In one week, I will see my darling LDF.
I am beyond anxious.
My weight is higher than it’s been in seven years (still a 4, still feeling enormous). I may weigh ten pounds more than the last time he saw me. (It’s at least five.) And I felt fat then.
I hit a pole with my car and now I have to unexpectedly spend . . . I have no idea how much money yet, but the assumption is like $2k, which is putting enormous financial pressure on me. Not starvation financial pressure, but certainly making a plane ticket more of a luxury than something I’d budgeted.
But mostly I am anxious because it’s the first time we have seen each other since he was here in March, a trip that went sideways thanks to alcohol and bad cell coverage and other people’s agendas, that ended with us pledging our love and commitment while he was in a cab at like 5 am on the way to the airport. It’s the first time we have seen each other since he drunkenly proposed to me late one night via text in April.
There is a lot of stress and pressure on this visit.
It’s a single night, and not even one we are fully spending together. He is flying to a city nearish to me for work, for an event. I am flying in to see him after. We both leave the next morning.
He has been less ardent, less present, less expressive recently. Or maybe that’s just how it feels when I am in the throes of hormonal depression, which was worse this week as it’s been in years.
I blame the added weight.
I got lazy: I got my new job (which is not going great at the moment, not atypical for a startup) and I broke my toe and never stopped living my life and never starved myself and never worried. I beat my eating disorder, which is wonderful.
Except now I feel fat.
In reality, I look on the slightly thin side of average. I live a life surrounded by beautiful people (as does the LDF), and I am aware — keenly aware — that I am not one of them at the moment.
I mean, technically, I am considered beautiful, especially for my age. LP, who I see nearly every day, mentioned I’ve never looked more beautiful in all the years he’s known me. (I now can use what I call “rich lady moisturizers,” which are amazing and ridiculously expensive. My skin looks amazing and, as I was preparing to visit the LDF on his exceptionally fashionable turf, my makeup is seriously on-point.)
But, I am heavier than I want to be. I have to be concerned about back fat in certain sized small t-shirts I just bought on serious sale from Ann Taylor.
Okay, I have problems that concern only me, but the anxiety is real.
I decided, finally, to do something real about it.
I am currently, and mostly secretly, on a “juice cleanse.” It is not a fast. I am also eating raw foods for dinner and I am eating some raw sprouted almonds, which I described to my friend W as “I have no idea how they’re different, but they were really expensive,” when I feel my energy or mental acuity flagging.
I am hoping that I can drop 5-7 pounds before LDF arrives in the city. I’d love for it to be 10. That’s still bigger than when I met him, but not appreciably so.
I should have started working on this a while ago. I didn’t realize how quickly he’d be here. We kept saying end of the month, and it’s next week.
Worrying about my weight enables me to avoid worrying about the things we will be discussing when he’s here.
There were be some conversation. Not a lot, I assume, as we will be having a lot of sex, but we need to cover some things. Like, how serious is he about marrying me. It’s something he’s brought up repeatedly. I still don’t know that he means it. I am afraid he doesn’t, but I don’t know if it’s because I really know him or because I am incapable of acknowledging the reality of a man who is head over heels in love with me, despite how many people (my friends, his friends, his clients) he tells that he wants to marry me. All of my friends who have met him believe he means what he has said to them and to me in front of them.
But I am worried.
We have busy lives. We are seeing other people.
Still, I know what we have is special.
In a week, I will be in his arms and then waking up next to him, his handsome face on my shoulder, feeling, as always, that this is where and how every day should be.
The days after we see each other are rough because being together is so intense and so magical. We have made a promise that we will see each other enough that we are tired of each other by the time he is here in October.
It’s a lovely promise, one we have not yet honored.
But, we will. I hope.
Next week, I will fall asleep next to this man I have loved dearly. We will hold hands as he sleeps. Then he will awaken and we will talk about the future and where and how we will see each other next.
We may talk about the plans I am making that include him. We may talk about whatever plans he has that include me.
We are a weird and wonderful pairing: a socialite and a playboy, sure, but ten years apart, spectacularly connected, and somehow, across these miles and now years, in love. If we lived in the same town, I don’t know that we would still be together.
But, maybe we would.
Maybe we will be together when this one-day trip is over. Maybe we will still be excited to see each other in his city and in the city on the opposite coast where we each do a lot of work.
Every time I am fearful about how it will be to be back in his arms, it’s intense and amazing and I remember why and how much I love him and he remembers why and how much he loves me.
One week and counting . . .