Uncertain

Ok, so it's Monday once again. Last night I worked harder at the second job, possibly harder than I have in a long time. And it wasn't even like I had to move or chase anyone, or even search. After all, once you've had a heart attack, people sometimes look at you as if you're fragile. And I'll be the first to admit, I've played up on it once or twice. Not because I don't want to work hard, but because I'm afraid to.

I'm afraid that I won't be able to back up my team, that I'll let everyone down and then they'll never rely on me again. It's one of the reasons I'm so determined to lose weight. I'm tired of sitting on the sidelines.I want to be someone they can count on. I want to be able to roam the bowl, or the lawns and not get tired, and be able to take out ejections. I've got the training. I want to use it.

On another note - got on the scale this morning. Talk about depressing. It's been two weeks since I've been doing these shakes. According to my scale, I've GAINED two pounds. I can't tell if my clothes feel loose or what. I'm really discouraged. Trying not to be - god knows I've been in the weight loss game long enough to know that results are not instant or even easy.

But I'm NOT giving up. I am dragging my exhausted ass to the gym today, even as I try to make excuses. "I'm too tired." ; "Last night killed me." ; "I need sleep." ; "I have homework." etc, etc, etc. Because the truth of it is, I'll leave work, go home, play with my nephew for half an hour, lock myself in my room and surf the net before starting on my homework. Or watch tv. And then when my niece gets up, I'll play with her until my brother picks them up.

So really, all I'm doing is making use of the time I would be wasting at home. And making good use of it.

So yeah, I think I'll do that.

I'm My Own Worst Enemy

So, after a day of doing well by attempting to stick to my lifestyle change, I sabotaged myself again today. I had chinese food for lunch, and then pizza for dinner. Granted I didn't eat all the chinese food in the meal and I only had three slices of pizza, the toppings of which were grilled chicken and goats cheese. Oh and four chicken bites.

I know I shouldn't have done it. I should have ordered a salad from the pizza place. They do offer them. But no, silly me. I still haven't figured out how to eat right when it comes to eating (or ordering) out. I know what I'm ordering is wrong, but I can't seem to stop myself.

Which, yes, makes me wonder why I'm even bothering? I mean seriously. If, at my age, I can't figure out how to order healthy shit for me to eat, food I enjoy immensely, why am I bothering this attempt at change?

And then I walked the leftover pizza down to the fridge and had a huffing and puffing issue. And that answered my question.

But I need to stop sabotaging myself. Hubby and I were watching X-Weighted today, and he brought up the point of the people doing it for themselves, not for anyone else. And doing it BY themselves, with no help from anyone else.

Well, I'm sorry. But I do need help. I need HIS help. And if he can't see that, if he doesn't understand that - then I have no idea why we're still married.

Learning Something New...

"Those schoolgirl days of telling tales and biting nails are gone, but in my mind I know they will still live on and on." - Lulu

I love being a student. I wish I had known back then that this would be the place I wanted to be. I wish I could go back and tell my 18 year old self - hey sweetie, guess what? You're going to LOVE university. So do your fucking homework!

Going back to school twenty years after graduating high school is a surreal experience. Granted it's only night school, but still. I love walking through the campus, absorbing the energy from the wide range of students - freshmen, seniors, older students like me - it's just incredible. The vibe is just amazing. All these people, here to learn about any number of topics - english, chemistry, biology, politics. The course guide is incredible. 

i'm  sitting in class on a break right now, and I'm looking around the room. I feel old, I can't deny that. I listen to the others talk amongst themselves, and I feel left out, like I did in high school. But I'm not here to make friends. Although, I have to admit, in my last couple of classes I did meet some great people, and we did hit up the pub for drinks after class on more than one occasion, our professor often joining us. 

I dream about being a full-time  student. I dream about having the experience of living in a dorm, buying sweaters and hoodies with the university logo on it. Going to swim meets and football games. All the stuff I missed out on because I was "too cool for school." I dream about study groups, all night sessions, and running across campus to get to my next class because my stupid roommate didn't turn the alarm back on. 

I dream about sitting in those tiered classrooms, with the podium at the front, everyone working on their laptops. I dream about getting my diploma - wearing the cap and gown and walking on that stage with a sense of accomplishment. 

