God bless google, font of all medical advice.

Yay.

Yes, you heard me, YAY.

You know I had all those blood tests? Well, I got them back and told you all my hormones were within the normal range. Part of me was nervous because my levels were very low in the normal range, and I didn’t know if that was good or bad.

Thanks to the power of Google, I know my LH and FSH hormone levels classify as ‘excellent.’ I also know my low temps aren’t a concern, as I’ve been tested for every sort of thyroid problem in advance. My doctor really is a star, and it’ll be sad to leave her behind. She’d be great for ante-natal care.

Anyway. YAY HORMONES. My ovaries kick ass. Perhaps I can forgive my body for PMDD, considering.

‘Anyway’ instead of ‘anywhere.’ Interesting Freudian slip, if I do say so myself.

I’ve got a friend who is eight days into a ‘walk’ from the bottom of this country to the top of another country. Reading his (too short) blog entries makes me feel like I am missing out. I want to talk to weird old men with banjos, carry my home on my back, and get tough man-blisters.

I compusively reread A Walk in the Woods, wanting oh so badly to walk the Appalachian Trail. Let’s get it clear: I’m not crazy. I have no expectations of being in a condition - financially or physically - to be able to do such a massive undertaking. But I’d be happy with just a wee smidge….if I could be sure there were no ax murderers in the woods.

I think my craving for the outdoors is getting spooky. I watched the finale of some show about people recreating pioneer life this morning, and I actually cried when the people had to go back to civilisation. Boooooooooy howdy.

I always think about writing - you can do it anywhere. And if I pulled my finger out and managed to make at least a bit of money, I might have more space and freedom. I want to go on a little retreat in the woods, just me and my wonderful laptop, but somehow real life always seems to get in the way. I have tremendous admiration for those people who have a real life that goes against everything our culture would say you need to be successful.

To a certain degree, TMD and I have that. We are both in careers where we’ll never make the big bucks. We care about people, the community, and ourselves. We want to make a difference. But sometimes I think about how I spend so much time and energy making a difference to other people, inspiring them to go out and live the life they want, and I feel thwarted. What happened to TMD’s singer/songwriter life? And her cards?

What will happen to all the words in me I haven’t written yet, and what about the ones I have? My brand of crazy is quite powerful. Intellectually I can know I’ve got strong writing skills - but I read powerful things by people who can’t write for shit, and I wonder if my ideas stack up. Are they good enough? Am I good enough? My sessions with Kleinette - and my own brain - made me try to believe that I was slow cooking. I wasn’t done yet, and that was okay.

I don’t know how okay it is.

I know that a lot of my emotional energy is completely in wanting a child. Psychologically, I’ve got the training to be able to offer some really great analysis of why that is. But you know, I’ve wanted children since I was a child myself. I don’t regret waiting until we were more settled. And most of me does believe that different parts of life just naturally slot together, that things work out.

I guess this entry is a result of being bored, locked in a house full of empty boxes with accusing stares. I’ve got a lot of time to write, and all I do is sit around thinking about how much I want to be writing. Crazy, right?

(Yes, I know that flair has a VERY bad spelling mistake. Oh, the irony.)

This beats the phone guy who tried to offer me phone hynosis to help me remember my pin number.

I’ve just flirted like mad with an Indian man named Clifford.

Every time I call a bank, pension company, the pizza place - it’s these security questions. They start you out slow to lure you into a false sense of security, and then the real questions start.

Can you please tell us every third digit of your home address?
What is your mother’s blood type?
Okay, Ms Existere. If you add all the digits of your policy together and divide by 36, is the answer -13?

It gets so I get sweaty before even calling these places. And I always need TMD near so I can whisper questions to her. I am sure I’ve made many a call centre suspicious that I was holding the real Existere hostage and demanding she answer my questions.

