Close call
I almost got into an accident with a car today. I was riding to work in the bike lane, moving at about 15 miles per hour, when a car came up from behind me, passed me on the left, then turned right immediately in front of me. I hit my brakes so hard I skidded a little, and came within a couple of feet of slamming into the side of her car – and she never even looked at me.
I was going to say, "She never even saw me," but how could that be true? She'd just come up from behind me and driven right past me - there's no way she could have NOT seen me! It's possible she didn't realize how fast I was going, I guess ... maybe she thought there was enough room for her to pass and turn before I caught up to her.
Whatever the reason – there's no excuse for that kind of lame-ass driving. If I hadn't been so shocked and discombobulated I would've memorized her license plate number and written her a letter about it: "Dear Dumbshit: I'm the person you almost smeared across the pavement this morning ...."
Anyway, I got over it and had a decent day at work. Yesterday was my first day back after another mini-vacation, this time in Idaho with all of my immediate family. Sitting down at my desk, it hit me again how very seriously and desperately I need to figure out something else to do for money besides sit in a chair for 40-50 hours a week. I just can't stand it anymore.
I'm sort of having fun at the moment, though. I like the art directing part of it; I like looking at pretty pictures and designing pages and writing clever little quips, and I like the other writing I've been doing lately, too. It's just hard to imagine continuing doing it for 20 to 30 more years, or however long my useful working life may turn out to be. While I was in Idaho I got a voicemail from a friend who wants me to take on a pretty nice little side gig that could be ongoing for quite awhile, several years or more; if I could put together a few jobs like that, I might be able to go back to working only part-time at my current job (assuming I can find a way to keep myself insured). I might even be able to cut back to doing publications-related work only part-time, and do something more socially significant and meaningful with the rest of my life. Something that actually does some good in the world, besides just keeping my own bills paid, which is actually pretty significant to me but doesn't do much to make anyone else's life better ...
In other news, I'm definitely shrinking. Last month I bought two more copies of my favorite skirt, skipping two sizes with each skirt, so that the final one is four sizes smaller than the original ... I didn't want to take a chance they would've stopped making that skirt by the time I'd finally lost all the weight I plan to lose. The first replacement skirt fit, but was a little tight, on my trip to Portland; I tried it on again this morning, and now it's almost starting to be too big. The crossover-top dress I wore on my Idaho trip was comfortable when I made it last year, and now it's so loose I almost embarrassed myself at the airport when the shoulder strap of my bag pulled it sideways across my soon-to-be-nonexistent chest.
It's a strange feeling to shrink. For years, whenever I thought about losing weight, I would have a sort of almost panicky feeling about it – afraid to shrivel up and disappear, afraid to not be here anymore. But it isn't as scary as I thought. Mostly, it just feels kind of ... mysterious. I still feel just as much myself as I ever have. But when I try on something that was too small the last time I tried to wear it, and find it's now so baggy I still can't wear it and never will again (because I'm not one of those people who can afford to gain back any of the weight they've lost – I need to keep my feet, my kidneys, my eyesight), it's like meeting someone you thought was a stranger, only to find out you actually used to know them before, a long time ago. Julie gave me that analogy – because she's known me for years and remembers a Me who was tiny and thin, and she said not to worry, that that person is still in me, and that I would recognize her again when I saw her ... And somehow that image really penetrated my fear, and it turns out she was right. When I see myself in the mirror now it's like I'm finally seeing with my eyes the person I've been seeing in my mind all along.
Because even when I was fat (I guess I still am, for now) I never believed I was fat. I always felt like I was still young and healthy and amazing, and the fat body was only a slightly uncomfortable costume or disguise I was wearing for some reason I couldn't remember ... It was just my body; it was never really me.
Anyway. I am quietly enjoying (between moments of oh-so-subtle alarm) observing the changes. I got on the scale this morning and had lost seven more pounds since my trip to Oregon – that's about two pounds a week. My poor breasts seem to be taking it hardest right now; I guess it's time to get some smaller tops. I somehow think they'd seem less pathetic if I gave them a little more support and a place to live that wasn't three sizes too spacious. Maybe a trip to the thrift store is in order. I'm sure I could find something cute and comfortable to wear as I continue to deflate ... something with a nice neckline. Because one good thing about all this change and uncertainty is that if it's time to say "good-bye, boobs," then "hello, clavicle" can't be far behind.
I was going to say, "She never even saw me," but how could that be true? She'd just come up from behind me and driven right past me - there's no way she could have NOT seen me! It's possible she didn't realize how fast I was going, I guess ... maybe she thought there was enough room for her to pass and turn before I caught up to her.
