Three and half years in a hotel in the middle of the woods. Also known as Job from Hell. I quit last April or so, burnt out, at the bottomest bottom of depression that far. Some basic recovery took a bit of time and antidepressants and suddenly, I got back to normal. Or at least normal-ish.Then, new problems arose. I guess the last time I wasn't depressed to that extent that I'd be actually able to do something long-term and reasonable was 7 or 8 years ago or even more - about the time I graduated and a bit after. Meantime, I got kicked out of the Ph. D. programme and another school, published two books - or it might've been only one and the other had been published before, I'm too lazy to go and look it up right now - and got persuaded into the hotel nonsense which seems to have eaten half of my brain.
I'm at a point zero and need to find out what to do with my life. I should move my ass away from parents' where I got stuck while working at the hotel and not being able to manage a place on my own. I should get a decent job or some such. I should get some friggin' self-esteem. And that's the main problem. I'd describe myself as 'can read, can write, can find her own ass without a map, knows nothing, never had a decent job' because three-ish languages, art history degree, having run a hotel, that doesn't count. Everything I do never counts because everything I do is a trifle any asshole could do. Also, I'm fat and ugly.
I have antidepressants that work (and that's a source of major fun as well but that's another story) so I have energy enough to deal with this shit and started getting some therapy. The therapist says that I seem to think in less messy ways but... well.
During those thee and half years in the middle of nowhere, I kept buying things and stacked them aside. Clothes in the size that will suit me best when I lose that extra weight (15 kilos down, 30 to go yet and I don't care if it's reasonable or healthy, I won't be 20 again but at least I can have the figure and common sense be damned), books, just stuff. In summer, I wasn't at home, in winter, it was winter but now I have daylight enough and still some time so I started throwing things away. Very cathartic, I highly recommend it. Also, no, I won't need 30 somewhat worn t-shirts useful for painting or other dirty jobs, one will do and one can always find some lousy clothes that can be tossed after one use. Nobody will ever need 20-years-old travel guides or trashy novels. The sound of stuff falling to the bottom of the dumpster is very refreshing.
Mom got the same idea, mainly because her office is moving to a smaller space and she wants to retire and she has her own furniture there and 20+ years ago, it was expensive furniture! so she can't throw it out and she likes it so she can't even donate it to some nice people. I hinted the city dump but she wasn't persuaded. Instead, she decided to remodel the so-called guest bedroom, her former office which has been a depository of shit nobody needed since around 1997. Cue trashy novels, random trinkets, a big box of plush toys because what if someone visited with children... We, and by that I mean a generic 'we', not me and mom, it was actually a cousin, neighbour and neighbour's son, moved the butt-ugly made-to-measure shelf to the attic. The neighbour who had built it those 20+ years ago offered to take it to the city dump but mom didn't want to - she will put things in it. The things are mainly her old books, dusty, moved to the dusty shelf in the dusty attic. "I'll throw some old bed sheet over the shelf so that the books don't get dusty," she said. The spare room will serve as my office until... well, I'll gather some courage and money and move away and I'll try to make it happen as soon as possible. I asked for two of mom's tables, I don't really like them but they are tables and they are free. I refused the shelves and I insisted, the tables are tolerable while the shelves and cupboards are butt-ugly.
My parents seem to be developing hoarding tendencies and it's making me nervous. Yes, I have a lot of shit. No, I don't know about all of my shit because during three and half years in the woods, I employed the retail therapy a lot and due to who-knows-what, I developed some memory problems so I don't always know what I have but I'm dealing with it. As in, actually sorting things, throwing away the bad stuff, donating whatever I won't be needing any more but may be of some use to someone else and mentally cataloguing the remains. It feels so good! Now I need to find a big box, I have some yarn to donate. (Some = ten kilos or so.) I'll still have a stash beyond lifetime but what the heck.
Off to dumpster diving, no way I'm buying a cardboard box.
Showing posts with label self-something. Show all posts
Showing posts with label self-something. Show all posts
Thursday, 9 March 2017
Wednesday, 29 July 2015
On being fat, part II.
Part II.: The background.
Gentle reader, let me reassure you that I didn't wake up one day, thinking that it would rock to gain some 10 kilos, or even better, 30. I was living my happy, borderline anorexic and severely depressed live (sarcasm), matters were slowly improving until my GP decided that my sick stomach is "just nerves", sent a note to my shrink who started me on some stuff that should work on the psychosomatic symptoms. Well, the antipsychotics didn't do anything about sick stomach as it was some intolerance thingy which resolved after I stopped eating processed meat and dairy. What the meds did was a nice case of false pregnancy. I gained maybe 15 kilos in some three months while having a busy life, walking across Florence and back, taking 8 hours of ballet classes per week and eating mostly fruits and vegetables in less than reasonable amounts.
