The day I got married

Today is our anniversary!

I consider getting married one of my greatest feats. See, I never thought I'd get married. I was adamantly opposed to it ever since I can remember. I started to make my "I will not marry" declarations sometime in high school, though even before that I was aware that I wasn't like most other girls who daydreamed about their wedding day, making house with a husband, holding 2.5 babies while looking out the front window at a white picket fence. I just didn't see that for myself. I stuck my nose up at convention, stubbornly. I do most things stubbornly.

When my family went to Paris, I was obsessed with the different cemeteries. I remember seeing Simone de Beauvoir buried with her lover, Jean Paul Sarte. I wrote some kind of awful poem about it. I loved that she never married. I thought, "That's true love. They are not together out of legal obligation, but because they choose to be together, freely, every day." I criticized marriage as being "just a piece of paper." I labeled it an outdated institution, harking back to the days of dowries. I fancied myself somewhat of a feminist. There were the arguments that said that a conventional marriage was best for children, but I didn't want any of those, so end of argument.

I guess I'm proof that people change.

Larry never thought he'd get married either, so it's funny that the two of us ended up together. In fact, on our wedding day, our parents laughed over memories of us saying we would never get married. Why did we? To be honest, I don't know if we have words for why. It just felt right. I wish I could say it was a romantic fairy tale, with an elaborate proposal, but it wasn't like that. We're pretty practical people. I told him not to get down on one knee because we have wood floors. We talked about getting married, then he gave me the ring, and we set a date. Two months later, we were at the courthouse. Within an hour we were hitched. I guess you could say we're efficient.

We celebrated with a lowkey part at my parents' house, and some pictures in the hills.



Then we set out for Japan as newlyweds. We have far more pictures from Japan than we do from the wedding. That says something about our priorities.



I don't think I was ready to get married when we did, but I don't know that I would have ever been ready. It was one of those just-dive-in-and-then-worry-about-swimming situations. To be perfectly frank, we flailed about when we first got married. We thrashed and kicked and nearly drowned. We're both independent people. We had become good at managing our separate lives, protecting our identities. We'd lived together before we got married, but, looking back, we weren't really "merged" then. We weren't really a team. My therapist at the time described it like this: "It's like you're in the same forest, but you're two separate trees, occasionally swaying in the other's direction."

It look us a while to twist and turn around each other, to intertwine. We had a number of challenges right when we got married, most of which are fuzzy to us now. Some of it was just related to the fact that we were MARRIED. Yes, it's "just a piece of paper," but it changes you (or it should). You realize that the two of you have become one, like the Spice Girls song. All those years of separateness fade. You are with another person, fully and completely. It's scary, especially for a control freak used to micromanaging everything, including her meals.

Now, on our anniversary, it's hard for me to remember how freaked out I was at first. I feel completely fulfilled by my husband. He is everything to me. We are damn good at understanding each other now and, though I remain humble to the curve balls life throws, I'm confident we can handle anything together. For someone afraid of vulnerability and exposing herself, this relationship has been incredibly scary, but ultimately satisfying for me. I'm not scared at all anymore. If anything, I'm less afraid than I was when I was on my own. I feel like I have a partner in life, someone to comfort me, laugh with me, cry with me and remind me that everything will be OK. It's amazing, really, and I have to thank my husband for being patient with me all this way. Oh, and I never think of marriage as a "legal obligation" anymore; I still wake up choosing, freely, to love my husband every day. And I feel lucky to have that choice .

If you are married, did you have any "freak outs" in the beginning? What three words would you use to describe your relationship? If you're not married, do you think you will marry? Why or why not?

***
Today's gratitude:
1. Blueberry pancakes! Larry rarely eats breakfast, so I'm always happy to oblige when he says he's hungry.
2. Dinner reservation at Houston's + "District 9" on DVD at home. That's the plan.
3. Flowers from my sister and well-wishes from my family.
4. Clean condo!
5. Tax shiz-nit in the mail!

The Olympics, NEDA and eating disorders (and some photos that have nothing to do with any of that)

During the women's figure skating short program on Tuesday, one of the announcers mentioned that Japanese skater Akiko Suzuki had struggled with anorexia in the past. There wasn't much said about it, but I started wondering about the connection between elite sports and eating disorders. Around the Olympics, which just happens to fall on National Eating Disorders Awareness (NEDA) week, there is always quite a bit of talk about the pressure these athletes face to be thin, and how many struggle with eating disorders as a result. There is something off about this association for me.

My take on it is that elite athletes are very driven. I think this is a fair assumption, being that you probably have to be driven to rise to that level of athleticism. Being a driven person myself, I would say that there is the risk of being very self-critical, intense, perfectionistic, and anxious when you are high-achieving and have standards and expectations that make it hard for you to sleep at night (on that note, does anyone else wonder how these athletes get to bed the night before a big event? I would be tossing and turning). The personality traits that come with being driven are common in most people who struggle with anorexia, so it makes sense that there would be a higher population of people with anorexia in elite sports. Similarly, there is probably a higher population of people with anorexia in the top levels of any career.

As I've said before, I see eating disorders as very complex mental illnesses. It's not as simple as saying, "Well, she felt pressure to be thin, so she became anorexic." I never felt pressure to be thin. Anorexia, for me, was about coping with anxiety and depression. It wasn't a diet gone wrong. I've been a little disappointed with some of the NEDA advertising. There is a slogan going around that says, "Every body is beautiful." Well, yes, of course, but this makes it seem like the key to overcoming eating disorders is body love. I never really hated my body. It may appear that way since I treated it so poorly, but I was really just trying to manage myself. If anything, I felt apathetic toward my body, annoyed with my physical existence. Seeing my body as beautiful doesn't really make the driving force of anorexia go away at all. Saying "every body is beautiful" is like countering my depression with "every cloud has a silver lining." Well, yes, duh, but there's still this funky wiring in my brain.

