Swing band hour on the radio. Muted trumpets and a nice breeze as evening turns to night. Imagine my surroundings in black and white, and it's almost enough to put me in a good mood, certainly a melancholy one (baby). Walk into a pleasant apartment after 12 hours at work and I almost wished I still smoked. I would open a bottle of wine but would have to throw it out before I had any one else to share it with. I briefly consider polishing off the bottle myself but know this atmosphere won't keep for too long
I'm getting hungry and I know there is a frozen pizza in the freezer. Shit. There goes the mood.
In that flitting moment when I remember the pizza, my own personal Romantic Comedy morphs into a B Horror movie.
In the former, I live in the upper east side and am bored, seeking a simpler life in Vermont. In the latter, I'm changing into a boll wevil frantically seeking a cotton plantation in the bronx.
Back to reality and I am congratulating myself for buying a scale.
When I take it out of the car kudos will really be in order.
I have to wean myself off sweets and carbonated beverages prior to my gastric sleeve surgery.
I will. I always rise to the occasion, no matter how far down I start.
Pretty soon my hugs will have to come from people instead of food.
But for now a pizza yearns for attention.
Thursday, September 24, 2015
Tuesday, August 18, 2015
Don't tell anyone, but I'm planning bariatric surgery.
Don't bother: "relating to or specializing in the treatment of obesity" The Merriam-Webster Dictionary
Apparently, "needs to loose a little weight but doesn't she have a pretty face?" has given way to "oh look! she can't cross her legs but doesn't her hair look great?"
Well, I still think I'm pretty, even if the health system here labels me morbidly obese.
Seriously? The cutoff seems quite arbitrary. I don't care if my BMI has PMS, OCD and visits the DMV, I may not be thin, but I am not on death's doorstep.
Or maybe I'm not seeing myself as I should. I always considered myself an intelligent self-aware individual, but my confidence was shaken a few weeks ago when I discovered that I am no longer 5'4".
***** Cut to an image of my Great Aunt Anna -- all 4 feet of her - bustling around her Philly landmark restaurant, the Ambassador. "Mommy, why is she so short?" "Old people shrink, honey."
So at 5'2" and ba-da-ba-bum pounds, I passed the requisite committees, medical tests and interviews which will entitle me to invite someone to cut away part of my stomach.
But only after a diet meant to reduce the fat on my liver so that he can find it.
One of the specialists who has to agree to bariatric surgery in Israel is a psychiatrist. For better or worse, I have a psychiatrist who knows me for years. He is convinced that I am "fit to stand trial", that I understand the issues, that I have realistic expectations and that I will be so much happier in life if I can get back to the thin version of me.
I really do believe that I have realistic expectations. With that established, I'm ready to go.
But first I have to tell someone there is a conference room at work with chairs that have gotten narrower over the years.
Friday, March 13, 2015
I am so pissed at Hollywood.
Apparently, a sad ex-lover never shows up at your door dissheveled and morose.
His friends don't call you to tell you he is a broken man.
And you don't get a do-over.
After a reasonable amount of wallowing, I (YET AGAIN (wtf)) pulled myself up and brushed myself off.
No world catastrophes when I took him off Speed Dial, although the weather did suddenly get super stormy.
Despite my last entry, I still hadn't added him to my emergency numbers.
I must have sensed already that "Call in Case of Emergency" will be perpetually relegated to my children and first ex-husband.
I suspect that somewhere deep inside, my equilibrium is set to status Single because I never changed my status on Facebook.
Imagine the quantum physics of a changed Facebook status back to single.
- The tide might never ebb.
- The Salmon might stay downstream.
- Cumulonimbus clouds might never dissipate.
- Candian Geese might Winter in Buffalo.
- Vesuvius might bury Pompeii.
So, for now, there you have it. This blog is not obsolete yet.