After some poking and prodding and hearing Well, it may be some hormonal imbalance or brain cancer, young lady, rest assured that we'll find out, it was discovered that it was the meds I didn't need. I tossed them along with the shrink, the weight gain happily remained. I was still in the sorta okay territory, though. However, depression is a bitch and with every epizode that included lying flat and doing nothing, I gained some more. Two and half years ago, I landed in a job which was okay at the beginning, very stressful very soon but at least it was sort of exciting and new and now I'm mostly burnt out, left with severe depression, pretty crushing anxiety, a hefty dose of social phobia and a shitload of guilt for all this, my very mediocre work performance and a few more. I spent the last summer, me, once a passionate hiker and amateur botanist, either working or lying flat and doing nothing much - knitting, sleeping or watching crime shows is not enough to keep one in any sort of shape.
In theory, and as my mother would say, it's all about a lack of good will. If I exercised more and ate less, things would rock in no time. But. I'm a stranger in a small village, I'm a manager of that big building over there, everyone seems to know who I am. I can only run away to the woods, and alas, I don't have time for that. Or maybe I did if I could do my work more efficiently but I just have my limits because I'm pretty much burnt out.
In other words, before one starts randomly accusing all fat people of being gluttons with self-control, well, there may be another thing to it.
The previous bit was written at the beginning of June and remained laid aside to be finished tomorrow or day after tomorrow as on the 6th, two receptionists decided to give their notice and I needed to do the bills and stuff. Did I mention a lot of stress in my job? No? Well, there's a lot of stress that happens without warning so I forgot about half of a blogpost and life limped on.
I had a discussion about my horrendous eating habits with the shrink and he gave me a homework - he likes giving me homeworks, apparently - to stop eating things past their best before just because they're not bad yet but they need to be eaten up or week-old leftovers but, instead, something I actually like. And to try keeping it within the realm of reasonable because, let's be frank, everyone who lived through an eating disorder is a pretty decent nutritionist. I found some food intake tracking thingy that has a bajillion of useless functions and a few annoying bugs but within a few days, I found out that most likely, I don't get enough protein while having too much fat and sugar. And for sedentary people, it's better to gorge on protein instead of the two others. I bought a bucket of quark and well, I eat a lot of quark. Low energy density so I can eat a lot which is important. Give me a head of iceberg lettuce and I'm all happy and full. Give me a dessert of the same energy value and I'll be hungry and frustrated. So, a lot of quark.
At which point I could probably start touting it as a cure-all because without moving much, I lost some three kilos and my GERD almost stopped acting up.
And all fat acceptance aside, if I could choose, I'd prefer to be stick thin, thankyouvery much, and I need to lose some ten kilos so that I'd be able to get a dress made from one length of fabric, not a dress and a lot of leftovers from two lengths. At the end, it may be all about money after all. And now I'm getting ranty so I'll grab those 12 bottles of wine, take them to my den for tasting and to write the goddamn wine list. By the way, do you know how much sugar does wine contain? A lot. And on the top of that, I have some grapes that need to be eaten up...
Gentle reader, let me reassure you that I didn't wake up one day, thinking that it would rock to gain some 10 kilos, or even better, 30. I was living my happy, borderline anorexic and severely depressed live (sarcasm), matters were slowly improving until my GP decided that my sick stomach is "just nerves", sent a note to my shrink who started me on some stuff that should work on the psychosomatic symptoms. Well, the antipsychotics didn't do anything about sick stomach as it was some intolerance thingy which resolved after I stopped eating processed meat and dairy. What the meds did was a nice case of false pregnancy. I gained maybe 15 kilos in some three months while having a busy life, walking across Florence and back, taking 8 hours of ballet classes per week and eating mostly fruits and vegetables in less than reasonable amounts.
After some poking and prodding and hearing Well, it may be some hormonal imbalance or brain cancer, young lady, rest assured that we'll find out, it was discovered that it was the meds I didn't need. I tossed them along with the shrink, the weight gain happily remained. I was still in the sorta okay territory, though. However, depression is a bitch and with every epizode that included lying flat and doing nothing, I gained some more. Two and half years ago, I landed in a job which was okay at the beginning, very stressful very soon but at least it was sort of exciting and new and now I'm mostly burnt out, left with severe depression, pretty crushing anxiety, a hefty dose of social phobia and a shitload of guilt for all this, my very mediocre work performance and a few more. I spent the last summer, me, once a passionate hiker and amateur botanist, either working or lying flat and doing nothing much - knitting, sleeping or watching crime shows is not enough to keep one in any sort of shape.