Anyway, relating back to the Olympics, if there are eating disorders amongst high-level athletes, I don't think the sports are to blame; I think it's the personality types that would reach that level of excellence. Furthermore, I don't think size standards in sports are all that awful or appalling. A comment to a figure skater that she needs to "tone up" could very well trigger an eating disorder, I suppose, but only if that skater was already predisposed. I'm sure there are plenty of athletes who hear this sort of thing, shrug, and think, "Yeah, this is just part of my sport. I need to be in better shape to skate my best." My sister has a good friend who is an actress and was recently told by her agent to "tone up," and it didn't affect her psyche at all. She just said, "Yeah, I'm an actress, I need to for these particular parts I want." Just because gymnasts or horse jockeys are compact in size does not mean the sports are evil. I was in gymnastics for years and I just got too tall. It's physics. I was a head above other girls, so when I was up on the beam, my center of gravity was higher. I had more chance of falling (which I did). On floor, I had 5 feet 11 inches of body to flip around. It's unlikely I would be able to do the same skill as someone who is 4'6" and half my weight. Smaller women are more likely to be successful in that sport. I'm fine with this. Maybe I should have gone into beach volleyball, though I hate sand. Or basketball, though I hate...basketball.

I guess I don't think sports are really about being a certain size; they're about achievement. If higher achievement is associated with being a certain size, I can see where things get confusing. And these athletes do perform under enormous pressure (self-imposed and external), and they may abuse their bodies in attempts to excel more (which, for a few, could lead to an eating disorder if they already have the makeup for that). Mostly, though, sports have always been good for my self-esteem. I feel they're about being healthy and strong, not thin. According to this article, skier Lindsey Vonn's weight and height put her at the high end of the "recommended BMI," but she's a world-class skier, navigating twists and turns, going 80 miles per hour down hills. She needs muscles. They benefit her. And she's touted as being the babe of the Olympics, by the way. According to this article from the NY Times, ice dancer Tanith Belbin was encouraged to gain weight so she'd have more speed and power on the ice and, when she did, she said it changed her performance for the better.

All in all, I love the Olympics. I get tired just watching cross-country skiers trudge up one hill. It doesn't make me feel guilty that I'm at home, on my couch, with a cat in my lap, looking forward to my nighttime snack. I don't have any athletic aspirations. I don't compare my body to those of Olympics athletes; I just like seeing what those bodies can do.

Have you been watching the Olympics? How do athletes affect your body image?

***
Today's gratitude:
1. Our meeting with the mortgage lady went well yesterday. I think it encouraged both of us to be really grateful for our condo for now :) We have a lot of freedom without a hefty mortgage.
2. Hair appointment on Sunday. Not sure what to do, but I always love getting my hair done.
3. Women's figure skating finishes up tonight! I can't stay up that late, so DVR it is.
4. Larry! I love this guy.
5. My sister finally sent some pictures from our weekend. I realized there are none of her since she's the photographer, so it's just my mom, me, family dog Sammy, and the new puppy Sarah :)

House vs Home

Every now and then, I wander to Realtor.com. I fantasize about granite counter tops and stainless steel appliances. I daydream about a garage. I picture myself in a large soaking tub with jets. Clearly, I watch way too much HGTV.

Larry and I toy with the idea of buying a house every six months or so. Actually, I toy with the idea and then pull him into my vision. We hear that it's a buyer's market. We get excited. We've lived in a 995 square foot condo for a few years now. It's sufficed just fine. We're lucky to have low payments. But, it's small. I've overtaken the bathroom in our bedroom, so he uses the hall bathroom. If you visit (which would be slightly weird, I must say), you should know that opening a closet is asking for something to hit you in the face. It could be a wrench because we have one closet with tool chests stacked on each other, precariously. We wanted to get bikes, but then we realized we have nowhere to put them. I still have things at my parents' house because there's not enough space at the condo. The value of the condo has gone down nearly 30% thanks to this lovely economy so selling is not an option. We'd have to rent it out. Now that I'm feeling better, this is something I'm confident we could handle. Unfortunately, we live in California, which is not kind to buyers without significant equity. I have no idea how some of these houses cost so much. And I have no idea how regular folk afford them. It's all more than a little discouraging.

I realize a major difference between Larry and me is that he's a decision-maker and I'm a decision-considerer. I'll meander forever. I'll think of a situation from all angles. I'll use lots of statements starting with "What if..." I'll play devil's advocate, then play devil's advocate's advocate. I'll second-guess. I'll doubt. I'll look for signs. I'll ask lots of questions. I'll provide very, very few answers. Larry does not like this process of mine (if you can call it a process). He has no patience for my meandering, and I can't really blame him. I'm notorious for being wishy-washy. It's the maximizer in me, the perfectionist, the anorexic. I don't want to make the wrong decision, so sometimes, paralysis is the result. I believe anorexia was one big paralysis, with an illusion of movement. I thought I was accomplishing something with all that food manipulation, but I was really just looking at life, sticking my fingers in my ears and shouting, "blah blah blah, I can't hear you."

Marriage requires dealing with life, with another human who likely sees it differently. It requires mutual decision making. Larry is incredibly patient with me, though I'm sure he gets frustrated by how long it takes me to peruse a menu. Do I need to remind you what it was like for me to buy a car? Um, yeah. I think we're getting better and better at being partners though. We're getting better at reconciling each other's dreams and hopes with reality, with compromising, with tackling problems, with finding solutions, with understanding, with saying "I'm sorry," with knowing what to do when the other person is upset. This last one is hardest for me. Yesterday, Larry was really aggravated by the housing situation, and I tend to take on others' emotions. If you're depressed, I'm depressed. I'm an emotional chameleon. Yesterday, though, I noticed that I was better able to respect his feelings without getting tangled up in them. I wasn't afraid of his discontent, or intimidated by it. I just let it be, watched a movie ("Coco Before Chanel" -- kind of boring if you ask me) and made some chili. And I think we're both happier for that (my detachment, not the chili, though the chili was good). In the past, I'd get so annoyed/scared/frustrated with his bad moods that I'd make them worse. Maybe the fact that I'm more stable makes it easier for me to support him. Whatever it is, I'm just glad we can be mutually supportive. When it comes down to it, no matter where we live, I'm just so happy we have each other. That's my home. It doubles as a school.

How affected are you by others' moods? Can you be empathetic without taking on too much of the other person's emotion? How?

***
Today's gratitude:
1. We have a meeting at lunch time with a mortgage chick, just to know the numbers involved.
2. I have the women's figure skating short program on DVR (so don't tell me the results!).
3. Thoughts of shorter hair... this weekend?
4. Thoughts of our anniversary...this weekend!
5. Stephen Colbert. His "Vancouverage" is hilarious.