Whatever the reason – there's no excuse for that kind of lame-ass driving. If I hadn't been so shocked and discombobulated I would've memorized her license plate number and written her a letter about it: "Dear Dumbshit: I'm the person you almost smeared across the pavement this morning ...."
Anyway, I got over it and had a decent day at work. Yesterday was my first day back after another mini-vacation, this time in Idaho with all of my immediate family. Sitting down at my desk, it hit me again how very seriously and desperately I need to figure out something else to do for money besides sit in a chair for 40-50 hours a week. I just can't stand it anymore.
I'm sort of having fun at the moment, though. I like the art directing part of it; I like looking at pretty pictures and designing pages and writing clever little quips, and I like the other writing I've been doing lately, too. It's just hard to imagine continuing doing it for 20 to 30 more years, or however long my useful working life may turn out to be. While I was in Idaho I got a voicemail from a friend who wants me to take on a pretty nice little side gig that could be ongoing for quite awhile, several years or more; if I could put together a few jobs like that, I might be able to go back to working only part-time at my current job (assuming I can find a way to keep myself insured). I might even be able to cut back to doing publications-related work only part-time, and do something more socially significant and meaningful with the rest of my life. Something that actually does some good in the world, besides just keeping my own bills paid, which is actually pretty significant to me but doesn't do much to make anyone else's life better ...
In other news, I'm definitely shrinking. Last month I bought two more copies of my favorite skirt, skipping two sizes with each skirt, so that the final one is four sizes smaller than the original ... I didn't want to take a chance they would've stopped making that skirt by the time I'd finally lost all the weight I plan to lose. The first replacement skirt fit, but was a little tight, on my trip to Portland; I tried it on again this morning, and now it's almost starting to be too big. The crossover-top dress I wore on my Idaho trip was comfortable when I made it last year, and now it's so loose I almost embarrassed myself at the airport when the shoulder strap of my bag pulled it sideways across my soon-to-be-nonexistent chest.
It's a strange feeling to shrink. For years, whenever I thought about losing weight, I would have a sort of almost panicky feeling about it – afraid to shrivel up and disappear, afraid to not be here anymore. But it isn't as scary as I thought. Mostly, it just feels kind of ... mysterious. I still feel just as much myself as I ever have. But when I try on something that was too small the last time I tried to wear it, and find it's now so baggy I still can't wear it and never will again (because I'm not one of those people who can afford to gain back any of the weight they've lost – I need to keep my feet, my kidneys, my eyesight), it's like meeting someone you thought was a stranger, only to find out you actually used to know them before, a long time ago. Julie gave me that analogy – because she's known me for years and remembers a Me who was tiny and thin, and she said not to worry, that that person is still in me, and that I would recognize her again when I saw her ... And somehow that image really penetrated my fear, and it turns out she was right. When I see myself in the mirror now it's like I'm finally seeing with my eyes the person I've been seeing in my mind all along.
Because even when I was fat (I guess I still am, for now) I never believed I was fat. I always felt like I was still young and healthy and amazing, and the fat body was only a slightly uncomfortable costume or disguise I was wearing for some reason I couldn't remember ... It was just my body; it was never really me.
Anyway. I am quietly enjoying (between moments of oh-so-subtle alarm) observing the changes. I got on the scale this morning and had lost seven more pounds since my trip to Oregon – that's about two pounds a week. My poor breasts seem to be taking it hardest right now; I guess it's time to get some smaller tops. I somehow think they'd seem less pathetic if I gave them a little more support and a place to live that wasn't three sizes too spacious. Maybe a trip to the thrift store is in order. I'm sure I could find something cute and comfortable to wear as I continue to deflate ... something with a nice neckline. Because one good thing about all this change and uncertainty is that if it's time to say "good-bye, boobs," then "hello, clavicle" can't be far behind.
1 Comments:
What you described in the first two paras is exactly what happened to my friend P, except she did get hit! The dumbshit minivan driver (to borrow your very apt term) drove for blocks after hitting her, not even realizing she'd mowed down a cyclist. Fortunately, P wasn't hurt (but her bike was wrecked beyond repair) and someone else in a car who say it all happen chased down the minivan driver to inform her that she needed to return to the scene of the crime. It makes me furious just to recall this and to think that it almost happened to you!
Start seeing bikes, people!
Congrats on the weight loss and the continuing path toward better health. I'm having somewhat similar issues lately coming to terms with the fact that I do not have the vigor and vim I once had in such abundance. Not quite the same thing, but, like you, I somehow have this picture of myself (as like a 20-year-old) that doesn't match up with reality too well, OK--AT ALL--anymore.
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