In theory, and as my mother would say, it's all about a lack of good will. If I exercised more and ate less, things would rock in no time. But. I'm a stranger in a small village, I'm a manager of that big building over there, everyone seems to know who I am. I can only run away to the woods, and alas, I don't have time for that. Or maybe I did if I could do my work more efficiently but I just have my limits because I'm pretty much burnt out.
In other words, before one starts randomly accusing all fat people of being gluttons with self-control, well, there may be another thing to it.
The previous bit was written at the beginning of June and remained laid aside to be finished tomorrow or day after tomorrow as on the 6th, two receptionists decided to give their notice and I needed to do the bills and stuff. Did I mention a lot of stress in my job? No? Well, there's a lot of stress that happens without warning so I forgot about half of a blogpost and life limped on.
I had a discussion about my horrendous eating habits with the shrink and he gave me a homework - he likes giving me homeworks, apparently - to stop eating things past their best before just because they're not bad yet but they need to be eaten up or week-old leftovers but, instead, something I actually like. And to try keeping it within the realm of reasonable because, let's be frank, everyone who lived through an eating disorder is a pretty decent nutritionist. I found some food intake tracking thingy that has a bajillion of useless functions and a few annoying bugs but within a few days, I found out that most likely, I don't get enough protein while having too much fat and sugar. And for sedentary people, it's better to gorge on protein instead of the two others. I bought a bucket of quark and well, I eat a lot of quark. Low energy density so I can eat a lot which is important. Give me a head of iceberg lettuce and I'm all happy and full. Give me a dessert of the same energy value and I'll be hungry and frustrated. So, a lot of quark.
At which point I could probably start touting it as a cure-all because without moving much, I lost some three kilos and my GERD almost stopped acting up.
And all fat acceptance aside, if I could choose, I'd prefer to be stick thin, thankyouvery much, and I need to lose some ten kilos so that I'd be able to get a dress made from one length of fabric, not a dress and a lot of leftovers from two lengths. At the end, it may be all about money after all. And now I'm getting ranty so I'll grab those 12 bottles of wine, take them to my den for tasting and to write the goddamn wine list. By the way, do you know how much sugar does wine contain? A lot. And on the top of that, I have some grapes that need to be eaten up...
Saturday, 4 July 2015
On being fat, part I.
Part I.: purely physical.
Let's be frank. I reached some 113 kilos, of which 50 is pure unadulterated lard - and yes, I have heavy bones. I have the body composition analysis to prove it. It's sorta one and half kilos above average for my sex, age and inactivity group so it's negligible.
How does it feel? Well, crappy. I'm all for HAES, fat acceptance, non-discrimination, empowerment and all this stuff but being some 35 kilos overweight, I feel crappy. For now, I'll skip musings on beauty ideal, prejudices and this sort of stuff but I'll go straight to the matter of matter.
There are little annoying problems, bodily problems that may appear somewhat disgusting to the gentle soul. Take the Decorative fat rings (DFR). The skin folds trap sweat and one gets rashes and itchy stuff. I hear that antiperspirant may work but I sweat so much that it's only a bit of help. The same can be said about inner thighs. Ouch. And yes, the eternal question of How do you manage to wipe your arse, usually formulated by two people watching a third, fat person, as Hey, look at that whale, do you think she's able to wipe her arse. Well, depends on one's flexibility and length of arms, in which department I don't have that much problem and my DFR, while considerable, still don't prevent me from bending over, if clumsily.
Speaking of clumsiness: Yes, that. One needs to handle the various protruding masses when doing things. I don't look exactly elegant when I'm picking something from the floor.
And the pains. My joints complain somewhat. Then there's pain. I walk a kilometre and my legs hurt in the overexerted way, it's the bitter-sour pain of doing too much of a too heavy work, not that pleasant minty-sweet pain of getting the blood flow faster and having achieved something.
And, it takes some energy to feed the mass. Yes, I noticed that I'm more hungry than the rest of the family at a last week's outing.
And... lather, rinse, repeat. I walk around the town - my calves and back hurt. Around a corner, my calves and back still hurt. I do some shopping and the stuff is annoyingly heavy to carry. Also, my calves and back keep hurting. I walk the stairs up and down a few times, as our house is somewhat vertical and I'm short of breath. Also, my calves still hurt, my feet are crampy (no idea why) and it feels bad. Next time: the background.
How does it feel? Well, crappy. I'm all for HAES, fat acceptance, non-discrimination, empowerment and all this stuff but being some 35 kilos overweight, I feel crappy. For now, I'll skip musings on beauty ideal, prejudices and this sort of stuff but I'll go straight to the matter of matter.
