25 November 2007 - 11:55 am

Like, when over at Judi's house for Thanksgiving, she commented I had lost weight. I said, not really. Maybe a pound or two. But I had noticed it too, I said, and I think it's the skirt I am wearing, so I will keep wearing it if it makes me look slimmer.

But today, I weighed myself, and it had been more than a pound or two, or more accurately, I have lost a pound or two more since the pound or two I had lost previously this month, so in total, I have lost five pounds. A year ago this time, I was in the process of shedding 18 pounds, which have stayed off, but nothing further has come off. So for a year I have been at the same weight, a weight I am not entirely happy with, but definitely thankful to no longer be the 18 pounds more of heaviest weight ever I had been in my life. So I plateaued for a year. Heathy, considering I hadn't really done anything else to change my lifestyle. In fact, I am not even actively exercising these days. I do climb the three flights of stairs in my building every day, so that must count for something. A teeny smidgeon of exercise. And depending on where I parked, maybe a few blocks of walking up a hill or down. Or not.

No, November just seems to be the month that regardless of what else I do in my life, my body just readjusts its weight.

So it has happened again this year, and again I am thankful for its downward decline. I have another 25 pounds I would happily shed, I know I was far more comfortable at that weight, I travelled to Europe at that weight and felt much healthier then, I felt attractive then, and some more weight than that could come off and I would be really happy.

But my happiness should never be tied to my weight, I know, but then why is it? Why do I allow my weight to be a measure of my happiness? After Vegoose, and hooking up with Tim from Seattle staying at the Luxor, I just feel all the more inclined to not be the dumpy middle-aged woman that I think he might prey on. Although it was nice to hear someone tell me I was attractive, amongst the big lie he was telling me, I find it hard to believe that one too. Or I find it hard to believe that it wasn't a lie. I know much of what he told me about himself was true, or suspect it is, or there really was no reason to lie about some of the things we talked about, so overall I think he told me the truth, but once it came to getting what he wanted, all bets are off as to what was a lie or not. So of course I believe the worst about myself.

But maybe he actually found parts of me attractive. (Of course, I find I can't believe that overall he found me all attractive, because I don't. But I could be wrong on that too.) There was obviously some reason he started interacting with me to begin with. There was something of interest that caught his attention. Perhaps he found parts of me attractive too, and wanted to see more. And considering I had been out in the hot sun, handing out fliers all day long, was hot, sweaty and not what I would consider at my attractive best, I could take it as a compliment that there was any interest at all.

I could, but I'm not inclined to.

And why not?

Having a bedroom with all so many mirrors on all four walls (one of the first things I will remove when I begin changing things around a bit) has me hyper conscious about my body. I can see it from every angle now, whether I want to or not. And I notice, regardless of my weight, some days I find parts of me I admire, or am happy to see have changed for the better, and other days I cringe and avert my eyes, finding no part I have any interest in looking at. Today, fortunately, I was admiring how much better I look in the sweat pants I am wearing, one of only a few pairs I felt comfortable wearing when I started walking home a year ago. I can see how they don't hug and reveal every thing about me now, and actually hang a little more concealingly and pleasingly.

Improvement. Without much effort, but a little, eventually it shows.

A moment of joy.