A weekend in words

(To be followed by "A Weekend in Pictures," when my sister has time to send me her photos)

Just a few weeks ago, I was stuck in the proverbial rut. I would think of something to do (go to a gymnastics meet, go ice skating, go out to brunch), and then come up with a number of reasons why it was better to just stay home. These ranged from, "I should really scrub the shower" to "There's a showing of 'Baby Mama' on HBO and I don't want to clog my DVR." I did all this thinking about whether or not I was just an introverted homebody. Did I just have to accept this? Adopt more cats and embrace my fate? Then I started anti-depressants and realized that all that convoluted thinking was depression. Yes, I am an introverted homebody compared to most people, but it really comes down to my answer on that all-too-common depression questionnaire:

Are you less interested in people and activities?

Why, yes, yes I was. I tried to rationalize that I was just older, that I'd changed. I got very Larry David about it all, defensive of my state of mind, unwilling to accept that I had a pesky serotonin issue. I mean, how unoriginal. How trite.

On Friday, I noted a new feeling: excitement. I was excited to spend the weekend with my mom and sister. I hadn't felt excited for anything in a long time, especially something involving leaving the house wearing something other than my gray pajama pants, driving, socializing, and eating food that I had not planned in my head at least 12 hours in advance. I didn't really care what the weekend had in store; I was just excited to be excited.

I did actually enjoy myself. I wasn't tense. I wasn't anxious. I didn't sit with my knees to my chest and rock back and forth slowly at any point during the weekend. I was, you know, normal. Pleasant. Calm.

Some highlights:

• Not hydroplaning on the freeway while driving in the rain to my parents' house.
• Spending the night in my old bed.
• Meeting my sister's Boxer puppy, Sarah (we decided to include her in the Girl's Weekend. The older dog, Sammy, tolerates her just fine).
• Breakfast at Marmalade Cafe in Calabasas. There were no celebrity sightings (I saw Jessica Simpson there once and have no idea how anyone could call her fat).
• Memories of "Supermarket Sweet" while running through Trader Joe's, grabbing things for lunch and dinner. We actually managed to agree on a menu.
• Walking the dogs down by the ocean. There was a big pod of dolphins about thirty feet offshore.
• All five of us sitting on the balcony, in our respective beach chairs, soaking up the sun.
• Napping on the couch because Olympic cross-country skiing will put anyone to sleep.
• Making dinner: Salmon, gnocci, salad, bruschetta, strawberries and blueberries.
• Floating in the heated pool, laughing about how we'd spend hours in the pool as kids.
• Sharing our love of Joel McHale.
• Breakfast at the Summerland Cafe, after a beautiful drive up the coast. I realize I just order off the menu now. At some point, I stopped asking for alterations. If my english muffin comes buttered, I don't care. I don't request egg whites. I don't substitute for the potatoes. I'm a simple orderer now.
• Walking on the train tracks, using the rails like balance beams.
• My sister's hugs. She hugs like she's never going to see you ever again.

When I came home, I wasn't my usual ball of nervous energy, rifling through mail like a crazy person, reorganizing the pantry obsessively, inspecting Larry's vacuum job with a critical eye. I felt relaxed, just happy to see him and the kitties. I did my best to catch up on blogs (always a daunting task after a couple days away), made dinner for us, watched TV (does anyone else watch "Man vs. Wild"? He ate a freaking octopus, raw!).

What did you do this weekend? Are your weekends usually full and busy, or quiet?

***
Today's gratitude:
1. I'm hungry for lunch. My appetite still isn't stellar, so I love the days my stomach talks to me.
2. I was super productive at work this morning.
3. I plan to have our tax paperwork out of our hands sometime this week.
4. I'm pondering a haircut.
5. Women's figure skating starts tomorrow night.

A weekend with the girls

This will be a weekend of beach walks, jacuzzi-ing, breakfasts out, lounging, talking and relaxing. My mom, sister and I are going to my parents' beach condo in Ventura. Oh, the family dog, Sammy, is also going. She's one of the girls too, despite having a boy's name.

I was a bit worried about the trip when we first planned it because my mood was so unstable. Since starting the Lexapro though, I've been feeling much more confident and relaxed. I mean, I still made a "packing list," but I did not re-write it 8 times. This is progress. I'd dare to say I'm excited about this little excursion. You have no idea how exciting it is for me to be excited.

I was under the impression that we did this on a somewhat annual basis, but in looking at old photos, I see that the last time the three of us did this was in summer of 2007. Oops. Apparently, we had a photo shoot:



There have been lots of changes to our family in the past year. My sister and I got married within six months of each other, meaning we each have new families of our own, in addition to mothers-in-law, fathers-in-law, step-parents-in-law, grandparents-in-law, siblings-in-law, you get the idea. The family gatherings are no longer small. There are more relatives, more friends, more friends of relatives, more friends of friends, more relatives of friends. For most events, I'm lucky if I get ten minutes to talk to my sister alone (and, during those ten minutes, we're usually marveling at our grandma's choice of shoes. She has a big bunion. I don't know what else to say about this). My sister's not great with e-mail and neither of us is good with the phone, so aside from the gatherings when we see each other, we don't have that much contact. We talk via text messages more than anything. I text to say I'm listening to the "Rock of the 90's" CD she made for me. She texts to say she loves the Volume 2 I mailed to her. She texts me pictures of her new dog, Sarah, saying, "Sarah says hi." I text back a picture of whatever cat is cooperating and say, "Hi to Sarah!" It's gag-worthy, I know. I think of her every day, but we don't spend quality time together often, even though we only live about an hour away (with traffic in the Los Angeles area, this time can triple, easily). I've always thought we're very different. She's loud, self-assured, gregarious. She does not know what anxiety or depression mean. She once said to me, "It was so weird, I was lying in bed last night and thinking about something and I couldn't go to sleep." I said, "Um, welcome to my world. That's insomnia." She said, almost fascinated, "Really?" I would wonder if we're related, except that our core values are pretty much the same. And people say we look alike. I don't always see it. I guess she's the tan, brown-eyed version of me.

As for my mom and me, our relationship has changed in the past year too. I used to call her all the time, for every little drama (and, trust me, life is very dramatic for me). She was the number one person in my life. When I got married, I was confused for a while as to how to make my husband number one in my life. I've got it down now. I love my mom dearly, but I go to my husband first. He's my confidant, my best friend, my teammate, my partner in crime -- all those eyeroll-causing cliches. My mom and I recently started to have more regular phone conversations and e-mails. She's been patient with my transition to being a wife, first and foremost, and I feel more and more at ease with our relationship and what it means to me. I feel like we're more adult friends now. All through my twenties, I still felt unsure of myself, like a kid looking to my parents for approval and guidance. I don't feel that much anymore. Larry gives me a lot of confidence.