I know people have done it before. People older than me. I don't doubt I could do it if given the chance. I know I'm smart enough. I know now that I have the drive. I just don't know how I'd get it done. I'd need a sugar daddy, or a lottery win, in order to be able to focus on school, and not have to worry about paying bills and rent and making a living. 

I really wish I'd done it. I've wasted twenty years of my life doing absolutely nothing, and now the urge to do everything is overwhelming. 

On another note, before class is back in session- I stuck pretty much to my diet today. Well, my lifestyle change as it were. I had my shake at lunch, had a reasonably healthy dinner considering it was in the food court, and am having a healthy snack. Now when I get home, I have to remember to take my pills, brush my teeth with my new toothpaste. And I think I'm forgetting something....

Oh yeah - the damn eye cream.

Time

"Cause time won't give me time, and time makes lovers feel, like they've got something real. But you and me we know they got nothing but time..." - Culture Club

OK first off I feel really lousy right now. I mean, I've had my other blog for years and I've never written two posts in one day on it. Well, maybe once or twice, but that was playing catch up.

I did manage to get to the gym today. Was feeling pretty good about it too until an old injury flared up. I somehow, last September, managed to separate a tendon from the bone in my foot. Once in a while it kicks up with a roar. Today, my first day back at the gym in months, it chooses to remind me it's there.

FUCK. I have to keep reminding myself I'm not twenty anymore. I was just sitting in the tub, reading, when it occurred to me from out of the damn blue that I have to start using eye cream. Like WTF? When the hell did that happen? And HOW the hell are there so many of them out there? How do you even choose just one? Focus groups? Trial & error I'm betting. Part of me doesn't even want to bother. Why shouldn't I look like an old hag?

And then I get angry with myself for thinking that way. It's such a piss off. Where did the time go? It seems like only yesterday I was staying out until 4am with my friends, drinking it up at the bars, hanging at Tim Horton's parking lot until one of us mentioned work the next day. How did it pass by so fast? I mean, look at me now. I'm 38, and really have nothing to show for my life. A miserable sham of a marriage where we love each other but KNOW that we're poisoning the other slowly. No kids. No house. Not even a decent career.

And you know, part of me doesn't give a rats ass. I'm thinking that somewhere in my subconscious, this is how I wanted my life to play out - to a certain degree. I think that I wanted no ties. I wanted to travel, to see the world. A mortgage, kids, career - would just hold me back. I am that type of free-spirit.

But I'm 30-fucking-8. I still get zits. I still want it all - and am fucking certain that there is a secret to having it all. I just haven't found it yet.

But while searching, maybe I can find the answers to other secrets in the universe.

Like what fucking eye-cream to use.

And in the beginning...

There's something you should know about me, in case you already don't. Besides the fact that this blog will skip all over the damn place, and sometimes run off on tangents that you might find hard to follow (consider yourself warned, but I always make it back to my point), one thing I HAVE to say is this:

I'm fat. Not pleasantly plump, or simply overweight, as I've tried to tell myself for years. The first step in fixing a problem is accepting that you have one, and what that problem is. And my main problem is that I'm fat.

I'm still pretty, or so I'm told. I still "sparkle" according to one of my BFF's. But I'm fat. I have to accept this. This isn't just a physical image issue - it's a health one. I had a heart attack four years ago. I was 34 years old. Did I change my diet? For a little while. Did I lose weight? A little bit. Did I quit smoking? For a while. Until I went back to work. I have four stents in my arteries. And my diet still consists of deep fried crap and a marked lack of vegetables and fruit.

And then my dad died - from a heart attack. And instead of it being a wake up call, I went into what's been a year and a half long stupor. I smoked like a chimney, ate whatever I wanted, stopped going to the gym. Essentially, I gave up, waiting for God to take me too.

My dad was my best friend. And every day that goes by I miss him more and more. Summertime is the worst because it was his favourite time of year. But this summer, I quit smoking. It's been over a month now. Father's Day was my last cigarette. I still jones for them, especially when I am drinking. But overall it hasn't been as hard as I expected.

But when you're fat, anything you accomplish seems trivial. And I don't know if it's just me. But when I speak to my "thinner" and healthier friends, and they find out that I've quit smoking, or done something positive in my life, the tones in the "OH MY GOD. That's terrific!" sound incredibly insincere to me. It sounds like they're placating a child. "There, now, that's a good girl. But you could do so much better, if you'd just lose weight."