My new action plan is to be more charming than anyone could ever suspect. Poor old Clifford probably gets screamed at all day by unhappy customers, so I give him a little liquid sex. When he says he has security questions, I laugh and say, ‘I hope I can answer them.’ The next thing I know, Clifford is pouring wine and clinking his glass against the phone, the crackle of flames in the background. Clifford tells me he hopes I can answer them too, his voice dropping into a teasing and intimate tone.

We proceeded into a kinky little security striptease - and I must say, there was no need to break out the flirting. One of you could probably call this number and convince Clifford you were me - if you were willing to have fake phone sex, anyway.

 

For the sake of it.

We’re moving a week from tomorrow and I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed by it all. I have about a gillion change-of-address phone calls to make, a thousand boxes that need packing, and 48390257 boxes that are already packed and making life a little bit maze-like. Every time my phone rings I cringe, as estate agents are bringing floods of people to view this flat.

I have never been good with having too many things to do. I like my lists. TMD tells me there is a change-of-address list somewhere. Perhaps if I find it I’ll be inspired to make those phone calls.

This afternoon I go to the doctor to pick up some test results - proof for the baby making clinic that I’m a healthy chick-a-dee. Then off to the pub for an evening with a small group of friends from work. I am looking forward to going out, but at the same time am lazy enough to just want to stay at home. It feels like too much work to socialise sometimes. I know, I know, I’m old before my time.

I’m really only writing this because I wanted to write, but I had nothing to write about. Suggestions?

I also found a pair of shorts from ninth grade that are now too big.

My best friend’s mom once had a lingerie party. I was in tenth grade. I bought a little peach number with the hopes of impressing my boyfriend.

TMD just unearthed that little scrap of silk (I don’t throw things away easily) and I tried it on. It fit better than it did when I first bought it. Nice.

Of course, it’s gross that she thinks it’s sexy because it was bought as a sexual aid for a relationship that has been over for twelve years, but still. I’ll take what I can get.

Self-righteously yours.

Felt a little guilty this morning after writing that entry, but the computer was off and so there was no updating. I felt like I was some self-righteous bitch - the sort of Weight Watchers leader that publically berates people when they gain a pound.

I wasn’t specifically talking about all women, or all overweight women, or all skinny women. I was talking about people who are not happy with their weight, who declare they cannot see why they can’t lose a pound, all the while chomping down Snickers bars. I think a lot of my angry angst toward this group of women is really the leftover annoyance from an old friend I’m no longer in contact with. She was a big girl, and I thought she was lovely as she was. I do like a bit of curve.

Anyway, that’s off the point. To swerve back to it, this woman essentially abused her body in order to lose weight. She took bizarre medications, swallowed oils designed to not let her intestines/stomach/whatever digest what she was eating, etc. She bought self-hypnotising books, maternity jeans, and always made jokes or tantrums about her weight. All the while, she ate like a motherfucker. On one particular day, she had two McDonald’s breakfasts, some Starbuck’s drink and three cookies, a Burger King burger thing as a snack, chinese noodles for lunch, a falafel wrap snack, and then a giant pizza for dinner. Now, if you want to eat this way, do it.

Just do not do it in front of me if you will spend the entire eight hours telling me how carefully you watch what you eat and cannot understand why you not only seem to be not losing weight, but you are actually gaining it.

Because, well, god. 

I am all about the self-awareness. I know how I got very heavy, and I know how I managed to slough off the weight I did. I also am aware why I have not lost any more weight. It’s not rocket science. You eat less and move more, and you lose weight. Or you just decide to love who you are, eat what you wanna eat, and leave it be. You can’t have your cake and lose weight too, I guess that’s what I’m saying. And by cake, I don’t mean a slice - I mean 27 cakes piled high with frosted little men visiting frosted little fast food places.

Also, I am reading Fast Food Nation at the minute and loving every second of it. Thus far, I would say I never want the book to end, and that I am enjoying it as much as I’ve ever enjoyed any book. Clearly this is the season of my angry, feminist, vegan, hippy energy. I apologise if it fucks you off, but really, what harm is there in trying to be right-on like you’re leading a protest march every day of the week? A little social exclusion due to placard wearing never did anyone any harm.

