I don't know when this subject began to interest me so much, maybe lately because I've been in more pain than normal, (I had to stop taking Celebrex which makes it possible for me to ignore the fibromyalgia to a certain extent and most especially the bone grinding pain in my knees and ankle that have needed to be operated on since I was in high school), so anything that feels good, or is sensuous and pleasurable in any way kind of stands out for me. I bought this really nice grapefruit soap recently that I just adore and after I fed the new birdie, (She shakes the food off her beak and it goes flying everywhere), I washed my hands and just stopped for a moment and took my time, really enjoying the sensations, the sweet citrus scent of the soap, the bubbles that frothed up and slipped between my hands and fingers, the feel of one hand sliding against the other. It was nice.
Lately it's been the same way with brushing my teeth, but with brushing my teeth it's begun to feel so good it approaches sexuality. I think a couple of weeks ago when I hadn't had sex in a long while and was brushing my teeth I first began noticing how much I really enjoyed brushing my teeth and tongue. I have an electric toothbrush, (I know where your mind is going, if you're anything like me and own a Hitachi Magic Wand, or have ever tried that electric toothbrush on anything other than say, your teeth), and it just feels so good against my gums and on my tongue.
I've always thought that my being such a sensitive person -- someone who feels everything so acutely -- meant that perhaps my senses were just as turned up as my emotions. Since that seems to be the case, (Because believe me I feel, see, taste, and smell so many things that other people just pass by or blow off), it occurred to me that perhaps I could exchange one physical (or psychological) desire for sensation with another, namely my constant nagging desire to eat. I thought perhaps I could replace some of what I eat with other things that stimulate my senses but that don't add calories to my daily diet. Things like bath products, candles, creams, and perfumes, or other things like the way the cats feel to my touch, the warmth of their skin underneath their soft fur, the sight of fresh green grass, the way the sun feels on my skin when I take a walk, or water, how wonderful I feel whenever I'm in water. And all of this works, especially when I travel because then I am forced to get out and interact with nature, and travel usually involves not only lots of walking but swimming as well, but here at home, despite my best efforts there is still this constant craving for food.
I keep hoping that if I surround myself with things that smell really good, especially if they smell like sweet foody things, that maybe this will satiate this hunger, appeal to some primitive part of my brain that begs for the experience of eating. Or maybe it's an oral fixation having to do with being totally unwanted in utero, starved from conception to as to hide a pregnancy, and then obviously not being breast fed because I was adopted. No one had even conceived of the thought of adoptive mothers trying to stimulate their own production of milk in order to create that healthy bond between mother and child. And so I wonder, are breast fed children less likely to crave comfort from food because they got enough of that closeness and bonding from birth?
Oh, wait, no, I'll answer this myself, because Beau was breast fed for a loooong time; He loves to eat, he craves food and puts on weight as easily as I do, so that isn't the case. Well, whatever the cause of my oral fixation, years of psychiatry and therapy haven't cured or even curbed it, they've just taught me how to think a little differently about it. The point being, I'm really loving washing my hands and brushing my teeth lately, heh.
Anyone read The Reagan Diaries in this month's Vanity Fair? Clearly my journal will never be anything like them. Brief and succinct won't ever be words that will apply to my writing when I'm trying to express a thought or make a point. I guess I'll never be able to write like Reagan. Damn. Or as Reagan would write, "D--n."
I never told you about Mother's Day. This is just one of the many gifts we gave my Mom this year. Neither of us were feeling too great and she didn't want to eat much so we just went over to give her gifts and spend some time together. I'm always collecting my Mother's and Grandmother's vintage dresses so I always have tons of those to give to her. Sometimes she appreciates them, but most of the time she just gets mad at me for "wasting my money," which frankly hurts my feelings, but what're you gonna do? She's a super practical person and she really wants me to save my/our money, while I, on the other hand, and very sentimental and see my collecting these dresses as an act of love from a daughter who loves her Mother and Grandmother. So, there were many dresses to gift her with, and she was happy looking at them. She was especially happy with the parasol print one that I recently posted here on my journal, yeay.
I had several other presents for her, I always shower her with presents, I always have, and she secretly loves it; I pieced together the whole collection of paperbacks by her latest favorite romance author, which wasn't easy, and she was excited about those, but this was the weirdest and most exciting present. It's a solid piece of carved jade that I bought from a friend who had obtained it from a friend whose Mother is elderly, moving to a much smaller home, and had to downsize. She had very fine things, the best china and crystal (Oh hang on, Kiefer Sutherland is having sex in a movie I had playing in the background, nice, gotta rewind this), all antique and in perfect condition, she didn't know the first thing about what it was worth, and she had so much stuff she didn't know what to do with it all, so her daughter gave tons of beautiful things to my friend to sell for her on eBay.