There are little annoying problems, bodily problems that may appear somewhat disgusting to the gentle soul. Take the Decorative fat rings (DFR). The skin folds trap sweat and one gets rashes and itchy stuff. I hear that antiperspirant may work but I sweat so much that it's only a bit of help. The same can be said about inner thighs. Ouch. And yes, the eternal question of How do you manage to wipe your arse, usually formulated by two people watching a third, fat person, as Hey, look at that whale, do you think she's able to wipe her arse. Well, depends on one's flexibility and length of arms, in which department I don't have that much problem and my DFR, while considerable, still don't prevent me from bending over, if clumsily.
Speaking of clumsiness: Yes, that. One needs to handle the various protruding masses when doing things. I don't look exactly elegant when I'm picking something from the floor.
And the pains. My joints complain somewhat. Then there's pain. I walk a kilometre and my legs hurt in the overexerted way, it's the bitter-sour pain of doing too much of a too heavy work, not that pleasant minty-sweet pain of getting the blood flow faster and having achieved something.
And, it takes some energy to feed the mass. Yes, I noticed that I'm more hungry than the rest of the family at a last week's outing.
And... lather, rinse, repeat. I walk around the town - my calves and back hurt. Around a corner, my calves and back still hurt. I do some shopping and the stuff is annoyingly heavy to carry. Also, my calves and back keep hurting. I walk the stairs up and down a few times, as our house is somewhat vertical and I'm short of breath. Also, my calves still hurt, my feet are crampy (no idea why) and it feels bad. Next time: the background.
Monday, 23 March 2015
Very illustrative
It wasn't in the user's manual for life that one starts falling apart before hitting 40.
I kept throwing prescription meds' packages in one box for the whole 2014 and...
My one year consumption of meds. Most of them are antidepressants and anxiolytics. The smaller part is meant to treat my damn GERD... and I'm not a particularly compliant patient because I forget everything. If I took the stuff as I should, there would be more. Feel free to be sorry for me.
And a gratuitous cat picture...
I kept throwing prescription meds' packages in one box for the whole 2014 and...
My one year consumption of meds. Most of them are antidepressants and anxiolytics. The smaller part is meant to treat my damn GERD... and I'm not a particularly compliant patient because I forget everything. If I took the stuff as I should, there would be more. Feel free to be sorry for me.
And a gratuitous cat picture...
Saturday, 25 October 2014
Things
The white sweater has been on the needles since late 2012. It was meant to be something else, probably all in linen stitch, or with linen stitch details... or something. After five centimetres of linen stitch, I caved and switched to stockinette - unless it was planned and only then I discovered that linen stitch doesn't work as a decent hem. I possibly thought it all white. Or not.
At some point, I grabbed a book on folk costumes which has an extensive documentation of embroideries, grabbed a few motifs and made them mine. The local stuff is hardly ever red on white, it's usually white, yellow or sometimes black embroidery, placed differently on garments etc. But I needed a starting point so I used the general daisy shape. Foliage is mine. It all goes slowly and I lost the chart again. The current state is not really promising.
The basket was meant for yarns I intend to use very soon. Currently, it's a depository of yarns that were somehow around. It's getting fuller and fuller.
In all the Flash Your Stash debates, I would love to add a picture of my stash. It's dispersed in several rooms and stacked in various boxes so it wouldn't look pretty. However, due to memory impairment, I need to do an inventory (and chase the spiders away) so it may go as far as to have most of my stash spread out in one spot. I've taken up weaving and that eats up yarn rather fast. Or makes the stash grows fast, sources vary.
And then there's gift knitting. I would love to say that I have a bag, box or other receptacle with yarns carefully chosen for hats and scarves that will be given away but the lie may change the basics of relativity. It's the random yarn pile, a mixture of yarns I don't like but found its way to my stash (most often there was a batch of yarn on fleabay or somewhere that contained stuff I wanted and the rest was... stuff I wouldn't touch with a six foot pole under normal condition.), or leftovers, or yarn I liked but couldn't find a way how to use it for myself. Well, gift knitting. Makes people happy since who knows when.
At some point, I grabbed a book on folk costumes which has an extensive documentation of embroideries, grabbed a few motifs and made them mine. The local stuff is hardly ever red on white, it's usually white, yellow or sometimes black embroidery, placed differently on garments etc. But I needed a starting point so I used the general daisy shape. Foliage is mine. It all goes slowly and I lost the chart again. The current state is not really promising.
The basket was meant for yarns I intend to use very soon. Currently, it's a depository of yarns that were somehow around. It's getting fuller and fuller.
