I don't know what was up the last few weeks, but I'm starting to feel more level now. I did kind of go apeshit at work on Sunday and started yelling and crying, but there were actual triggers for that so I don't feel so bad about that!

I don't know if it's because of missing those few days of my Prozac, or stress from midterms, or what, but I finally feel like I'm back to normal. Work has been more tolerable the last few days, I haven't been having panic attacks, and things are just generally better. I feel like I can breathe again.

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I've felt really depressed for the last month or so. At first I thought it was PMS; then I thought it was because of the dog sadness; then I was sick. Now I'm not sick, it started before the dog died, it went on too long to be PMS and would be DMS now.

And I still just feel .... just plain depressed. I'll be sitting around reading or whatever, and suddenly have this panicky feeling of dread and start flipping out. Or I'll start sobbing over nothing. Or I'll sit on my couch and stare at the wall blankly for long periods of time. I don't understand what's going on. It's so incredibly frustrating, because I'll be crying and saying to myself "there's nothing wrong, why am I crying? There's nothing wrong." It's interfering with my life: I'm struggling to study, struggling to get anything done around the house, struggling to maintain a happy facade at work.

I'm hoping it was PMS, then it was because of the dog, then it was because I was sick, and now it's because when I was sick I forgot to take my happy pills for about three days. I'll give it another week or so and if it's not better I guess I'll go back to the doctor. I feel like I'm going insane.

A little more than a year ago, I wrote a quick post about acai berry advertising being stupid. Basically, I saw the ad on the right and didn't believe it for a damn second. But I was saddened to think that their are people out there desperate enough, and guillible enough, that they'd probably be willing to believe this--no matter the improbability of a person of that size losing that much weight, keeping it off, having no stretch marks or surgery scars to show for it .... and accomplishing all that with a miracle berry drink.




While writing the post immediately prior to this, I was looking at garter belts. I was just idling scrolling through them, when one caught my eye. I looked at it for a minute ... it looked familiar and I couldn't place it at first. Still, I had to go find my old entry to be sure.

Hmm, look at that! Same background, same lingerie, different face. Any doubt now that acai berry is total bullshit?

and bought another humidifier. Mine died a sad death, and with my financial woes--and the fact that I was hoping to replace it with an identical one, but it's been discontinued--I've been without for several months. Not so good with the sinus issues--I swear I could feel my sinus lining cracking, and I've been getting daily headaches. Doing my lovely disgusting sinuses rinses helps, but it's also hard to do as often as necessary to really help--I can't do it too close to bedtime, or it runs down the back of my throat while I sleep. I can't do it before work, because for a couple of hours afterward if I lean over the salt water runs out my nose. So basically, I can only do it when I'm home for the next three hours without sleeping or heading to work.

So I bought a $20 humidifier at the Wally World. It seems to be working fairly well--my room already smells misty--although I prefer the kind that puts out visible mist. But I'm looking forward to going to bed tonight, snuggling into my warm fluffy comforters and falling asleep to the hum of the fan and the smell of mist.

I've been feeling like my head's going to explode for the last few days. I'm having a panic attack right now; my heart is racing, I'm trembling, I feel like puking, and I want to curl into a ball and cry. Why? Well, it doesn't help that I'm still trying to pay this month's rent, but that's not really it. About once a month, my Prozac suddenly doesn't work for a few days. My PMS just over-rides the serotonin re-uptake process or something, and I end up like this. At first it really worries me, and I feel like I'm going nuts. Then my pants start to feel ridiculously tight, I want to devour the world, I don't want to do anything but sleep, and I realize what's going on.

I'm writing about it now because it's easier to calm myself down if I don't give in to it, if I talk to myself about the fact that there's not actually anything to panic about. Hopefully I can get an appointment on Monday to get some lovely birth control pills to help put a lid on this crap next month.

So the last couple of days, I've been feeling oddly dizzy. Actually, it's been most of the weekend, but it didn't get really bad until yesterday. Yesterday I was intending to ride my bike up next to a stop block and step off on to it--my bike is just a little high and I always feel like an idiot trying to get off the damn thing.

