The Irony of It All
by Jane Moneypenny
So I guess it can be said that I’m in a bit of a rut lately. The weird thing was I didn’t even realize it until I stopped and took a breath. Life seems to be blurring by and I have no idea where my head is.
Everything just feels like an oxymoron lately. Or is a juxtaposition? Or irony? (My high school English teachers would lecture me quickly for this since English was apparently my best subject). When I finally have money to travel, I don’t have the time. When I have the time, I don’t have the money. What is that?
I’ve also come to the conclusion that I’m not necessarily anti-relationships or pro-single anymore, but rather anti-being with the wrong guy. It’s ironic; a lot of guys have told me I come off as very confident in who I am when most of the time I feel insecure. Apparently I pull off “having it together” well.
I think I’m a sarcastic cynical realist (say that 3 times fast) and incredibly shy in unknown situations, but to anyone who meets me, I’m a “ray of sunshine and rainbows with a quick wit and an exuberance for life” (says my co-worker who is adamant I’ll make some geek/sports nut very happy one day).
Then there’s my weight. Maybe that’s what’s been nagging me. I grew up a slightly insecure awkward kid, but never really had serious body issues. Went through the usual puberty issues most girls do, dealt with the braces, but weight was never something I worried about. If anything, I was a skinny kid. Going to an all-girl high school helped with never having to impress or care what guys thought.
It’s been an ridiculous struggle in the last few years. Up and down and up and down. Being friends with a bunch of size 0-4 girls doesn’t help. I think what’s frustrating is I’ve made the needed changes numerous times. I gave up most fast food years ago; no longer bring junk food into the apartment; only drink water and fruit juices and now I exercise consistently (never underestimate the intensity of step aerobics with multi steps). And the weight still isn’t going away! It just adds on. And I’m pretty damn sure it’s not muscle because clothes are still struggling to fit.
It seriously drives me insane that I worry so much about it. Being curvy isn’t a bad thing, of course. I like my curves just fine. But holy crap, is this what happens as we get older?! Sigh. I seem to be thinner when I’m depressed; heavier when I’m doing well. But now that I’m the latter, I’m upset and depressed I’ve gained weight. I even wrote a paper in a health anthro class in college about how I grew up never worrying about weight or health and that was the way to life. After all, worry and stress is known to cause heart attacks and related problems, so why push yourself into worrying about every calorie? The professor gave me an A for a having an unique perspective.
Despite all that, I do worry. It’s all I ever do. Sigh. Does it ever stop?
P.S. I hosted an ice cream social at work today. It was a big hit with everyone bringing different things for a great afternoon dessert on a rainy cold day. No guilt. I’m sure that’ll come later.