I'll miss him, and the kitties. I really do hate being away from my little family, even for just a couple days. He says he'll do the grocery shopping and vacuum. How lucky am I?

Do you have siblings? What's your relationship with them? Are you close with your mom?

***
Today's gratitude:
1. My agent says 6 publishers are "considering" my book. Please cross your fingers for me!
2. "Temple Grandin" on HBO. This was an absolutely fascinating movie, and Claire Danes was terrific.
3. U.S. gold medal in men's figure skating.
4. Larry's amusing Buddhism. Yesterday, he was saying how the Olympics don't excite him because he doesn't see the point of attaching oneself to the outcome of a competition. He said he prizes self-mastery. I looked at him and said, "Are you a monk?"
5. It's Friday! Another work week down...

The work lunch

Thanks to all of you who shared your thoughts in yesterday's post. It was really interesting to see that many of us are less-than-happy with work situations, but feel confined for a number of reasons. And then some of us love our jobs, which is very encouraging! While I'm not always sure what I want work-wise, I am sure of how I want to spend my lunch breaks: Out of the office.

I think my years of anorexia have made me slightly kooky in my views toward meal times. To me, they are somewhat sacred. No, I don't pray or chant or perform any kind of ceremonial blessing on my wraps and sandwiches (though sometimes on my apple), but I still like my meals to have a time and space to be appreciated. Maybe it's because I was so restrictive for so long that now it's bliss for me to just sit, be mindful, and enjoy what I'm eating. Maybe it's because I still have some ritualized notions around eating. I like the routines I have. I like the structure. Yes, food is just food, but that doesn't mean I go through my day without paying attention to it. Often, (sadly?), it's the highlight of my day.

When most people look for a job, they wonder about salary, health benefits, 401(k), etc. Of course, I think about these things too, but I also wonder about working hours. It seems more and more companies expect people to work through lunch. Sometimes, cold sandwiches are provided as some kind of incentive (I don't understand this as I think food as a bribing technique does not work past the age of 12. Maybe I'm alone in this, as I've seen co-workers get very excited for bagels). Lunch break to me is about health and happiness. I try not to be too unreasonable about my expectation to have that free hour, but it is really important to me.

Today, we had a "working lunch." I don't like these. One, I don't like being asked to work through my one free hour, especially when the meeting could occur during any of the other 8 available hours. Two, I still have weirdness about communal eating situations and food being presented to me. It makes me feel self-conscious. I find myself concerned with looking "normal" (are you tired of this neurosis of mine? I am). Basically, with work lunches, there's a little tantrum in my head that goes something like this: "Don't wanna!" I feel out of control, violated like a 3-year-old who has her favorite Barbie doll taken away from her. Yes, I realize this is silly. It's one meal, after all. I just prefer to dictate my own meals (and meal times), not have them dictated for me. I find that in the "dictated for me" situations, I tend to restrict, accounting for mystery calories and trying, passive-aggressively, to tell the food offerer, "I don't like this little situation of yours." Yes, this is part of my eating disorder, one of the straggling elements -- both the restricting (even if it's not blatant, I know when I'm restricting) and attempting to express myself via not eating much (of course, nobody gets my passive-aggressive message but me, but I seem to be unwilling to accept this). I'm reminded of my mom's advice: "Use your words and eat your food; don't use your food and eat your words."

I ate a light lunch of tuna salad and fruit. Definitely not my normal amount. It was fine though. In years past, I got out of these things entirely with a myriad of excuses, ranging from sudden stomach aches to an urgent phone call with my agent (if only that poor woman knew how often I'd used her). Of course, when it's all done, I realize it's not that big of a deal. Just one day, just one meal. Though I still want my free hour, damn it.

Are you particular about meal times? How do you spend your lunch break? What do you do in food situations at work? Is it hard for you to express your needs/preferences?

***
Today's gratitude:
1. I have figure skating on DVR to watch when I get home.
2. Speaking of my agent, I got an e-mail from her today saying that she has lots of positive response to my book (though no buyer yet). I'm awaiting a more detailed status update.
3. Beautiful sunshine. Note: I did actually get out of the office for a little bit. I went for a walk and called my mom :)
4. Girls weekend! My mom, sister, and I are going to my parents' beach condo this weekend. With all the big family gatherings, I hardly ever get to spend quality time with just my mom and sister, so I'm looking forward to that.
5. "The Invention of Lying." I've seen it, but Larry hasn't. I'm hoping we'll watch it tonight with dinner.

Work to live, or live to work?

I've heard that the first question Americans ask each other is, "What do you do?" We place an inordinate amount of emphasis on work. When I was in school (basically ages 4 through 23), earning good grades was my identity. I was under the assumption that I would transition smoothly into "the real world," where the cycle of work-hard-and-get-rewarded would continue. This cycle was pretty crucial to my identity. I like to be invested in projects to the point that I have dreams about them. I like positive feedback and praise. After working full-time for the last seven years, I still feel like I'm mourning the loss of my idyllic career vision. I don't even know that I have a career; I've had jobs.

I'm happy to have a job, let me tell you. And I'm a conscientious, model employee. But, there's something lacking in normal work life for me. These are the less-than-inspiring lessons I learned at my first desk job:

1. If you work hard, you will not be rewarded, unless you consider getting everyone else's work a reward.

2. People waste an alarming amount of time.

3. 98% of meetings are pointless.

4. Don't finish anything too fast; you'll only get busy work in return.
Sidenote here: In the work world, everyone says that a one-hour job will take four hours. At some point, it took them just the one hour, and they spent three hours reading celebrity gossip online. After a while of doing this, the one-hour job started to actually take four hours because of the lost brain cells.

5. Go for walks to maintain sanity. While walking, pretend to talk on your cell phone so nobody bothers you.

6. Learn to look forward to snack time. Walking to the fridge is a rare time to get out of your chair.

7. Nobody talks to each other. It's normal to get e-mails from a person 3 feet away from you.

8. Use lots of phrases that make you sound pretentious, like "Per our earlier conversation..."

9. There are not nearly enough vacation days.

10. It's always either too hot or too cold. Offices are rigged for discomfort.


Needless to say, I've been less-than-fulfilled by my work existence (why do people call it "the 9-to-5," by the way? Mine has always been 8-to-5 or 9-to-6). I'm grateful to have a job. I like the structure of the day. I like paychecks. Still, I think I wanted (want?) something more. I wanted to feel excited by day-to-day activities. I wanted to feel like what I was doing was meaningful in some way. I wanted my sense of self to be integrated with my paycheck. Often, I wonder if I just expect too much. Maybe I need to change my outlook and see a job as a means to an end (payday!) instead of an end in and of itself. Work to live, and not the other way around.