Well, I fell like more of an idiot when I got a wave of vertigo, ran the side of my bike tire in to the stop block, and fell over. I left behind several layers of skin from my left arm and leg; my left ulna feels bruised, as does my ego; and the dizziness has just gotten worse. Any time I move my head, it feels like the world wallows like a boat in waves, and I have a vague sort of headache.

I thought maybe I was over-tired; dehydrated; low on magnesium; low on potassium; had screwed up blood sugar; or maybe it was gunk in my sinuses because of my allergies. I looked up symptoms of swine flu, and the first few pages just mentioned regular flu symptoms--nothing about dizzyness. Then one of my coworkers started getting the same symptoms; she went the doctor .... and she's officially Got The Swine Flu.

I think I'm fucked.

I went to my dad's for dinner this week. A while after I got there, we were sitting on the desk just listening to the winds in the trees, talking about nothing.

Suddenly my dad squints at me and says, "Why does it look like you've dumped a few pounds?"

Here we go again, I thought, but just shrugged and said "I don't know."

Right away he got all tense. "Well, have you?" Again, I said I didn't know, and his nostrils flared. "Well who the hell would know then!"

I laughed a little and told him (again), "Dad, I don't weigh myself."

He looked me for a minute; I could practically see his brain failing to understand a woman not obsessed with her weight. "Well, do your pants fit different, do you feel better, anything?"

"Nope."

He looked at me again and then sighed and said okay and let it drop. I doubt I actually look any different; I think he was just hoping to prod me in to dieting by "complimenting" me. He just can't seem to wrap his head around the fact that I don't monitor every ounce I weigh and every bite I take. Or rather, he can't believe that it's not because I'm "giving up", or that I'm not in denial about it being "a problem".

Later, I mentioned going to the physical therapist on campus about the fact that I walk funny. I always have, a little; but waitressing and working retail has exacerbated it. Specifically, I pronate inward and walk duck-footed, my right foot terribly so. So I tell my dad I went to this appointment, and right away he says "Well isn't the problem obvious?"

I played dumb; I made him make the ignorant statement that it's because of my weight. When I asked why the medical professional didn't say a word about my weight then, he said "She just didn't want to hurt your feelings." Right, because doctors are SO concerned about not upsetting fat people. I told him I've always walked weird, and he snapped at me, "Right, so lets not do something about the problem and see if maybe it enhances your life!"

I repeated that I remembered kids making fun of me in kindergarten for walking goofy, and continued telling him about the things the therapist said and how we were approaching it. I basically didn't give him a chance to throw any more fat blaming crap at me, because I'm just weary of it. I could understand him going directly to that if I hadn't always walked like this. But I didn't start getting chubby until I was about eight, and I obviously had started walking, and walking oddly, way before that. Even at that age, I struggled to keep up with other kids walking or running.

But of course, I'm fat now, so that's got to be the problem.

There are two women who have recently started coming in to my restaurant, who are on a low-carb diet. One looks like she stuck her finger in an electric socket, from her wide eyes to her crazy red hair. The other is very round, with dyed blonde hair and little round old-lady glasses. The first one is super quiet and hardly talks at all; the second is rather bossy, loud, and comes off sort of bitchy.

I've waited on them two out of the three times I've seen them, and both times it's been the same thing. The ginger orders something nearly zero carb (like a steak and broccoli and a salad without croutons), and the blonde orders something with carbs (say a burger with the bun, but with salad instead of fries) and comments about how she's "bad" compared to the ginger. I just don't acknowledge it--beyond demonstrating that I remember them (hey, I work for tips!) by saying "No croutons, right?" when they order their salads.

The first time, I said something like, "would you like some fresh fruit for dessert?" and the blonde promptly told me how the ginger was doing "so good" and had "lost eight pounds!" The second time, same thing, only now it was 19 pounds. I sort of stumbled over my words, because I didn't know what to say. I ended up just saying, "Okay, no dessert then. I'll take your ticket whenever you're ready!"

