I am down .8 pound from yesterday, but my body fat is up. It’s a significant enough break in pattern that I think it’s bad data. The body fat readings are a guide, but they’re not accurate.
The scale is in front of the bathroom mirror, so every time I step on, I see the progress in the mirror as well as on the scale. This morning, I knew I had dropped weight. I could see it before I saw the number.
Looking in the mirror, I also became fixated on how fat my thighs are. It’s like my most recent obsession with being short-waisted. I have made enough progress on my diet that I can obsess over things that are completely unrelated to being fat-fat. It’s no longer about what fits . . . it’s about what looks best. It’s no longer about being globulous; it’s about looking fitter.
Yes, I still have more than ten pounds to go. (More than that, perhaps, depending on how my clothes fit at 125). I have not made much progress over the past couple of weeks — I have been losing body fat, but my weight has been bouncing around.
I should be inconsolable this morning, but I am actually hopeful. Yesterday was really bad. So bad I wrote and wrote and wrote and then privatized the post realizing my mother does not need to know the depths of my despair.
Today, I feel more hopeful for no good reason. I am an unrepentant optimist.
I spent much of the day pondering my resume. My resume is jacked up. Seriously, I can think of no time in the past 10 years when I have not had at least two jobs. Even now, I hold many jobs and offices . . . I am just poor.
The poverty finally got to me. My life is a series of aggravations, humiliations, embarrassments, and disappointments. It’s not supposed to be like this. I work too hard, I have too much experience, and I have achieved too much to be living like this.
No one knows how bad it truly is except F, and he cannot appreciate it. I know I have been some horribly bad choices — foregoing a salary being chief among them — and I have been punished severely for them.
I sat yesterday morning and cried, thinking I now have a new level of financial horror I did not think I could reach. It’s no longer about choosing between food and allergy medicine. It’s about choosing between power, internet, and phone. Nice. Thank goodness I have almost no expenses.
I have no idea how things will change. I have some proposals out. I have my agent working for me. I have my mythic deal floating in the ether. But, I need to survive now. </career rant>
The hardest thing is telling people that I am not making it, that I am failing, that I need help. I know my friends and close associates would be horrified that I had not come to them sooner, if I ever tell them. One of them, jerkface, attacked me via group email with our closest friends about the fact my cell phone is off: “Whats up with that [Planner].” Jerkface, who I bailed out and helped support when he needed it. I so fucking hate this guy right now. So I told them the truth. No apology from him.
I had to cancel on my plans with them tonight for stupid, in retrospect, reasons. I was going to tell them the truth and ask for help. I still need to tell them the truth and ask for help.
I need help.
Then I need to find a job with a salary because I am tired of this bullshit.
Despite all of this, I am still hopeful and optimistic that things will improve. I just need that improvement to be my now.