I've been fantasizing about alternative careers quite a bit lately. I could be a pharmacist. I could be a criminal psychologist. I could be a professional pet sitter. I could be a yoga teacher. These are just some of the fantasies. Of course, I could be a novelist, but I don't like to consider this too much. Even if my agent (finally) sells my book, I'd consider that a special treat. I'd like something else to be my bread and butter, so as not to put pressure on myself to write. What is it with my career fantasies? Is this a case of "the grass is always greener," or would I really be more fulfilled by something else? It's tough to say, and I'm a pretty risk-averse person. I have high financial security needs. I don't like change. Given these traits, I'm not sure what business I have thinking about going back to school or choosing a different field. Maybe I'm just daydreaming.

What do you do for work? Does it fulfill you? If you're not working currently, what do you want to do? If you could have a "do-over," what would you choose? Why don't you choose it now?

***
Today's gratitude:
1. Short, 4-day work week!
2. Pairs ice skating waiting for me on DVR.
3. Snack incoming.
4. My anxiety has been super low the past few days.
5. Kitty on my face in the morning. This is the best way to wake up.

On love

Confession: I used to be a really embarrassing romantic. In high school, I had a crush on this one guy for three years. I used to coerce my sister into folding up notes and putting them through the little slots of his locker. I penned many a poem and made many a prank call just to hear his voice (which was really deep for a 16-year-old; I still fantasize about it. Is that weird?). One time, I called him and played "Heart of Gold" by Neil Young into the phone. I shutter just thinking about this.

My romanticism persisted for a number of years. I made a poem into a puzzle once and mailed it to my boyfriend, one piece at a time. I've baked brownies for love. I've made more photo collages than I care to admit. I've hidden sentimental trinkets under pillows. I've written love quotes on napkins. I've always said I'm not a hopeless romantic; I'm a hopeful romantic. I was convinced that I would find "the one," a soul mate, and it would be like it is in the movies.

Except life isn't really like that, as demonstrated by a few relationships that, years later, cause me to furrow my eyebrows in utter confusion. What was I thinking? There was the guy who aspired to be a jazz pianist but, unfortunately, could not hold a job long enough to pay any sort of bill. We're Facebook friends and he now lives with his mother. He's 34. There was the guy who was sort of seeing his ex-girlfriend for the first few months he was seeing me. He also lived with his mother (wait, what's going on here?). There was the guy who brought a coupon to Red Robin for our date (then told me that he'd prefer if I pay my half to him in cash), the guy who told me he'd always love his dog more than a woman, and the guy who had two children he neglected to mention (in addition to an on-the-rocks, live-in girlfriend). This last guy also lied about his age.

I guess you could say I've had some interesting dating experiences. You could also say that I'm very naive and gullible. It's the hopeful romantic in me.

When I met Larry, I was kind of tired of dating. I just enjoyed his friendship. And then it was more than friendship. It took us both a while to see each other that way. I used to hear people say, "We were friends first, and then we fell in love," and I'd roll my eyes. Friends first? Where's the passion? The lust? The I-saw-you-across-the-room-and-felt-a-jolt-of-electricity? It wasn't like that with us and, yet, it's been the most fulfilling relationship of my life. Obviously. He's my husband.

Our relationship turned a lot of assumptions on their heads for me. I used to buy into that idea that you have to be your "best self" before you can fall in love with the right person. Now, I think that's bullshit. What does "best self" even mean anyway? I didn't have everything figured out when I met Larry, and he didn't have everything figured out when he met me. I mean, does it look like we have anything figured out?


We think back to when we first started dating and we laugh because it was just so different. We've grown together, evolved together, helped each other be better, healthier people. That's what it's all about, isn't it?

From our wedding reception (note: We still did not have it all figured out here, but I like this picture).

My favorite love quote goes something like this: "When you fall in love with someone, it's kind of like falling in love with yourself, because you start to see yourself as the other person sees you."

I love that. Larry sees me as this funny, smart, creative, beautiful woman. When I'm feeling especially self-critical, I try to put on the Larry lenses and see what he sees.

How does your significant other see you? Is it in line with how you see yourself?

***
Today's Gratitude:

1. Larry and I don't really celebrate Valentine's Day, but he came with me to a gymnastics meet (UCLA vs Stanford), which I know isn't really his idea of a great time. It was fun!

2. Yes, you read that right. I actually GOT OUT OF THE HOUSE. I'm so happy I felt motivated to do that. I don't know if the medication is working yet or if it's just placebo effect, but I feel much better.

3. I have had two AMAZING nights of sleep and I feel like a new woman.

4. The weather in Southern California has been absolutely gorgeous.

5. There's a Girls Weekend in the works for my sister, my mom, and me. We'll be going to my parents' beach condo next weekend, and I dare to say I'm looking forward to it.

The guilt of going green

I've always been cheap. Well, not always, I suppose. I don't think I was cheap when I was in kindergarten. I should say I've been cheap ever since I started making my own money (though, as a kid, I remember the pride I got from storing all my emptying-the-dishwasher chore funds in the little yellow bank under my bed. I was never the type to save for something specific; I just wanted to save. I would learn later that the term for this is "hoard," but whatever).

As an adult, I've been frugal, thrifty, stingy, miserly. All these words sound so negative and bad. I prefer "economical." Granted, my adult years have coincided with my anorexia years, dominated by a philosophy of restriction. I had a therapist tell me once, "With anorexia, when the weight goes down, the bank account goes up." Which makes sense. "Cutting back" can take many forms for someone with an anorexic mindset. Dollars, it turns out, can be counted just as compulsively as calories. And even as I've gotten better with the food stuff, I still struggle with anxiety about money (namely, the spending of it). I still face this daily mantra of "Save more, use less, conserve more, need less."

Then I realized that, strangely enough, this daily mantra fits in with a current trend. Let me explain.

I've had all these quirky behaviors -- re-using Ziploc bags (or packing food in Tupperware instead of plastic bags), forgoing paper towels for cloth rags, taking showers every other day, walking instead of driving, never using the heater or AC -- in attempts to save pennies here and there. Now, all those unattractive adjectives like frugal, thrifty, stingy, miserly can hide behind something far more "in": going green.