I know that the expected, societally acceptable response--especially from a woman, and double especially from a fat woman--is congratulations, encouragement, jealousy, etc. But I just don't want to play that game anymore, with anyone.

I have a terrible procrastination problem. I have for as long as I can remember, although it's definitely gotten worse as I've gotten older. I think (hope) I may have found a cure for it though.

For one of my classes, we have to read three historical books. Our first quiz, on Day of the Barbarians, is in a couple of weeks. Normally, I'd put off even starting the book until the day before the quiz--usually anything I'm required to read pisses me off and I spend as little time as possible on it.

I started Day of the Barbarians tonight while eating dinner at work. I actually wanted to read it. I've only had two days of classes, so it's too early to know if I'll fall back in to my usual lackadaisical habits. But the fact that I sat at work for an extra hour reading is encouraging.

My schedule is rather exhausting, between school and work. And the transportation to/from school, too. Yesterday I rode my bike to the bus stop a few blocks away, which was fine; sort of fun, even. My first class is in the building right by the bus terminal, so I locked up my bike there and went to class. After my classes I rode over to the bus terminal again, and hopped a different bus that dropped me off 1.25 miles from my house--the number 8 bus I took to school only leaves campus every 45 minutes, so I wouldn't have gotten home in time to get to work.

On my way home, I quickly realized that the entire way from the bus stop to my house is a slight incline. And the wind had picked up. Pedaling on a long gradual incline into the wind is not fun for someone not used to riding a bike. Aerobically, I was fine; I wasn't gasping for breath or anything. But I did have to stop once and give my legs about a thirty second rest, and a couple minutes later I got off my bike and walked it a couple hundred yards--my thigh muscles were just tired.

I thought about repeating that today; but after four days in a row of work, two closing shifts, and a bike ride I'm not used to, I opted for the lazier option since I had to be to work at four. I drove to campus, and parked a block away on the street I used to live on. Then I walked halfway down the block and caught a bus into the center of campus, and then a second one to the other side of campus for my first class. My second class got out at 10 till, I caught the bus back to my car, and was home my quarter after and was at work a few minutes early.

Still, I'm not planning on doing that often. I don't want to spend the gas, for one thing; I'd rather not leave my car on a public street regularly; and I did buy my bike for a reason. But I was pretty sure that if I tried to do the bike thing today I'd end up walking most of way and be late for work, since I don't have mighty quads and hamstrings anymore. I used to--years of bareback horseback riding will do that--but no longer. Hopefully before long my ride home will be a breeze.

Via Fatfu I read this article tonight, detailing someone's struggle with medical bills and health insurance after she was diagnosed with leukemia .... and had insurance. This is why there's a need for healthcare reform.

I was talking with my mom the other day, and she mentioned that she always wakes up at 2, and then again at 3:30, and doesn't sleep well until after that. The 3:30 thing is from long, long ago, when she was a kid; my grandfather was in the army, and 3:30 was when my grandparents would get up and my grandma would make breakfast.

Waking up at 2 is from when I was a kid ... because 2-2:30 is when my dad would roll in from the bar. So maybe that explains my weirdness a bit too. If my mom still wakes up at 3:30 from a routine from 40 years ago, it's entirely possible I'm still affected by my dad's routine that I was still exposed to ten years ago.

Not that it explains everything, of course; some of it is me being stubborn, and working weird hours. But the fact that I rarely get sleepy until at least two may have something to do with my dad's old bar-going habits.

I was at my dad's last week, right before I got sick. We were having a leisurely evening, sitting in easy chairs on his wrap-around deck, getting some fresh air, listening to the crickets. I don't totally remember now how the conversation went, but I know he managed to give me grief about two out of three of my least favorite topics to discuss with him.