Oh. And something else that’s honest? I’m afraid that it will be really easy to just fuck this whole thinner weight thing up. I’m going to go write some concrete goals on the WWL page (see link on right).

Love to you, and your momma too.

Wednesday Weight Loss.

Welcome back to week two of Wednesday Weight Loss, hosted by yours truly. This week I’ve lost three pounds. In actual fact, I’ve gained some and lost some more, with the end result being three pounds and a whole lotta feel good pumping through my body.

Total weight loss now 51 pounds - and I’m back to my Weight Watchers Gold Member range. I’ve started thinking about the shitty (yet wonderful) key I will get in September to mark the one year anniversary of reaching Gold. I suppose I’d better pop into WW at some point in the future so they remember I exist. I’m all about the the cheap motivating tools of global industry.

Congrats to all of you who have been working hard out there to take care of yourselves, whatever that means to you. And welcome to those of you who have decided that enough is enough, and your health matters more than that donut/unprotected sex/drugs/etc.

Last week we watched a TV show about toddlers who were obese. One little girl’s mother said, ‘She’s just like me. She just has to look at that cream cake and she’ll gain weight.’ The problem here is not looking at the cream cake, it is eating it. Let’s be realistic.

You make a ‘choice’ in your mind that you are prone to being fat, that merely looking at junk food will make your thighs gain new layers of cellulite - so you eat a bunch of nutritionally empty calories. I don’t want to sound harsh, but I know from personal experience. I was fat because I ate too much shit. It’s as simple as that.

I think it’s all about loving our bodies, our bumps, our wrinkles. I just question how many women really love their bodies when they are stuck in unhealthy patterns. I am probably one of the women who will have to fight every day, to make new decisions every hour, about the way I eat. I am not naturally thin. I am prone to eating huge amounts of shit, to loving pizzas and french fries - or just to never being able to stop eating something that tastes good, no matter how full I am. I’ve got to make decisions about how I feel emotionally when I am out of control with my eating.

I want to be able to be healthy: ie eat better, move around more. I think it’s that simple. I also think most people aren’t aware of the sheer volume of food they are eating. And some genuinely eat only a bit, but completely the wrong sort of food. I think a little educational programme never hurt anyone, and I would probably class WW as being loosely educational. It’s made me smarter about food, more realistic (I can eat normal food and still lose weight/maintain weight), and more focused on what I want to achieve.

For me, it’s about goal setting. And throughout this week I have thought about coming here today to update my weight loss, and that was pretty fucking motivational as well, let me tell you.

So here’s to the up weeks, the down weeks, and the stay-the-same weeks. How’d you all do?

An entry of needed clarification(s).

I am childishly pleased to be welcomed into the circle of Women Who Temp. Got a lovely comment which coincideded perfectly with my first panic-wave. I cannot seem to be taking temps at the ‘right’ time. I also notice that my normal temps are much lower than what the ready-made charts in the book talk about. I recollect reading that lower temps equal some sort of bad thing, but I’ve not gone back and reread it.

Welcome to any more women who bump into me! Perhaps I will go overboard and not only post pictures of my charts, but go ticker crazy. I actually went to tickerfactory.com last week and had a good long look. Perhaps this is what Winnicot means by ‘primary maternal preoccupation*.’ I should do some research and write a book called Preliminary Primary Maternal Preoccupation.

Didn’t mean to come here and write about charting; as a matter of fact, I was going to write about how we participated in a real life ‘Wickerman’ event yesterday. I even took pictures. I guess I will save that for the future.

Ack. Tomorrow I’ve got out-of-town counselling gig, with the group of teenagers who do not talk. I will welcome the substantial amount of money when it comes in, and it’s sort of sad that that is the only thing making me not regret this twenty-week contract. Aside from the fact of how good it felt to be offered paid work. I’m still in a state of mild shock that soon I will not use ‘counsellor’ or ‘therapist’ to describe myself in the same way I use ‘writer,’ as merely (’merely’) a core part of my identity, but not my day job.

