Left Turn

I was making a left hand turn. I had my blinker on, the light was green and I got halfway to the crosswalk when I saw her.

Long brown hair hung limp down her back. She wore gray and large glasses. She carried a bag and she walked with purpose. I stopped and so did she.

Her face turned to me and she was clearly irritated. "Go," she mouthed and I did.

She was me a year ago. Maybe a few differences-I usually wear black-but I remember that feeling of utter annoyance when a car was turning into the crosswalk I was halfway through.

I've had a several close calls while a pedestrian, so now, as a driver, I'm especially careful and courteous. But she didn't know that. To her I was just another asshole in too much of a hurry to let her cross the street.

The tables have turned.

I checked the rearview mirror after I'd passed, she made it safely across with no middle finger salute to my back-another difference between us-and we went our separate ways.

I couldn't help thinking that if our paths had met while we were both walking, or shopping in the same aisle in the grocery store, would she have smiled instead of scowled? Would she have stepped aside and gestured for me to move ahead with my cart or would she have walked by without a glance?

Are angry drivers angry walkers? While I'm not necessarily angry, I do find myself annoyed a bit when I'm stuck behind a slow truck in the fast lane. Same when I'm walking and someone is oblivious to my presence and they're meandering, completely unaware I'd like to pass them.

I'd like to think that if I was in a crosswalk and a car was making a left, I might be a little more understanding now. Then again, maybe I'd flip them off.

Just a Bit of Ramble

My friend got a tattoo. It's pretty and big. I kind of want one too now. Well, another one. Don't know of what yet so the skin stays undesigned.

I sent a text earlier to someone and they didn't respond. I felt myself getting all butt hurt about it and then let it go. They'll respond when they can.

I'm planning two BBQs already this summer and it's April. I've got tentative plans to drive to the peninsula and tentative plans to go to Seattle soon after that. I have weekend plans for 3 out of the 4 weekends in May. My birthday is the first weekend in June and I have no clue what or if I'm doing anything. The Fella says he has "a few ideas" so I'm excited to see what that's all about.

I found another carcass in the yard today. The cats are indeed mighty hunters. Just wish they'd complete the circle of life and eat the dang things.

I hate the downstairs bathroom. It has the ugliest wallpaper. A friend pointed out that it looks like old man pajama bottoms and now that's all I see. I can't think of anything that's not nautical themed to help decorate the sad little space so currently there's a just a bunch of skulls in there. Not like serial killer scary skulls. Pictures of skulls and Crystal Head Vodka bottles with food coloring left over from Halloween. It was neat for a little while but now I'm over it.

Why is that even important? To have a theme for a room I mean. Especially when it's essentially just a poop closet.

Anyway.

I've successfully gotten The Fella addicted to The Walking Dead and he's jonesing for another episode of Season 5. I've loved watching it again and we're at a pretty crucial part of the story so...enough rambling. Time to get my zombie on.

322, from 327 after 318

The first time I wrote about my weight and put my number out there for people to see, I was like, "I'm me, and I might be big and I should probably change some shit but I'm really still in love with ice cream so...."

And then I just started to feel like shit. I was tired and cranky and felt depressed and didn't want to do anything. I thought maybe it was because I wasn't working, and then I was working so I thought maybe it was because I was stressed from the new job. Then I thought maybe it was the weather. Anything but the possibility that my eating habits would have anything to do with my health.

I went to the doctor. I was weighed in at 327. 3.2.7. That's so much. I mean, it's a LOT. And then I felt like shit in a different way.

I felt mad. Gross. I was embarrassed. I knew I had to change.

So I did. I stopped, cold turkey, eating my beloved ice cream. And bread, cake, cookies, candy, anything with carbs...and I started to feel a little better.

Three weeks passed and I went back to the doctor for a check in. I was weighed in at 322. Three weeks and five pounds. I felt like a failure. Mad. Gross. I was embarrassed. I knew I was changing but it wasn't enough. Then  she told me about my blood test results.

It's a strong possibility that I have diabetes. I fucking gave myself the wretched disease that killed my mother. I KNEW better. Mom had juvenile diabetes-childhood onset and not dietary, but I still knew the risks. I was raised knowing all about diabetes because grandma had it too. I was surrounded by women affected by their diets.  I knew eating candy for breakfast wasn't good for you...and I still ate whatever I wanted, feeling invincible I guess.

Ugh, so stupid.

I mean I REALLY should have known. I ate loaves of bread and triangles of brie cheese for god sakes.  I ate whole pizzas, pints of ice cream and could polish off a box of doughnuts in two days. One if I was especially depressed. I ate huge portions and always cleaned my plate. Dinner wasn't complete without a big pile of potatoes/rice/pasta and bread on the side. I ate terribly and for a very long time. And I knew it was terrible. I just didn't stop.

Then she told me about my thyroid. Turns out it's messing with my metabolism and that too makes it challenging to lose weight. "You're fighting an uphill battle and still seeing improvement. I'm proud of you."

It helped immensely to hear that. I let myself feel the words on my drive home before I cried. I wasn't crying because I felt defeated anymore though. I cried because this is hard. It's literally changing your life. It's not just changing what you eat but how you shop, cook, and for me, how I celebrate or take comfort.

Gone are the days of Friday night with a pizza and a pint of Half-Baked. Gone are the Sunday mornings of pancakes or eggs benedict. No more stopping by the store on the way home and buying bags of candy to 'have on hand' only to devour in a day. I just can't do it anymore.

I won't.

I want to be proud of me too. I want to like myself and feel good and not just look good. I want to be able to put clothes on without scrutinizing every single angle, looking for bulges and rolls. I want to be able to be comfortable in my skin. And I want to get rid of the ominous threat of diabetes.

I already know this is hard. It's going to be that way for a long time and I get that. I will have to not only work on changing my lifestyle involving food, but in how I think. This is going to take time and I can't expect immediate results, no matter how badly I expect or want them. I will have to keep trying and when I feel like giving up-don't. I will have to forgive myself a little.

I will try. I will succeed. I will change. I will live. I will.