The first was my weight. He said something about when was I going to get my weight "under control" and I said it is under control. "Bullshit! When are you going to do something about it?" I said I'm not, and he demanded to know why. I said "I don't care enough about it to do anything."
"You don't care about your health?" Now, I find that absolutely hilarious coming from someone who drinks every night, smokes, spray paints cars without a mask, dips his hands in paint thinner, and thinks guns and whiskey are a great combination.
"I'm perfectly healthy," I told him.
"Oh really? Could you run two miles?"
I just looked at him, trying to figure out the best response--I was leaning towards I couldn't, but plenty of skinny people couldn't either.
"Well, could you?" he demanded again.
"Could you?" Okay, no the best response.
"I'm 50 years old and I drink like a sailor and breathe toxic chemicals! But I could if I had to. I wouldn't like it, but sometimes in life you have to do things you don't like."

Which was his excellent segue into giving me grief about my career/schooling. He started in about how I need to pick something and stick with it, blah blah blah; when I said I didn't know what I'd be good at he told me that's a 12 year old's answer. Then he said, "I thought you were going to be a dietetic technician, or did you give up on that too!"

That right there tells me that my aunt's got a big mouth. Because I have in fact "given up" on that whole misguided adventure, but wasn't planning on telling my dad that yet. I told my aunt, though, but asked her not to tell my dad and explained why. But I'm sure she did. I didn't admit it, though. I just wasn't up for it. Instead I just sighed and said "Do we really have to talk about this now?"

"No, let's put it off another ten years!" and he stormed off to go flip the burgers on the grill. Luckily he let it drop then, and instead we talked about his dog with the broken leg. And then I pissed him off again by calling my cousin's fiance an idiot because he told my dad something totally incorrect. But he's a pharmacist, so naturally he's infallible.

I'm just so tired of having these conversations with my father. I know he's just worried about me; but I wish he'd just let go of those two topics. I'm sick of him making me feel like I'm disappointing him because I'm fat--oh wait, I mean unhealthy.

I hate spiders. Seriously hate them. I'm not really sure why; it's not like I ever suffered a terrible bite or anything. I didn't see "Arachnophobia" until I was in high school, and at that point my hatred of them was well established. Just seeing one makes my heart start racing. If I find one actually on me, I shudder and scream and flail and basically freak right the fuck out. I know that they're necessary in the ecosystem, that they're really beneficial predators, blah blah blah. If they're in my house, they're dead beneficial predators.

I think it started when I was about five. The house we lived in had this spiders with oblong bodies that were sort of watermelon striped. And the lady next door had a big garden that she grew watermelons in, and from my midgety little point of view, one of the watermelons and vines looked like a giant spider. Maybe that's it, I don't know.

Usually, the presence of a spider in my bedroom triggers immediate panic. Once there was a big hairy spider on the wall above my bed, and I ran to get a shoe. I got back with a shoe just in time to see one of my cats take a swipe at it and knock it on to my pillow. It scurried away, but I couldn't find it. My response was to completely dissasemble my bed, move it away from the wall, and reassemble it--at about 3 in the morning. I slept in the middle of the room for a week. I don't like spiders.

This all just preamble to illustrate how miserable I've been feeling this last week. Last Thursday I was fine. On the way up to my dad's house I had the windows down, was listening to the new a-ha album and singing, felt great. Right after dinner, I started feeling not so good. At first I thought it was an allergic reaction to something--I am, after all, allergic to the planet. Then my stomach started feeling queasy, but I thought it was my dad's cooking--heavy on the bacon grease.

Halfway down the hill, though, I was pretty sure I was getting sick. I started feeling really hot but sort of clammy, and just not right. My throat hurt more, my eyes felt swollen, etc. Since then, I've continued feeling anywhere between crappy and incredibly miserable. I still don't know if it's flu or cold, as it has symptoms of both. The ridiculous heat in my house hasn't helped.

