Saturday, February 05, 2005

empty construction

Ergh. There are so many things I want to write about today.

Like how all I want to do is eat and eat and eat till I can't eat no more.

Or maybe how empty I feel, right now, and all the time. Empty imagining yet another struggle to get through a binge. Empty as yet another paper sucks all my attention and creativity dry. Empty like how powerless I feel, confronting all these negative patterns and thoughts and behaviors in my life. That I can't seem to ever change.

I'm a constructionist. Or DE-constructionist, I should say. I don't think there is some core "self" to who I am, or to who anybody is. I think we are a tangled mass of interactions with the world around us. But then. Then there are things I know I have always been. That I hate being. That I want to change. But. It seems. That I. Can't.

This is a feel sorry for myself post. I know that. No reason to feel this way. I got lots of sleep. Ran an ok run. (with very little energy. It was tough, but my time was good: river loop, about 9 miles in 80 mins; followed by a strong pilates session). I'm eating a good bfast. Shut-up! I know it's 2 in the afternoon! I went out last night, after getting some work done, and drank. Lots. And ended up making out with A BOY for a better part of the evening.

Not terribly shocking. Except that I'm a dyke. But that's for another blog.

A major stress that is actually related to weight loss: I'm supposed to get together with someone I haven't seen in a very long time this weekend. And I'm up about 15 lbs since I saw her last. God, I would love to have written 10, that was the goal, to lose 5 before I saw her. But now I see that a loss won't happen this week. If anything, I'll get back to where I was before the week and weekend of Eating. Which will be 15 over when she saw me last. Cuz, really, right now it's more like 20.

What bugs me more than the 20 extra I'm carrying around is that I CARE that I'm carrying it. Jeez! I'm an academic. I'm in my head. I'm a feminist. I condemn and deconstruct fascist beauty standards. And I do. I have a shaved head. Piercings. Tattoos. I wear old clothes. But, I still want to be hot. Hot to my kind, at least. Hot in a hairy armpits kind of way. And sizism is alive and thriving in feminist and lesbian communities. We don't talk about it. But maybe we should.

I need to wrap this up, but I don't know how.

Why do I have so much self-doubt and self-sabotage around every corner?

Is "why" even the right questions?

How do I get over caring about the weight?

Maybe emptiness and construction are connected to my powerlessness. I am something that is always remade, always redone. Not by "me" but by the weight of social and emotional and spiritual forces. But what if those forces are empty?

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