My Lonely City

Do you ever just feel fat? I mean, you don’t feel anything but fat, and it drives you so insane that you just have to eat something?

No?

Oh, well. I guess it’s just me.

Actually, I’m not fat. I’m not even overweight. I’m within the recommended BMI range, and, in fact, I’m exactly at the “ideal weight” number for my height & frame size. But sometimes – no, often – this information is not very comforting.

Yes, I ate too much today – too much for me, anyway. And I had a snow cone. Gah. (Brandy and Cappuccino, though; good combination.) And I had a margarita tonight as well – a margarita that was probably 90% alcohol, or at least felt that way sliding its savagely numbing way down my throat.

So anyway, the point here is that I’m trying – I’ve got a binder w/ goals and everything, nerd that I am – to lose weight, even though I don’t really need to. Because I would look better. To myself. And I’m trying to balance my desire to be skinny, thin, svelte, or what-have-you, with my suspicion that 1) I’m succumbing to the misogynistic propaganda of underfed, overworked, waif-like beauty perpetuated by our out-of-their-gourd society, and 2) I’m allowing myself to be sidetracked and diverted. From what, I’m not sure. Maybe from everything, but if that was the case, surely I’d be a little less spastic; after all, focusing on one thing at a time must be a bit of a relief no matter how obsessively you pursue it.

But the fact remains, this is something I want to do. Except I also want to have a child. These things don’t really go together.

I’m kind of a basket case right now. For no real reason, but then, what kind of reason would be good enough for turning one into a basket case?

What the hell is a basket case, anyway? I mean, I understand the concept – basket-weaving in mental health institutions, etc., but why the appeal of the term? Why its longevity?

And does it help?