A couple of days before, I noticed a big bug bite of some sort on my hand. I didn't think much of it. The day after I got sick, the same hand got another bite--and I'd been sleeping with that hand under my pillow, sort of against the wall by my bed. I thought I might have a spider in my bed, but I felt too sick and weak to deal with it. I checked my pillows and that wall by my bed, but other than that I just couldn't deal with it. I did spend more time on the couch, but when the worst of the sickness hit and the only position I could find that didn't make me vomit with head pain was on my bed. I passed out, even thinking to myself that there was probably a spider around.

I got a bite on each leg that night. Two nights later, and I finally felt up to pulling my bed out. Sure enough, there was a little brown spider back there. It's now in spider hell. I might not have even bothered tonight, as I still feel exhausted, but I woke up this morning with either a giant cystic zit or a bite on my face. I think it's a zit, but still, my exhaustion was finally less than my spider hatred.

I'm still not going to work tomorrow, though. I managed a very short shift tonight, but I'm still getting flushes of extreme hot and cold, my balance is off from gunk in my ears, and I generally still feel sub-human.

At least my bed is spider-free.

This article is great. I love the tenth reason:

"It is embarrassing for one of the most scientifically, technologically and medicinally advanced nations in the world to base advice on how to prevent one of the leading causes of poor health and premature death (obesity) on a 200-year-old numerical hack developed by a mathematician who was not even an expert in what little was known about the human body back then."

So after buying my new $10 sneakers and my new $17 swimsuit that doesn't fall off and expose my tits to the world, I finally dragged myself to the gym tonight.

Well, actually, I went to Qdoba first because I had a free burrito coming, and I sat and read and let my stomach settle for about an hour. Then I drove down the road to the gym, and spent another ten minutes sitting in my car listening to the new a-ha album, feeling tired and not at all like dragging my ass into the building. But I finally did.

Then I verrrry slowly got ready. I had to use the lint roller on my workout shorts, because they looked like I'd rolled them in a dust bunny (I have no idea why, I took them out of the dryer and sat them in the damn bag!). Then I had to lace up the new shoes. Then I had to untangle my headphones which were tied in a knot. And I had to move to a different bench when it turned out I was in front of somebody's locker. And I kept dropping stuff. Then I had to change, which was probably the quickest part of the whole thing since I don't care if anybody sees my cellulite and I just whip my clothes off--none of that dancing around minimizing the bare flesh crap.

So finally I wander out to where the exercise bikes are, and spend ages fiddling around getting the seat to the right height. I always have that problem with bikes; the pedals are either too far away and I have to stretch my feet to keep them on the pedals, or my knees are about hitting my chin. Maybe my legs are a weird length, I don't know.

Anyway, I did eight minutes, which isn't much, but it was 1.25 miles, which is the distance from the far bus stop to my house, which is the whole point of this. I could've done more, but I at the end I was just starting to get a bit of pain in my right knee. So I stopped, and figure next time I'll do a quarter mile more.

Then I changed into my swimsuit, which has a really weird thick lining but whatever, and jumped in the pool. I swam a couple of laps, walked the length of the pool a few times, floated on my back for a while, and generally just enjoyed being in the water. At one point I did an underwater somersault, which was one of my favorite things to do in the water as a kid; but since my sinus surgery it makes me insanely dizzy, so I should probably not do that any more. I'm not sure why that is; I guess just because after 26 years of being clogged my inner ear can finally actually respond to be whipped in circles. Christ, think how sick I'd be now on carnival rides!

Anyway, after that I sat in the hot tub for about half an hour reading a biography of Eleanor of Aquitaine (which I just typed as Ssquitaine about five time), because me = nerd. Then I was too hot, so I went and stood in the pool and read. I'm sure people think I'm a freak, but whatever.

I felt sort of sleepy by the time I left, but I had to go to the grocery store and the post office, and was more awake by the time I got home. Still, I think I should be able to get to bed a little earlier .... like now, maybe!

I went there for new shoes for work, my stupidly expensive hair conditioner, and a toilet seat (I got an all mighty ass pinching last night when mine suddenly snapped, that was lovely).

