Dating is not just about you

I'm not in a very good mood.

Anonymous writes: "Dating is not just about you -- it is made infinitely easier, if not just plain old possible, by having enough of yourself left over (after ruminating and obsessing over yourself) for other people."

Anonymous is right -- it's not just about me. But my blog is. This is where I tell my stories & am the first to admit that dating brings out my Inner Brat.

What I think & struggle with (including swings between shame & grandiosity) -- which is what you read -- is not necessarily how I act.

But then you might not know that given that as Anonymous, I don't know if I know you.

& you know, because I've been cyber-dumped & will not be mean to someone who had enough niceness to hook me, I'll be mean to you, Anonymous. As far as I know -- but then I can't know, can I? -- you have not had any niceness with which to hook my empathy, compassion, interest, & services. So, Anonymous: piss the fuck off.

Response to "Paz"

I opened my email this morning to find that someone had posted a response to last week's blog about my difficulties with weekend nights. It reads:

Get over yourself, Frances.Get over your rampant narcissism.Get over self-pity. Get over self-centeredness. Get over the load of anger and resentment you are carrying (and) feeding. Get over diets, expectations and secret grandiosity display, get over whining, get over your wounds and your boss, get over your pounds, get over the fatty in you that you mercilessly mock in others. GET OVER ALL OF IT and GET A LIFE, for Heaven's sake.You are SO boring.

Posted by Paz at 5:33 AM

My first reactions to this post continue to include hurt & mystification: why would someone write something so hurtful? Certainly there are blogs I haven't read a second time because I'm annoyed by them. Why not simply stop reading mine?

Then I remembered that I had received emails from a "Paz," which, although the name cannot be an unusual one in all of Blogland, might reveal something about the post-er who has set him/herself up Emotional Judge of me. I found messages that are interesting in light of the above, suggestions of a number of websites for various therapies & personality types.

I believe "Paz" has my good in mind, that s/he believes I would be better off if I stopped studying myself. That's the evidence I conclude by tying the two writers into one.

On the other hand...

I've spent my life cringing under the labels ascribed to me &, yes, half a century of obesity has crushed a great part of spirit & confidence. I ascribed some pretty awful labels to myself because of my obesity. Lazy. Out-of-control. Ugly. Unloveable. Taking up too much space...

Do I hate fat people? No. I fear them. I reserve hate for myself.

Am I over my ex-boss? No. She ascribed some of those same labels to me &, as ingrained as they already were, I find I have to battle them for too many minutes out of my waking & nonwaking days.

& now I have labels of narcissism, self-pity, & -- oh, too many to retype here when I need to get on with my life.

So let's leave it at I'm fucking sick & tired of having labels stuck on me with pins, OK?

In the spirit of being sick & tired of this, & of my propensity to believe them, I'm going to stand up for myself. I don't do this very often, so bear with me & please know that I don't walk around my world in a state of superiority for what I'm about to say. In point of fact, I try as hard as I can to disown what I'm about to say.

I wrote a book. Many copies have been sold. Three years after publication, I continue to get emails thanking me for writing it, for "outing" the experiences I detailed in a way that made many people feel less like freaks. There are people who have ventured further into weight loss & recovery because of my book.

I began a blog & confessed in it that I've gained weight, how I gained it, what I'm doing or trying to do about it, what my failures are, what my triggers are. A lot of people have responded & formed a community online in which they detail their experiences of fat, thin, food, eating, weight loss, weight gain, relapse & their hearts to each other. Some of those people have found consolation in the fact that I fucked up. Some have even found courage because I fucked up & am willing to try again & talk openly about it.

I am an open woman. I don't hide behind the anonymity of the internet. My email address is on my website, as are pictures of me as I am. When I know what I feel (which isn't consistent or even frequent), I will tell you. When I have money to loan or books to give away, I do. If I know you a little, or know someone who knows you, I have an extra futon. I'm a people-pleaser & that's both a good & a bad thing.

I'm smart. I have talent. I have the diseases of compulsive overeating & chronic depression. I have used my intelligence & talent to examine my diseases & dis-eases. Part of my talent is that a lot of people find me easy to talk to, a safe & understanding listener to women's issues around the body & food. They have found me encouraging not only of undertaking the journey, but of finding the story of it & telling it.