I've waited for years for my husband to help me with my quest to lose weight. I'm not a cook. If I don't have a recipe, I can't make anything edible. At least that was the way I'd viewed myself for years. I needed his help to cook the type of food that would be healthy for me, and for him as well. For years, we've eaten fast food almost every night. Not only has it been draining on our savings, but it's put eighty pounds of ugly fat on my body. That's right. EIGHTY POUNDS. I was never in my right weight zone. But now it's skyrocketed. And I'm fully disgusted.

But it seems like he doesn't want to help, because things aren't being done HIS way. Yes, whatever cooking's been done is usually by him. That stems from when we started living together and I tried cooking a few times. His response was "I don't feel like that; I'm ordering pizza." leaving me with food that I no longer wanted to eat, and a sinking feeling that I'd done something wrong. He's also always said that he's tired of doing all the cooking. And then alternately he doesn't mind doing the cooking, but he hates always having to be the one who decides what we're having. This has backfired on me too. On days I've decided what I want for dinner, he's resentful at having to cook it. So why would I make the decisions? And he doesn't see it from that side, only that I'm being unreasonable.

It's always my fault.

I made meatloaf last night. Just had an urge to cook, and tried to think of something we hadn't had in awhile. We had chicken and ribs on Sunday, and the pork chops weren't looking so good at the grocery store. So I bought ground beef and went with meatloaf. I've only made it twice. It's turned out great both times. This time, not so great, but I was still excited to surprise him with a home cooked meal.

Should have known.

ANYWAY (see tangent!) , that's not my point. My point is that who I am is not defined by how much I weigh. If I was this weight and healthy, it would still bother me, but not as much. But I'm not. So I need to get to the point where I am. And frankly, I'm tired of having to buy plus sized clothing.

Tomorrow I'll tell you about my first step to losing weight. The new program I'm on called Visalus. I don't know if it'll help, but I'm going to give it a shot.

Thanks for stopping by. Sorry about the mess. I'll clean it up later.

Once Upon a Time....

Let's face it. All fairy tales start out this way. And usually end with Happily Ever After.

Actually, technically, they all end with The End. If you're one of the lucky ones, you get the happily ever after.

But that's what bothers me. Why should we have to be lucky in order to get that?

See, I'm your typical Disney-princess-loving-drama-queen-damsel-in-distress. For years, I waited for my white knight to come along and rescue me. And when he didn't - I longed to find another one who would.

Until now.

I'm not a very confident person. I know there are a few things I'm good at, and a few things I'm GREAT at. But I believed in the fairy tale. If you just waited, it would come to you. Never mind my friends with the same desires I had actually moving forward and making their dreams come true with hard work and determination. Nope. I was the special one. I was going to be DISCOVERED in some grand Hollywood fashion.

After an agent saw me singing in a karaoke bar, he would pluck me from the depths of obscurity, and pitch me to show after show, bragging about my genius. I would start small, character roles, but then as the world fell in love with me, I would be a leading lady all the way. THEN it would be discovered that I'm not only amazing on film, but on stage, no star could compare.

I was going to win the Tony, the Oscar, the Emmy AND the Grammy. I was going to marry a brilliantly talented New York actor, and raise brilliantly talented little babies. We would split our time between coasts - our mansion in LA, and our three-floor penthouse suite in Manhatten. We would own condos around the world, and our children would want for nothing.

I would eternally thin, eternally youthful, and die with absolutely no regrets as the world mourned my passing.

YAH RIGHT.

In reality, my acting has gone nowhere, my singing less so, and as I hit 38 this year and look in the mirror, I realize that no one is coming to my rescue.



Not every woman gets her white knight. And what I've realized, is that I don't need ond. Sure it would be nice to meet a millionaire who just happens to think I'm the most ravishing creature on the face of the earth. I think my husband might have a problem with that though.

I don't need a white knight. Starting now, I'm rescuing myself.

And that's what this blog is. It's a purging of all un-realisitic fantasies, and it's to keep me grounded while I finally get my shit together. After all, it's only been at the top of my to-do list for the last twenty years. I think it's about time I got to it.

So, if you're along for the ride, I welcome you. Hopefully this will make you chuckle, make you smile, maybe make you cry a little. But above all, I hope that my journey to rescue my inner princess from the top of the tower can help you start your own journey.

So goodbye Cinderella, fair damsel in distress.  From now on, just call me Cindy.