I came out with work shoes, other shoes, toilet seat, a small desk lamp (which I forgot to get the right bulb for), several mini lint rollers for my purse, and a swimsuit. But no conditioner, so I didn't really spend more than I intended. And I did need a new swimsuit--the one I have is actually a "bathing" suit, which means it's not made for moving, so swimming was pretty much impossible because the straps continually fall down. It has nice wide straps if I want to tan my back--by which I mean scald like a lobster and get skin cancer since I'm the whitest white girl ever--but not so good for anything but sitting still.

And I need to start going to the gym again. I'm tired of my muscles feeling weak. More importantly, I need to start riding the exercise bike in preparation (which is why I got the non-work shoes, which were only $12). I'm going to be a full time student next year, which means I get a free bus pass, so it's obviously not very cost effective to shell out $140 for a parking pass. Getting to class is no problem; fifteen minute walk up the street and hop on the bus. But to get home after class in the afternoon in time for work is going to require either jogging or a bike. This is because the bus I can take to school only leaves campus 50 minutes after my last class ends, so I wouldn't get home for an hour and a half after class ended. There's another bus I could take that leaves half an hour earlier, but would drop me off a mile and a quarter from home. And I'm a slow walker.

Of course, I could drive most of the way, park on my old street, and hop the bus, which would let me sleep an extra half hour and get me home quicker. But it doesn't solve the problem of getting from my second to third class three days a week, so we're back to the bike thing.

Which is why I need to start on the exercise bike. I haven't ridden a bike in about eight years, so if I try to hop on one and ride a couple of miles a day I'm going to be a sorry mess. And since I don't actually have a bike yet, the exercise bike will be my starting point. So, my gym stuff is in the washer right now, and I'm hoping that with new work shoes my legs will feel okay enough to give the exercise bike a spin tomorrow after work, and maybe a swim.

I've had this window open all day writing this; I can't focus worth a damn today!

So my textbook, which is totally anti-fat, naturally has all the standard suggestions of how to cut the evil fats out of your diet. The one I just ran across was that instead of butter, or cheese, or anything that sounds good .... cover your broccoli in lemon juice! Yeah!

Except, you know, the acids degrade the chlorophyll, turning it brown and nasty, and possibly causing magnesium loss. On, and it tastes like ass. But at least it's LOW FAT.

My textbook for my nutritional assessment class is full of fatphobia and obesity panic. Pretty much what I expected. What I didn't expect in a textbook for firmly entrenched in the party line is contradictions to their own stupid claims. I'm reading along and I suddenly come to ...

"No RDA or AI have been established for total fat because there are insufficient data available to determine a level of total fat intake associated with risk of inadequacy or prevention of chronic disease. There is no UL (upper limit, means toxicity) established for total fat because no level has been identified that is associated with averse effect."

Followed by more GLOBESITY boogaboogabogga crap.

Another gem from my asscrackofdawn nutritional assessment class. We're talking, much to my general disgust anyway, and BMI charts, specifically for children--because we've got to give those fat kiddos what for! In the course of talking about percentiles and distribution curves, the professor says (paraphrasing) "Some kids are born leaner and stay that way, and others have a little more fat, so we do see this curve naturally."

Hold your freaking horses! You mean .... people are different? People are born different sizes, and develop differently, almost like it's, I don't know genetic? Get the fuck out of town!

And three slides later, she did (get the fuck out of town, that is) when she made the pronouncement that women's waists shouldn't be bigger than 35 inches and men can be up to 40 inches around before they have the DEATHFAT.

This is why I hate going to this class. Everytime she says "diabeetus" or "obesity epidemic" I want to throw something at her. Like a chair. And my self-control isn't limitless.

The Corn Pushers Of America, I mean, the Corn Refiners Association, has been running obnoxious ads claiming the high-fructose corn syrup isn't really all that bad. I've ranted about that before; suffice it to say, it's bullcrap.

But now there's a study saying that half of commercially produced HFCS contains mercury.

Yeah, it's just like sugar!