one thumb up, one down.
The quote of the day:
EBERT VICTORIOUS.
Running news:
Today: 4.7 miles.
Yesterday: 5.3 miles.
I went out to lunch with Darin today and he asked me how my writing was going. I said, "Well, I'm having a great deal of trouble with the start of Act II, which means I didn't end Act I with a big enough push, so I have to rethink the end of Act I." (This is a fairly typical comment for me, even if it's gibberish to you.)
He said, "You're different after attending USC. Before USC, you never finished anything, you gave up, and you complained all the time about how awful everything you did was. Now you keep working on them and finish them and then complain how awful they are. Which is okay. Everybody's like that. I do that when I finish a software project."
I said, "You do not."
He said, "Yes, I do. Nobody knows the weaknesses of my projects the way I do."
I finish things now. What a concept. That is major progress for me: I spent years not finishing anything, which wasn't always my fault. (For example, I spent 5 years of my life working on a doomed project at Apple Computer--by the end, I couldn't see the forest for the leaves, let alone the trees.)
It is a better self-image to have, let me tell you.
My self-image isn't totally great, however.
Remember when I went jeans shopping a few weeks ago? Well, I still hadn't put on those jeans, and I realized why.
I have a fat self-image.
Now, I don't ever remember anyone telling me I was fat, but I've felt fat my entire life. Even when I reached my relative minimum on the liquid diet last year, I remember thinking, "Boy, I'm still fat." No matter what I weigh and how many situps I do, I have a tummy that pokes out and thighs that spread on a chair and upper arms that demand to be covered and I'm, uh, curvy.
No matter what anyone tells me, I'm convinced I'm one cream puff away from being Roseanne.
(I know that some of this is social, and some of this is what I learned from my mother, who was always starting the diet tomorrow but wanted to make sure I had dessert tonight. And some of it is knowing that I've never been thin like those girls at the beach or the really athletic girls at my high school or anyone like that.)
Recently two of my friends have told me they think I'm thin, which I have immediately chalked up to the usual flattery friends give one another. Mary said, "Have you always been a rail?" (I can't be a rail, you can't see my ribs) and Ruth said, "Oh, right, Miss Size Six" (but the clothes don't fit me right, I'm shaped funny).
This morning I put the jeans I've been wearing for the past few days--yes, I wear my jeans several days running; sue me--into the laundry and pulled out the size 6 black jeans I bought a month ago. I put them and I turned to Darin.
"How do I look?"
He glanced at me. "You look fine."
"No, really. How do these jeans look?"
"You mean, like are they too tight?" He looked at me again, longer this time. "They look fine."
The jeans felt fine, but I know I'm not the best judge of how stuff looks on me. And, despite the well-known law among males that you must never tell her how she really looks, I know Darin would have told me in a second if he thought the jeans didn't fit. (He's annoyingly direct and honest.)
So I've been wearing my size 6 jeans today. At one point I felt a sharp pinching in my side and I thought, "That's it! I am too fat!" But it turned out to be a residual plastic thingee (that manufacturers use to attach tags).
But I don't feel as though I should be in these pants. I still feel "soft" and I see the roundness to my tummy and my thighs have never not touched when I walk. I wonder what it would take for me to like my body, other than becoming a size 2. And even then, I'd find something to criticize.
Boy, did I get a lot of mail about my last entry. I guess if you write about something with passion, it shows through.
One comment I've heard over and over again from women who've changed their names after marrying is, "Well, I really think of myself as Cathy, so it doesn't matter what my last name is." I cannot believe there's a man alive who thinks the same thing, correct me if I'm wrong (and I know you will). What that says to me is that women are not encouraged to think of themselves as independent units. Your mileage may vary, and that's okay.
I've sent a letter voicing my complaint about their addressing practices to my high school. I told Darin about it and he said, "Did you mention that you're a contributor?" No, dammit, shoulda done that. Of course, I don't think I've sent any money in a while. Maybe if they stopped pissing me off with that damn "Miss" I'd send them more money.
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Copyright 1999 Diane Patterson
Send comments and questions to diane@spies.com