Yes, I'm not really an environment-loving hippie (though I do care a great deal about global warming and animal rights). I'm just cheap. I'm not likely to tell you this in person. I'm likely to say I'm being eco-friendly so I look better (we all know my concern with appearing not-weird). And I bet there are others like me. Those of us with anorexic mindsets are likely to recycle more, live more sustainably, etc; but we're driven more by neurosis than anything. So, ya, financial anorexia is good for the environment. How's that for a campaign slogan?

Taken further, many of the latest food restrictions are in the name of being eco-friendly. There is so much in the news about the ethics of industrialized agriculture right now, and I think it's pretty easy to hide anorexic food behaviors behind being an environmentalist. Of course, I don't think everyone who is vegan is disguising anorexia, but I think there are definitely some. When I went vegetarian, I had to think long and hard about my reasons. Yes, I was disturbed by ethical issues with eating meat, but was I just trying to impose another restriction on myself? I don't think so, given that I didn't eat much meat before, but it's still a valid concern.

It seems there's so much in the media about being aware of our carbon footprint. It's good to be aware, but it can go too far, especially for someone who thinks like I do. I suppose it's the perfectionist in me, the all-or-nothing thinker, with a propensity for feeling guilt. I feel like a failure when I leave the water running, waiting for it to get hot. I feel bad driving from Trader Joe's to Ralph's (they're in the same shopping center, but I'm lazy). I read about people who grow their own food and I feel -- guess? -- guilty. I have to remember that it's about everyone making little changes (and not one little person making every change possible).

What are your thoughts on this? Do you think you live in an environmentally friendly way? Do you deal with green guilt?

***
Today's gratitude:
1. It's Friday,!
2. We have a much-needed 3-day weekend. I plan to sleep as much as I can. This Lexapro is knocking me on my ass. I haven't slept well this week and I'm vaguely dizzy and sick to my stomach. I'm trying to be patient, and I think I'm doing a good job so far.
3. I have a massage on Monday.
4. The opening ceremony for the Olympics is tonight!
5. I'm considering going to a gymnastics meet at UCLA on Sunday. Depends how I feel.

Anorexia according to the DSM: Thoughts?

Carrie Arnold just posted the draft criteria for eating disorders that appears in the upcoming revision of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM). One of her commenters posted that, "the criteria for anorexia still focuses heavily (pardon the pun) on weight and body image, suggesting cause and effect." She's referencing these two criteria (which are the only ones aside from the "doesn't weigh enough" criteria):

• Intense fear of gaining weight or becoming fat, even though underweight, or persistent behavior to avoid weight gain, even though underweight.
• Disturbance in the way in which one's body weight or shape is experienced, undue influence of body weight or shape on self-evaluation, or persistent lack of recognition of the seriousness of the current low body weight.

With these criteria, the implication is that "the patients' behaviors are focused on getting/remaining thin. Yet some (many?) people with anorexia restrict food (and perhaps also purge and over-exercise) to regulate mood and to control anxiety. Sometimes being thin is simply the end result of behaviors which the patient has become dependent upon to control mood."

Yes, commenter I don't know (but would like to). Exactly.

For me, anorexia wasn't really about poor body image or a fear of getting fat. I was always too skinny growing up. I was called "Toothpick" routinely. I think this was my nickname on my softball team. Even after I went through puberty, I was still gangly. It's my mom's genes. If anorexia is about being thin, then I would have had no reason to develop it. I was already thin by most people's standards. And if anorexia was about vanity, I would have gained 40 pounds in 2001 instead of going into treatment looking like hell. But it's not that simple. And that's why I get irritated when I see pictures of thin celebrities on magazine covers with headlines like "Diet gone wrong?" and subheads like, "Friends fear anorexia."

Anorexia is not a diet gone wrong. It's a mental illness. Why is there so much confusion over this issue?

For a long time now, I've felt annoyed when I see articles blasting Ralph Lauren for his thin models (or terrible photoshopping) in the same breath as discussing the seriousness of anorexia. Isn't talking about anorexia in relation to Ralph Lauren ads already compromising its seriousness? Maybe I'm alone on this one because I see plenty of people who police media for body image issues while commenting on eating disorders and recovery. I just think they're entirely different issues.

In my case, I was not affected by too-thin models until I developed anorexia. Then, I just looked to them to rationalize my behavior and appearance, i.e. "See, it's totally normal that I look like a skeleton. Look at Calista Flockhart!" (Note: I developed anorexia way back in 1998, so Ally McBeal is what I remember. This does not give you permission to remind me how old I am). Or, I would make Calista (unbeknowst to her...I think) participate with me in some starvation competition, created entirely by me, in my ill mind. It's like I was on a quest to just need less and less. I didn't want to look like Calista; I wanted to need less than her. I thought this made me somehow purposeful, superior.

I agree that suggesting that all women should be stick thin is bad, but this is a totally separate issue in my mind. I could just as soon say, "Anorexia sucks and too-thin models set a bad standard" as "Anorexia sucks and lilies are pretty." They're just not related, even if you say them in same sentence. Also, go ahead and gasp at this, but while we're discussing body image, I'll just say that I don't think putting "large" women in ads means society is better off. I think society would be better off if size was irrelevant completely. How about just healthy women? There are healthy women with a range of BMIs. Personally, it affects my psyche and self-esteem more to see women in perfect make-up with super-smooth, shaved legs than it does to see women who are thin. That's my insecurity, because I hate make-up and I'm very lazy about shaving. Setting a standard of beauty always has dangers, no matter what the standard is. When I was a beanpole in junior high, I was aware that the standard of beauty was developing boobs. I was flat as a board. I developed very, very late, so I always felt scrawny. We had Ensure at home so my sister and I could put on weight (which I thought would go to my chest, almost magically). I got reacquainted with Ensure in the worst days of recovery. Oh, the irony.

In my opinion, the DSM doesn't really do service to the underlying drivers of anorexia. I think most self-destructive behaviors are a way to self-medicate, and I'm very aware that my anxiety went way, way down when I was heavily involved with my eating disorder. Everything seemed very peaceful and quiet when my mind was just tallying calories. For me, recovery is about learning to manage anxiety in a healthy way. It has very little to do with appreciating the Dove beauty campaign. Yes, there are days when I "feel fat," but this mostly translates to "I feel stressed." Somehow, they got linked in my mind (stress-->fat-->eat less-->less stress), but that doesn't mean the driver is for me to be thin; the driver is for me to be calm, and thinness was the result.