I popped into Day Job’s old head office to have a little chat, and when I described my new job as being a family therapist, I suddenly got the heebie jeebies. A family therapist? Me?

I bet this will give my sister a giggle, as it will anyone who knows my family. Crazy is our GAME, people. We invented it.

In other news, I packed Fat as I decided it is too crap at the moment. I think my drive to be The Best Writer In The Fucking Universe is going to go on crippling me quite fantastically for the near future. I really want No Plot, No Problem because it injects a little fun back into life. I have been thinking about nanowrimo ** a lot lately, and just realised it may be screwed as my mother is coming for a week-long visit in November.

I am chilled about this***, because she is due to come right about the time my period is due. I have fantasies of getting pregnant the first go and having my mom there when we realise there is no monthly outletting of cooch blood. Oh, baby baby, it always comes back to you.

Also: When your grandmother was pregnant with your mom, you were in your grandma’s body. Female fetuses already have all the eggs they will ever have. I think it’s beautiful that ‘I’ was in my grandma at one point. I think I am about to enter some hardcore feminist phase, for real. That Taking Charge of Your Fertility book is so goddamn awesome it makes me want to rip through the packed boxes until I find and devour The Feminine Mystique.

I want to buy a Moon Cup, use my menstrual blood to nuture the rainforest, and live on a commune. Failing that, I had a pretty good time giving my cervix a little heavy petting this morning.

* Primary maternal preoccupation, in a nutshell, is the state of new mother madness. Every thought is about the baby, every action taken to meet the baby’s every need. This is a natural event, needed for the baby’s development. The interesting bit is that it’s like a mental illness, and would be classified as such if it was not at this one time in life.

** nanowrimo : National Novel Writing Month. See http://www.nanowrimo.org if you wanna have some fun in November.

*** ‘I am chilled about this.’ As in, ‘I am relaxed that nanowrimo might be screwed up’, not as in, ‘My blood is running cold that I will be seeing my mother.’

I knew I wrote things down for an amusing reason.

I’m working on the final edit of a book that still has no title. I call it ‘Fat’ until something better comes along.

I’ve just now pulled the manuscript out of the folder, and noticed I had scribbled a conversation in the margin between myself and TMD.

Me: This one is so thin.
TMD: Which book is that?
Me: ‘Fat.’

And if you want a hope of understanding where this diary may be heading. At least in regards to pee-pees and babies.

We’re moving two weeks from yesterday. I’m so excited, even though we are not even close to being packed, but I have a few worries. When I first moved to this country I was depressed for a good couple of years, at least. That didn’t really lift until I got Day Job and started figuring out how things worked. We lived in a nice little studio apartment - that I never left. I didn’t know how to travel around, I didn’t understand how the money worked, I had just moved away from all my family and friends and wasn’t sure when I would see them again.

TMD had classes or work most days. I had class one evening a week, and was not allowed to work. I didn’t have any friends or anything to do.

I worry a bit about moving, because here in The City I can go anywhere and do anything. I can take buses, trains, subways, boats, bicycle, or feet. Where we are moving, you really need to drive. Things are more spread out.

It’s nice because it means a nicer style of life, but I think about things like doctor’s appointments - how can I attend if I can’t drive? I am very focused on trying to get my license before the summer is up. I definately want it before baby-in-the-tummy time, when I’ll have other things to worry about.

In the meantime, I will continue reading Taking Charge of Your Fertility. This is possibly the most right on book about women’s reproductive health I have ever read. I think girls should be taught about how their bodies work from a young age. If you’re a woman, I’d strongly recommend you reading this - whether you are gay/bi/straight, trying for a baby, trying to avoid a baby, not having sex at all. It’s all about getting to know your body better and taking responsibility for your health.

Today is the first day of my period, but I didn’t get to take my temp this morning because I woke up at 3 to pee and never fell back asleep. I think I may need to set my alarm daily for a very early time to try to get some consistency. If you wonder why I need to take my temperature and what it has to do with my period, go get this book!!