1. When I woke up this morning and got out of bed my body felt kind of strange to me. I stood very still and tried moving again and then I felt it again—every part of my body just kinda… jiggled. Thighs, bum, boobs, tummy, upper arms, face cheeks… all those plumper, fleshier parts just kind of made their presence known and jiggled in unison but all in different directions and this new sensation made me laugh inside. Now if I were writing this piece for a women’s magazine, I wouldn’t even have to explain the kind of horror that the combinations of the words “flesh” and “jiggle” can evoke. For some women it could mean an instant nervous breakdown, others might reach for the Ben & Jerry’s, while the overachievers would already be out the door logging a 10 mile run just to ensure the carrots they ate don’t stay on their hips. I wasn’t any of those women today. I just felt everything more or less bouncing and swaying and the word “jiggle” sort of appeared very clearly in mind and it just of sort of made me laugh. The way a four or five year old laughs when discovering a funny sounding new word. Jiggle. Before throwing on my clothes, I stood in front of the mirror and had a good look at what was the cause of these jiggles and sure enough, yep, bigger thighs, prominent tummy, plenty of booty, and up front too, everything kind of rounded and solid-looking at once. I don’t like looking at myself when I look this way. I think I may secretly always have wanted to have a boy’s body. Pre-pubescent and minus the penis because I’ve never wanted to be an actual boy, just have a body… well not have a body like some ridiculous pinup. But I think I’m just going to have to accept that I’ll always have to work with that 20 lb range and sometimes, this is how I look. So I looked. I saw. And for once, instead of telling myself “I’m fat” I thought, “Isn’t that cute? I have a little tummy and it jiggles!”. And got on with the rest of my day thinking “jiggle” whenever self-doubt threatened to throw me off. Jiggle!

2. My therapist was practically floored when I told her I had organized a weekend-long garage sale all by myself and made money and all. I mean seriously—she was practically standing up and clapping and cheering and and putting on Queen’s “We Are the Champions” and waving her arms. Not that that would be her style. “Well if you managed to pull that off” she said “then surely you’re ready for anything now!—so what are you going to tackle care of next?” And I wanted to say, hey hey, hold your horses, I’m still recuperating from the weekend marathon which was my garage sale and if you’re expecting me to lay out my career plan for you lady, you’ve got another thing coming—“I was thinking starting to exercise again might be a good next step”. I know she probably wasn’t expecting me to come up with the master plan for the rest of my life or anything, but clearly, she saw my garage sale project as a major breakthrough. Doing exercise again should be quite a breakthrough too. I love exercising. I don’t understand why I’ve been off it for so long. And why is it that when I have major breakthroughs I hardly notice a difference, but when the teensiest little problem arises it immediately causes major drama? Just asking.

3. To celebrate my wonderful therapy session and the fact that while I was sorting through my paperwork yesterday I found a bunch of therapy and massage receipts that I’ve yet to claim from my insurance, not to mention the fact that I’ve been really good and haven’t been spending a lot of money on clothes lately, of course I went… shopping for clothes! I wanted a pair of designer jeans and a top. Knew just the place where they always have an assortment of great jeans on sale and lots of $50 t-shirts too. I’ve gone the $50+ t-shirt route all too often and I suspect that a big chunk of my dept is made up of 100% cotton, so I tried them on in every colour of the rainbow, and then did the right thing and left them there. I ended up getting these fitted narrow leg jeans that truly look good on my more voluptuous frame, along with a great shirt I can see myself wearing all the time. I love clothes that have a military touches, and this shirt has rolled up sleeves and was really well designed— it’s overall quite fitted yet soft and malleable and breezy. They had them in white which I loooove white shirts, but white shirts never last me more than a season before I inevitably get big yellow stains under the arms. Not very chic. And the shirt was kind of pricey, so I got it in a charcoal instead. Very flattering on my deathly-white skin. The jeans were on sale but the shirt definitely was not so as usual my heart sank when the salesgirl rang up the total with our dreaded 15% tax tacked on, but I decided it was a worthwhile investment. But how is it a good investment to buy designer jeans now if you want to lose weight? you might think to ask. That would be because every single (goddamned) time I’ve bought a great pair of jeans, my weight either soared or plummeted shortly after. This time I’m counting on the latter obviously. Then I’ll be able to use the jeans to gage how much I’ve lost. And they’ll also come in handy when the “fat” days inevitably show up again. I’m in my late thirties and I’m still going on about “fat jeans” and “skinny jeans” and all this body-image obsession nonsense. Still. Sad I know. In my defense—I read too many women’s magazines when I was an impressionable young thing—irreversible brain damage. This is what’s happening to your daughters people. Sad, I know.

4. Off to bed with Alice Munro’s Runaway soon. Another great writer I was surprised to find I had never read before. Mind you, I have all too often tended to stay away from anything Canadian. Not sure why. Robertson Davies and Margaret Atwood were college day discoveries and I’d have to say that one thing all three have in common for me is that when I sit down to read their work for the first time, it immediately sounds familiar, as if someone I know had written it. Alice—she’s good bedtime reading though because somehow, she seems to leave a lot of room to breathe. The characters each have their space and preoccupations and you’re not rushing to get to the last page because it’s all about the journey, not so much the destination, which may change while you’re on your way so you don’t want to get too attached to an outcome and goodness knows the dreamtime is all about those unpredictable wide open spaces and somehow, I trust Alice to bring me to a safe place to dream.



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