Ed's been talking to me lately. A lot. In fact, a lot more than the usual "a lot." If you've ever read Jenni Schaefer's book "Life Without Ed," I do a lot of agreeing but disobeying. Kind of goes like this:
Carrie: You're absolutely right. I am a whale. The blubber inside me could have fueled the Industrial Revolution.* I'm disgusting.
Ed: You know what the solution is, right? Eat less, exercise more, and eventually you'll be a mackerel or something.
Carrie: I know, I know. I want to be a mackerel, but I don't think I want to give up the advantages of being a whale. Slapping the water with your fins, having people ooh and ahh over you in big tour boats. They don't do that for mackerel.**
That's the annoying part. I want to be thin really REALLY BAD. Still. Even after all of this, everything I've been through, the weight loss calls to me like a Siren. I don't want to be lashed to the pole like Odysseus so I can hear their beautiful voices without jumping over the edge of the boat. Because honey- I hear those voices whether I want to or not.
And the only thin keeping me from jumping over that edge is that I've come too far to abandon ship now (what IS it about me and these nautical metaphors today?). That and my mom would jump in after me and I don't want to ruin her hairdo. It's an inside joke.
I almost wish I could learn how to get used to those voices without needing to lasso myself to a freaking pole. Ed telling me I need to lose weight isn't memorable or intoxicating in and of itself- it's what he promises as an end result.
"You will be healthy, Carrie. People will think better of you. You will be more athletic. You will be perfect."
In many moments, I feel compelled to agree.
In my good moments, however, I know this is a load of crap. Being at my current weight has me far healthier than I've been in years (excepting, as Ms. Em knows all too well, some mild adult acne). As for people thinking better of me, being in treatment, the psych ward or the hospital doesn't exactly improve your standing with people. Athletic? When the hell have I ever been athletic. There are certain solitary sports I enjoy (whacking a tennis ball against the side of the house, bike riding, swimming, the elliptical) but other than swimming, I'm never going to win awards, nor do I particularly care about that.
Perfect is another thing. I know it's not possible, but dammit! I feel I have to try anyways. Perfect is boring. Perfect is the Stepford Wives. I'm too quirky for that.
The issue comes down to this: I want what Ed promises on the surface of things. Yes, I want to lose weight. Yes, I want to be thinner. Yes, I want a perfect diet and perfect workout routine. But I also want to enjoy food and family and friends. I want to make it through my program. I will make it through my program.
*I'm reading a book called In the Heart of the Sea: The Tragedy of the Whaleship Essex, which is about a New England whaling ship that wrecked off South America. It's quite interesting. They said that the oil derived from whale blubber helped fuel the Industrial Revolution. Hence the comment.
**Seeing as my parents have cable and I won't when I move to school, I've been stocking up on good nature shows to hold me over while I'm gone.