As open as I am in my writing, very few people know what my daily life is like -- I don't have time for it & it's not as important as saying that Saturday nights are hard for me. But in my daily life, I walk down the streets of my neighborhood & dogs jump at my right pocket, I chat casually with a half dozen people whose names I don't know, I photograph what's going on & some of those photos get used by others in public ways. I have an eye for the odd & the detail. I have affection for the dogs who have labeled me "easy mark" & "generous" & "playful". A number of humans like my jokes, like my laughter at their jokes, like that I love their dogs, like that I ask how they're doing or tell them their frock is pretty. Business owners & clerks like me because I thank them for good work.

I am, in short, aware.

So here are the labels I'm putting on myself today in stung reaction to those Paz has made me a donkey with.

Honest. Brave. Analytical. Smart. Willing to try, & try again. Funny. Open-handed & open-hearted. Talented. Observant. Pictorial. Affectionate. Generous. Curious. Supportive. Learning. Insightful. Appreciative.

Inspiring.

& Paz --

forgiving.

Insurance policies

Each morning as I leave the house, usually a little late and feeling harrassed and scared about the advnetures and confrontations and possible disapprovals I'll be garnering to come, to pick up the first dog of the day. I pat myself down as I walk toward the front door.

Watch.

Cookies.

Bags.

Cigarettes.

Keys -- musn't forget keys!

Some days there are other items. My camera. Invoices for my services. My big clip to tie dogs up outside the next stop on our way to the dog run. Lists for errands. I consider what is in my backpack, which I'll pick up as we swing back. Enough balls for everyone to play? The flinger stick? The tug-of-war rings? The spray bottle to keep -- ha ha ha -- Henry from eating sticks?

Those things established, I have an 8-block walk to pick up Hero, time to think about my other insurance policies. Or maybe the better word for them is "investments". I ask myself, what have I done so far in insure/invest in an abstinent day.

The first items are almost always the same. A weighed & measured breakfast. Doing the dishes. Taking my medications. Brushing my teeth.

I tend to forget that the quiet time Daisy allows me while she wallows in the pillows & I have coffee & cigarettes in the kitchen is partly spent in prayer. I tend to forget that before I went into the Rooms, I rarely hung up my nightgown or did a cursory wash on a day I wasn't going to be "public" (i.e., office, seeing people, etc.)

Today I used my 10-minutes or so to ask myself what else I needed to shore up today's abstinence. A weighed & measured lunch & dinner, certainly. Putting in some time writing just as certainly -- that pride at the end of the day is valuable. Being present for the dogs came next, again a matter of pride at the end of the day.

Then there are little things. Doing lunch & dinner dishes. Picking up groceries to get a head start on boarding a dog for the next four nights. Trying not to fall into the black hole of mahjongg. Posting my daily inventory of food & actions & responding to others' inventories in a hopefully supportive way.

Service is important. Small service is always available. I picked up a chicken bone from the sidewalk, angry at the sloth & danger someone exhibited in dropping it. I picked up some fresh poop in the dog run because I knew I had enough bags. Maybe my blog will help someone; maybe my responses to other blogs will. Picking up the phone when I'm home & returning calls -- no one calls me unless they need me, or need to be needed by me.

Today I'm trying an experiment. I usually have my second carbohydrate at dinner. The trouble is, I'm often too tired to cook dinner. So I roasted my Brussels sprouts & potatoes while I was in the shower & am eating as I write. Maybe I'll be more content with less labor-intensive (gee: 10 minutes) meal tonight.

Oh -- washing my hair! That was necessary to today's investment, as are clean clothes.

It's interesting to see that the shower I put off too long took 15 minutes. The labor-intensive meal was 10 minutes. What's up with that? One answer is that I really am tired by 6.

I even `fessed up the true amount owed from a dog-sitting gig. I hate asking for things, even things that are mine. I crossed a character fault, on of my San Andreas veins, & did the right thing for a me who has a lot of taxes owing. I stood up for myself.

So overall, now that it's 2.30 p.m., I've already put a good deal of investment in keeping my abstinence intact. If I were really motivated, I'd hie me to that Greysheet meeting tonight or call someone from program.

Dunno if that will happen. I still have to wash these dishes, put on clean clothes, keep my energy intact enough to write later & have one more round of Good Dog to give.

But I've begun.