The DSM sort of supports the idea of Ralph Lauren ads and anorexia being paired. I just don't see this. This direct linkage seems to fuel the fire that eating disorders are adolescent obsessions with looking good. That fuels another fire -- that treatment is simple: Just eat, write body affirmations, paint your nails, you'll be fine. This starts a whole other inferno of self-hate and shame for the sufferer who feels like, "Why can't I just get better then? Am I just a vain, stubborn idiot?" The only thing that has extinguished all this has been to realize (with the help of Carrie's blog) that this is an illness.

In short, I'd guess I'd say that I think the DSM definition of anorexia needs to be fleshed out a bit. Har har har. I crack myself up.

What do you think the link is between images of thin women in media and eating disorders?

***
Today's gratitude:

1. Sweet potato chips from Trader Joe's. New discovery. Very good.

2. I feel great today. The first night I took Lexapro, I slept 5 minutes and I felt very loopy and sick to my stomach yesterday. Today, that's all gone. I'm sure it's too early for the medication to have any real influence, but I feel great. If it's placebo effect, I'll take it.

3. Got my health insurance and 401(k) set up at work. I feel very accomplished today.

4. I'm still reading "Hawaii" and I think I've gotten through the most boring part (about the lava and the canoe voyage...yawn). I hate not finishing books. I'm determined.

5. Larry says he's quitting the Diet Coke. He read an article about how it increases risk of kidney cancer and says he wants to switch to iced tea. I'm impressed.

Here's to serotonin

I don't like taking medication. I don't even like taking Advil. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's part of the sick pride I get out of "not needing." When it's cold out, I don't need to turn on the heater, damn it; I'll just wear 3 sweaters and wool socks. When the soles of my shoes start to fall off, I don't need new shoes, damn it; I just need some duct tape. When I have a headache, I don't need a pill, damn it; I just need you to stay out of my f-ing way. I suppose I took this whole stubborn charade a bit too far when I thought I didn't need food. Food schmood. Pish posh. These pretzels are more than enough for lunch, thanks. Oh, former version of self, how wrong you were.

But there's a present version of myself that still thinks it's weak to need. I still think I should be able to will myself out of pain -- physical or mental. When I'm sick, I'm not mopey and lethargic; I'm extremely pissed off. I have no patience for things that remind me of my vulnerabilities. I think I should be all-powerful, superior, strong.

With this mentality, it's not surprising that I've been skeptical of psychiatry. It's easy for me to support others who take medications for mental issues. After all, diabetics take insulin, cancer patients use chemo. Depression is a disease, blah blah blah, it should be treated as such, blah blah blah. I understand all of this, logically, yet it's been very hard for me to apply this logic to myself. I still judge myself. I still feel like I'm not trying hard enough.

Yet, I've run the gamut when it comes to non-medication remedies for depression. I've read self-help books, which really only depressed me more because the theories for feeling better sounded so simple, and yet I couldn't get them to work for me. This led to the familiar "Kim is a failure" refrain. I've done yoga. I've breathed deeply. I've pet animals. I've pet Larry. I've gone for walks. I've got my diet in a healthy place. I'm the picture of perfect health, physically, according to my doctor. I've been in therapy for a decade. Therapy has helped me, that's for sure. But, what seems to happen is that I feel great the day of the session, and I feel good the day after, then it's a steady decline until the next week. Achieving any long-standing stability with my mood has been difficult.

I had my appointment with the psychiatrist today. Let's call him Dr. M because, well, that's the first initial of his actual last name (I'm not that creative, contrary to popular belief). He's great, very thorough. I was surprised when he said he felt my depression was very severe. Really? I consider this just sort of normal. Severe? I've always thought of severe depression as lethargy -- lying in bed, having crying fits. I don't lie in bed with crying fits. I stand up when I have crying fits. Duh. Seriously though, he says there are many people with "anxious depression." The anxiety keeps them functioning, in a way. I think I've had mild depression (dysthymia) since I was a teenager. I have vivid memories of myself in high school, making deals with myself to be in a good mood more often. I was always perplexed when I felt unable to do this, when I had spells of very low moods. I told Dr. M about last month, when I had a very real plummet. It was the first time in a long, long time when I doubted my ability to function, when I had trouble leaving the house, when I felt like I should be in one of those commercials with the wind-up toy and the sad-looking lady. He said lots of people with dysthymia have drops. They call this "double depression" (double your pleasure, double your fun...). I come out of these drops, but I still hang out in the mild depression state, where it's hard work for me to enjoy anything, I don't sleep well, I get very thrown off by minor things, my appetite vanishes, I feel like life is pointless and I write lots of short stories in which someone dies.

Long story short, he gave me a prescription for Lexapro. I thought that if I was going to go this route, I would get a non-SSRI. I must feel the need to be special in some way. Apparently, Dr. M does not think I am so special. An SSRI it is. I was on Celexa when I was in treatment way back when. I like to think it didn't do anything, but objectively, while I was on it, I was the happiest I'd been in my whole life. It's hard to tell if it was the daily therapy, the structured meals, the Celexa, or Malibu scenery, but the Celexa didn't hurt. I went off of it in grad school since I felt better (a rookie mistake), and I do remember "the moods" returning, slowly but surely. Lexapro is the distilled, improved Celexa, so we'll give it a go (and by "we'll" I mean "I'll"; I don't have multiple personality disorder, I just like using the royal "we").

Tonight, I lift my glass to serotonin, cautiously hopeful. I'll let you know how it goes...in 4-6 weeks.

I would like to have a question of the day, but I feel it's invasive to ask about medication sometimes. If you have any medication thoughts to share, I'd love to hear them.

***
Today's gratitude:

1. Larry cracked a great wisdom egg today (this is the phrase I use when he says something that triggers an epiphany for me). Our boss suggested we all eat lunch in the office together on Wednesday and Larry said, "No, thanks. Kim and I are doing lunch together that day." I said, "Oh my god, aren't you afraid he'll be mad?" (Of course, he wasn't mad, but I hate declining things, even if they don't sound fun to me). Larry said it's better to be upfront. I'm always wishy-washy because I feel bad saying "no." His wisdom egg: If you're wishy-washy, it just encourages people to try to persuade you further. They assume you're just indecisive, not that you're trying to be nice.

2. My sister and her husband got the cutest Boxer puppy. They did it on a whim yesterday. Very spontaneous. Again, I'm not sure we're related, except we look awfully similar.

3. I just remembered the Winter Olympics start this Friday. I love watching the Olympics.

4. My 3-month "probation" is up at work this week, meaning I'm eligible for benefits.

5. It's snack time.

Oh, come on, have a drink.

