don't know how much of that stems from the fact that I knew many of Larry's behaviors stemmed from the fact that he was abused and had no control over his life growing up. To him, the only way to be safe was to control everything... what we ate, how long we talked on the phone (adults included), where we sat, what we watched, what we bought... I guess I'm swinging toward the opposite extreme, really. I guess it just feels so ridiculous to be able to recognize the root of the issue, and still feel the same way. I'm 27 years old... it's been almost 10 years since I've escaped that life, and still...

Weight Loss

So, my current obsession is trying to lose weight and get in shape. I realize as I type that it sounds like some sort of passing fad for me. That's not the case, really, it's just that I don't have a whole lot going on right now (shockingly), and so it's a larger focus than it would be normally. I started exercising 6 days a week the last week of July, and then started Weight Watchers the following week (beginning of August). I was worried about it initially because I've rarely had any success with diets or changing the kind of food we eat. Part of it is a lack of support from Anthony (which is endlessly annoying and frustrating), and part of it is because I have the tendency to go overboard when I'm trying to make changes. I do this al or nothing bit, and end up burning myself out in the first week. Instead of making small changes, slowly (which, DUH, I know is the smart way to do it), I feel like I need to make everything different all at once. And it's usually too much to handle for me, and I get frustrated and give up on it. But, a month ago, I weighed 293 lbs, at 5'6". I will never, ever, ever reach the weight the stupid, craptastic BMI charts say I should be (118 lbs?!?! Are you kidding me? You're insane! My boobs alone would take up a quarter of that weight!!!)--and someday, I will doubtless rant about how moronic those BMI charts are--but... but, sorry, got waaaay too sidetracked there, I do want to lose a significant chunk of weight for quite a few reasons. Primary reason being: baby. I want a baby, and I want a healthy pregnancy. Right now, because I'm so overweight, it increases the chance of all kinds of ugly things, and since I have PCOS, that can also lead to complications, and my family has a history of miscarriages. So... I want to do what I can to minimize those risks before-hand. Also, I'm tired of being so unhappy with the way I look. When I moved out to California about 9 years ago (really? 9 years already!?!), I put on about 100 pounds in less than 6 months. There were a ton of factors involved: change of lifestyle (working on a farm to working in a cubicle), massive spikes in stress levels (admitting to being abused and subsequent familial world war) which triggered escalated issues with PCOS, earning enough money for the first time in my life to pretty much get whatever I wanted whenever I wanted, after being in a very controlled environment most of my life... but the fact of the matter is that I never really had the motivation to stick with something long enough to take the weight off. I tried to work out periodically. I'd take classes a tthe community college to force me to be active, but I'd do poorly and then drop them from embarassment. Also, public showers = hate. I'd try to modify my eating habits, but boyfriend and then later husband objections made it not worth the effort when I didn't really want to be doing it anyway. It bothers me that I've never been able to summon sufficient motivation for my own health and my own happiness, but if needing to do it for a prospective baby is the only thing that gets me moving, then I'll take it. I know I need to examine some issues about that, though.

Anyway, in a month of exercising near-daily and slowly modifying my food habits, I've lost: 3.2 pounds. which is horrifically depressing in terms of progress. I know that it's likely to take me longer than the average Jane to lose the weight (thank you oh-so-much PCOS), but, I feel like I've been working so hard--making up new recipes, trying new things, modifying what I eat, oh, and did I mention the 6-day-a-week workout schedule? On an elliptical? For 45 minutes to an hour each day?--but there's so little to show for it. The good news is, though, that I've stuck with this longer than anything else I've ever tried. And, truthfully, it feels like something I could keep doing. My goal is to get down to 170, which is how much I weighed at my healthiest as an adult. I feel like I've got a realistic goal--to try to lose 120 lbs in 18 months. And I know I will be in substantially better shape than I've ever been in--regardless of the weight--because of the whole working out thing. Being able to do that at home, taking the embarrassment out of the equation has been a HUGE boon for me. Every other time I try to exercise more to get in shape, I die of embarrassment. Or I think I'm going to and quit before I can. Because, obviously, how horrible would that be? What would they write on a tombstone? :D

Anyway, I tend to think about it a lot. I'm sure it'll get easier (and less obsessive-making?) with time, but for now, it's preoccupying me mightily. Which means there's a decent chance I'll be posting about it more. (Also, I do realize this post is totally rambling, over-populated with parenthetical comments, and really, really, really disorganized. It's almost 3 am, and I should be asleep--I'm soooo tired--but the caffeine, it hates me!)

Can't sleep and Serenity

Bah! I couldn't sleep (too much caffeine, too late in the day), and I had half a dozen things running through my head that seemed like they'd make good topics for posts. The only one I can remember, now that I've dragged myself out of bed and turned on the laptotp is: I watched Serenity today while working out. It's the third (fourth?) time I've seen it. (Um, spoiler, if anyone is actually reading this, and you haven't seen Serenity, don't read the next bit.)




Ok? Ok. So, you would think, knowing that Wash is going to die, I wouldn't cry this time, right? Well, you'd be wrong. In fact, because I knew he was going to die, I started crying before it actually happened! How silly is that? But I hear the line "I am a leaf on the wind. Watch how I soar," and I just lose it.

And that... was really not worth posting about. It always takes me a bit to get back into the swing of things when I start blogging again. It's the awkward phase where I sort of remember how to do this, but not exactly. Like roller-skating. My brain says "We know how to do this, it's just been a while," and my body says, "What the hell, man? Don't know what brain's talking about, but clearly, crazy!" Except, you know, it's a little less painful to fall down here. It'll get better.

Still here, still sorting

So, I've been wanting to write here again lately. It just feels weird, picking up again after so long. It seems as if I should somehow start an entirely new space... but I've done that before. Then I spend all my creativity on making/designing a new blog (or imagining what it should be like when my html isn't up to speed). It's silly. I start thinking about it because I need or want to write, and then don't actually do it. So... we'll keep the same old, same old as far as design goes (because I am, obviously, plural) and just launch into writing.