I spotted this unusual looking jade piece when I was over for a visit and just knew it was meant for Mom, but we didn't know how to determine its value. We looked on eBay and the price for carved jade pieces varies widely. All I know is that it's super heavy, in perfect condition, and had an expensive wooden base that it sits in. So my friend set a price and I got to give it to Mom. If you have any idea what it is or what it's worth, I'd love to know. I think it's a cabbage leaf.
As far as my Mom's day went, Scott was very considerate and generous, and Beau drew me a wonderful labyrinth out of chalk in the street that I walk around whenever I get the chance.
I have the weirdest taste in television. I can't explain why exactly it is that I like the most disturbing or upsetting reality based shows, while Scott would prefer a mellow, slow paced, travel dialogue type show. I love travel shows but they have to be witty and super interesting, Michael Palin in Patagonia, backpackers looking for somewhere cheap to stay in Hong Kong, Thailand, or anything with scuba diving, but if they approach slow or dull, I just can't bear it.
But getting back to my latest and weirdest TV show interest I have recently discovered a super gruesome show on MTV called Scarred. I think, no, I know Scott would never want to watch this with me. It's basically a half hour format reality show where young skater types tell how they got the worst injuries of their lives -- how they got their scars -- complete with footage of the actual injuries, double compound fractures, bones sticking out of wrists and ankles, that kind of thing. Wow, just, wow.
And that leads me to the story Esther just told me this morning about a friend of hers who "stubbed her vagina," (Thank you Ms. Silverman, in Mexico yesterday. Memorial Day for most of the people I know who aren't American is a lot like Thanksgiving or other American holidays that don't have a lot of personal meaning for them -- a rare day off from work, and an opportunity for everyone to get together at some park, play loud music, and get good and drunk.
Esther's friend, who was born in Mexico but is now a US citizen, went with her family and friends to Rosarito Beach. They hung out at the beach all day and were still doing a fair bit of drinking and dancing at night. Drunk as all hell she decided to get up on one of those wooden picnic benches to shake it some more for her friends, when this guy decided to get up with her and dance along too. This made the bench unstable which caused her to lose her balance and fall spread legged straight down onto the hard surface of the bench. This is where the ostensible vaginal stubbing occurred, poor thing. Apparently she was in terrible pain and by the time they carried her to the hotel, her labia had swollen, no lie, to the size of a football. God only knows what she ruptured or tore inside her groin, but she ended her Memorial holiday with an ambulance ride back across the border to San Diego. Maybe, (Despite the fact that I really do feel sorry for her), I like these kinds of stories because anything that tops whatever I'm going through makes me feel a wee bit better by comparison, kind of like a really good Twelve Step meeting.
I am going to have to have knee surgery. It's something I've been able to put off since I was a teenager because for some reason I am a knee-surgery coward, (Childbirth, miscarriage followed by a D&C, urethral and bladder surgeries, exams and biopsies, visits to the ER for x-rays and stitches, and having my stomach cut and stapled in two, I can handle but the knees, knees scare me), but I seriously can't take the pain any more and my body can't handle my taking anti-inflamatories, except when I just can't stand the pain, but in order to have the knee surgery I need to get back down to a healthier weight. So... I think I'm going to go see my original weight loss surgeon and have the band added that is pretty much standard procedure now for the surgery I had, but wasn't a mere three years ago when I had mine. Here's the plan, get the okay from the gastroenterologist for the band, have the surgery for the band, continue on down the weight loss with surgical assistance path. Then if I can just take of the forty pounds I've put back on, I can start working out a little bit harder, lose more weight, get the knee surgery, get down to a lower weight, and then tackle the wrinkled sagging skin issue that is the bane of anyone who loses lots of weight. In the meantime I'll still be watching Celebrity Fit Club, and The Biggest Loser and wishing I could be one of those people.
Chances are if you've been here for a while this next bit isn't meant for you at all so please don't take this personally, but before you jump in with a comment about how I should do this "the real way" or "the hard way" or any other "right" way, please don't judge me if you've never been in my place. I am so happy for you if your body and you are able to lose weight with whatever combination of exercise, diet, and willpower that you can manage, I honestly think that is so great. But you don't know what it feels like to live in my body so you really can't know what it would be like to be me. You probably don't have PCOS which causes insulin resistance and fat storage, you probably don't have an autoimmune disease that destroyed your thyroid, and chances are you haven't spent a lifetime fighting this battle, watching your best friends eat twice what you eat while remaining thin, trying every diet only to fail and gain it all back and more, deciding to change the way you eat for life, while at the same time being unable to do the kind of exercise you really should in order to burn the numbers of calories you need to burn to get the damned weight off because you have malformed knees, flat feet, and fibromyalgia.
I'm not asking you to feel sorry for me. Hell, even I think I should still be able to be like everyone else and "Just Do It." even I still think, on some deep inner level that it's a matter of discipline and courage. But right now all I'm asking for is just a tiny bit of compassion. And again I am only directing this at those few people who turn up from time to time to flame me here on my own journal.
Okay, well, that's me, I've got a crow to feed, and a little bit of sleep to try to catch.
Night Night from my darling Archie.