Fit + Flabuless!

. . . funkadelic, funkshastic, funkalicious. Or something. I don't know.

But thanks for helping to laugh me out of misery last night. I feel better today. Tracy helped this morning, too. And I think I've had a sort of philosophical breakthrough about myself. Nearly.

It has to do with weight and depth. It sort of solidified in a conversation with Chris about his kajillion tons of marble he's maneuvering in his backyard and his neurotic love of antiques, including the 18th century dressing table he's named "George" that finally got shipped from San Francisco and weighs 450 lbs. He has issues with permanence. I have issues with weight (which also goes back to my obsessive love of Kundera). Anywho. Bear with me. In my first session with Pam, that's one of the things she said to me. It was clear to her upon first meeting that I have extraordinary depth, and I must be aware that there aren't very many people capable of meeting me on that level. I also know that the strength of my voice is in its depth--in writing and singing and speaking, actually. I realized the writing part in juxtaposition to Rebecca G. Dorr, who was always a masterful craftsperson when it came to writing, but there wasn't that much behind it. Mine's not always so pretty, but it has heft.

This, I realize, is a strength. It also speaks to my study of philosophy, a very weighty discipline.

So, let me loop this around to my physical self. I think my body fairly represents my person, my depth, my weight. I'm fuckin' hard to push over with my meaty, short self and big feet. I'm solid. Won't blow over in a windstorm, no siree bob.

I'm not sure that I actually have a conclusion here. I'm simply trying to come to terms with who I am and how maybe I need to own my own skin in a truly authentic way. Which means: continuing to exercise. Hard. Embracing the positive physical changes in my body--the tightening, the muscles popping out. And chilling out about the poundage. I'm working towards that. You know, as long as I'm healthy, feeling good, and attractive, what is my problem? yes, I'd love to be a little, tight size 2, but honestly, I lurve the eating and the drinking and the merriment and the indulging of the palette so much, that I suspect the life I'd have to lead to maintain a size 2 would not feel like an optimum one for me. however, I might give myself permission for the merriment, but in my own down time, chow on the fiber crackers and egg whites for balance. Of course, the problem is that I eat more and for reasons other than physical hunger when i am alone.

Okay. Working on working this out.

I have also discovered in the past two days that there is such a thing as eating too many egg whites. They create terrible smelling wind. Not a good thing at a dinner party where the dog is forced to hang out outside. Those big dogs are handy for blaming farts on. But only when they're around.

Also, I had a brilliant divine intervention on your behalf whilst driving home tonight. It came to me in a flash: you must listen to and meditate upon "Redemption Song." Do you have this Bob Marley masterpiece available to you? This is your assignment. Straight from the Buddha through me to you.

I also think that horrible lady's response to your compliment had a message for you. Because if there wasn't some kind of truth in it somewhere, it wouldn't have bothered you at all. I don't think it has to do with your weight; it was simply couched in that. I've decided that we need to start analyzing our lives as if they were dreams. So, the message gets back to that ass-kicking post I wrote a little while ago relating your employers to an abusive boyfriend. . . . you gots to take care of yourself, lady. And you're doing a marvelous, simply marvelous job of it with your training and working out and blogging and eating right--I absolutely applaud, salute, and gain inspiration from you daily. But it sounds like the time has come for that self care to spill over into the other parts of your life that aren't working for ya (just call me Dr. Phil).

So, I plead with you to get serious about finding another gig. Start making something positive happen professionally--just take some steps toward something that will fulfill you (and I don't just mean your bank account. Copyediting? Ahem. Are you kidding me? Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe bartending would be more fulfilling in every way. . . . )

I'm behind you, lady.

Now go forth, enjoy your trip to Philly, and do not let this slide. I repeat: do not forget this moment or gloss it over with whatever and then two weeks from now become shocked and horrified at the way the people who pay you treat you. Yes, they are fuckers. However, you have the power to put an end to the way they treat you. Please start putting things in place. I say this only because I love you. . . .