In all the Flash Your Stash debates, I would love to add a picture of my stash. It's dispersed in several rooms and stacked in various boxes so it wouldn't look pretty. However, due to memory impairment, I need to do an inventory (and chase the spiders away) so it may go as far as to have most of my stash spread out in one spot. I've taken up weaving and that eats up yarn rather fast. Or makes the stash grows fast, sources vary.
And then there's gift knitting. I would love to say that I have a bag, box or other receptacle with yarns carefully chosen for hats and scarves that will be given away but the lie may change the basics of relativity. It's the random yarn pile, a mixture of yarns I don't like but found its way to my stash (most often there was a batch of yarn on fleabay or somewhere that contained stuff I wanted and the rest was... stuff I wouldn't touch with a six foot pole under normal condition.), or leftovers, or yarn I liked but couldn't find a way how to use it for myself. Well, gift knitting. Makes people happy since who knows when.
Monday, 7 March 2011
Spring is coming
Well, sort of. The weather is seemingly beautiful, sunny and such, but it's cold as hell. So, there's a good chance that I finish my cool chunky soft white sweater in time to wear it.
I cleaned the closet, apparently, spring struck in this department, too.
It was quite a bit of adventure. I wouldn't guess I might have 20 pairs of jeans, of which 17 are too small for me, I found my old evening dress, size 38 - yes, people of the world, I did wear size 38. And smaller.
I threw out a dress I started making in my most anorexic times. I was 19 or 20, wanted to go to a party, started sewing this lovely yellow linen piece... bearing on mind that for sure I'm going to lose those five centimetres around the waist in those three months. I didn't go to the party after all and I never finished the dress, which was some 80cm in the hips. Apparently, carpet beetles like linen so the little barstuds gnawed some holes in it and I tossed it in the trash. Good riddance.
But... but....
My high school graduation dress. Well, I think so, I don't remember what I wore but I got it around that time. Size 38. Maybe I should give in and toss it but I can't, somehow.
Maybe I should hit the gym, after all, the Intelligent Magazine (TM) already announced that it's time to get into shape for the bikini season. Did I say that I've thrown out a few old swimsuits? I didn't wink, I don't like swimming anyway so I don't build emotional ties to swimsuits.
I cleaned the closet, apparently, spring struck in this department, too.
It was quite a bit of adventure. I wouldn't guess I might have 20 pairs of jeans, of which 17 are too small for me, I found my old evening dress, size 38 - yes, people of the world, I did wear size 38. And smaller.
I threw out a dress I started making in my most anorexic times. I was 19 or 20, wanted to go to a party, started sewing this lovely yellow linen piece... bearing on mind that for sure I'm going to lose those five centimetres around the waist in those three months. I didn't go to the party after all and I never finished the dress, which was some 80cm in the hips. Apparently, carpet beetles like linen so the little barstuds gnawed some holes in it and I tossed it in the trash. Good riddance.
But... but....
My high school graduation dress. Well, I think so, I don't remember what I wore but I got it around that time. Size 38. Maybe I should give in and toss it but I can't, somehow.
Maybe I should hit the gym, after all, the Intelligent Magazine (TM) already announced that it's time to get into shape for the bikini season. Did I say that I've thrown out a few old swimsuits? I didn't wink, I don't like swimming anyway so I don't build emotional ties to swimsuits.
Wednesday, 12 January 2011
Hubris
I was taking some pics for my fashion blog (1)because after quite a time, I was at home when there was still some daylight. After a long long time, I managed something worth the name of self-portrait because for two seconds, the sun shone and it just happened. I admit to quite some photoshopping, though. And if I had two more seconds of sun, I'd make another shot, with symmetrical hair. Which I'll do, some other day.
I admit to being slightly obsessed with my hair. All that peroxide, oil and expensive brushes get on one's brain sooner or later.
Since I'm dabbling into art, I was reminded of something else.
Enthroned goddess from Antikensammlung Berlin: Courtesy of Wikipedia Commons
One day, I'll add some better styling to such hair for more cool.
--------------------------------------
(1a) should you want me to add some verbiage in English, ask for it in the comments there.
(1b) said blog is not very serious. Just sayin'.
I admit to being slightly obsessed with my hair. All that peroxide, oil and expensive brushes get on one's brain sooner or later.
Since I'm dabbling into art, I was reminded of something else.
Enthroned goddess from Antikensammlung Berlin: Courtesy of Wikipedia Commons
One day, I'll add some better styling to such hair for more cool.
--------------------------------------
(1a) should you want me to add some verbiage in English, ask for it in the comments there.
(1b) said blog is not very serious. Just sayin'.
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