I've never been much of a drinker. When everyone else was experimenting with alcohol in high school, I was making flash cards and reading the encyclopedia for fun. Before I left for college, my dad suggested that we have a few drinks together, so I could become aware of my tolerance. I refused. I doubt he was surprised. I also used to ground myself. Anyway, I think he was afraid of sending me off to Notre Dame, the university of booze, without proper knowledge and practice. Maybe he was afraid of seeing his daughter two sheets to the wind, dancing with the leprechaun mascot on a televised football game. Beer bongs and boys -- these were probably his worries. I don't think he thought, "Hm, I hope my daughter doesn't go off to college and become anorexic." What's ironic is that when I passed out in my dorm room from the lovely combination of starvation and a fever, my RA called an ambulance, under the assumption that I was intoxicated.

If only.

I didn't drink at all during my college years. I mastered the art of holding cups in my hand, taking fake sips. I fed many houseplants tequila. I watched margaritas swirl down many-a-toilet. Drinking just didn't interest me. It wasn't only a calorie issue; it was the loss of control. The fuzzy-headedness. The lack of anxieties (when I was so used to having anxieties). The too-easy laughter. It was weird to me.

Further into my recovery, at a job I loved, I made some great friends and found myself at bars, bowling alleys, and parties with them, letting go with a beer or two...or three. It was fun. There were lots of firsts -- Jagermeister shots, throwing up in a cab, you know. I guess I'm a bit of a social chameleon. I kind of adapt to the people I'm around. I just gave up on defending my "I don't drink" declaration. Plus, I met Larry during this phase (we worked together), and I knew he liked to drink. So, we drank.

Until we didn't. It's been one year and four months since Larry quit drinking. I admire him for the decision. He knew it was becoming a problem. I admit I was worried about how it would affect us. He went through a funk (and, chameleon that I am, I went through a funk too). I often say that it's only when he stopped drinking that I realized how much he'd needed it. To be honest, I was happy to stop drinking. I didn't really enjoy it. I don't sleep well when I drink, even if it's just a glass of wine. I feel sluggish the next day. It's just not fun for me. But I knew it was fun for him, and I knew it would take a while for our life together to feel normal again.

Now, booze-less, we feel normal again... until we leave the house. It's only when I go out in the world -- to parties, restaurants, wherever -- that I remember how prominent drinking is in social situations. When it's just Larry and me hanging out with each other, I don't really care or notice what other people are doing; but when we're around drinkers, I get that familiar "am I a weirdo?" self-doubt.

Yesterday, we went to my sister's house to celebrate her husband's birthday. She said it would be a "small gathering." My sister's definition of small turns out to be 20 people. This is another situation when I wonder how we are related. Anyway, within 30 minutes of entering the house, a drink was put in my hand (umbrella and all). I took a polite sip, then put it down. That's when I got the, "Oh, come on, Kim, have a drink!" It's like I time-traveled back to college, young adult insecurities and all.

We didn't stay long. I felt out of place. I get very easily overwhelmed by crowds (yes, 20 is a crowd to me), and don't feel like I can talk to any one person in-depth. That's when I become a flower on the wall (and Larry becomes a flower on the couch, watching the news on TV -- it was one of our infamous Los Angeles "Storm Watch" days). Everyone looked to be having fun, a kind of fun that isn't my idea of fun, but fun nonetheless. My dad, under the effects of a couple drinks, karate-chopped a corn on the cob, splitting it in half successfully. If we stayed longer, someone would have broken out into song and a grown man would have been shirtless. These are good times, I assure you, but I wanted to go home, put on my pajamas, watch "Zombieland," and eat an entire pizza. So that's what we did.

What role does drinking play in your life? Do you feel pressure in social situations?

***
Today's gratitude:

1. It's been a perfect Sunday. I cleaned, watched a movie ("Cold Souls" with Paul Giamatti), read a bit, and cuddled with the kitties.

2. I have my psychiatry appointment tomorrow. I'm looking forward to it, actually.

3. Sleep. I went to bed at 10pm and woke up at 9am. I guess I was tired.

4. I started organizing more stuff for our taxes, so I feel less on edge about that. I hate dealing with money.

5. My friend-in-France surprised me with the sweetest e-mail today, telling me she read my book while stuck indoors on a rainy day...and she loved it :) That's always good to hear.

Are we having fun yet?

I think my last post got more comments than any other post I've written. I guess we have a lot to say about food blogs. And the consensus seems to be this: While others' habits and definitions of "healthy" may be annoying or triggering, it really does not matter what someone else is eating (with a sub-consensus of: Spinach in a smoothie is disgusting). Whether or not someone's decision to eat 1/3 cup of oatmeal is restrictive is not my business. Whether or not someone's torrid love affair with antioxidants is really orthorexia is not my business (though I have the right to use the adjective "torrid"). I have a hard time trusting myself and separating myself from this idea of "an absolute right way." But, really, there is no right way that applies to everyone; there is only a right way that applies to me (or you).

So, yes, it doesn't matter what someone else is eating. Additionally, it doesn't matter what someone else is DOING.

Is it just me, or do bloggers seem to have the most exciting lives ever? Maybe it's just that people with exciting lives tend to blog. Whatever it is, in reading some blogs, I start to feel like the most boring human on Earth. Why is someone always going on a road trip? Or eating shellfish at 4-star restaurants? There seem to be all these courageous job-quitters, book-deal-getters, mountain-climbers, trip-goers, marathon/triathaloners, all-out explorers, kiss-and-tellers, social-gathering-havers. Is everyone entertaining people with wine and Jenga in their living rooms on a nightly basis? Am I missing something?

Of course, as I've said in many past posts, I am always wondering if the way I live is "right." Am I doing enough? Am I on my way to being a weird cat lady? Why is there no objective scale for this? People say that what matters is if I'm happy. To this I say, exasperated, Hello, how can I be happy when I'm constantly wondering if the way I'm living is making me happy?

(Do you see my neurosis? Is it clear? Is it any wonder that I like Woody Allen movies and that I'm seeing a psychiatrist on Monday? Okay then.)

The truth is that I find happiness in very small, mundane things. When I was first diagnosed with anorexia, I was told that I would "always see things small," and I think this is true. Just like I get depressed over minor details, I get happy over minor details. If I were to take pictures of my daily life excitements, blogger style, here are some things you would see:

• An empty laundry basket
• A book cover
• My iPod
• The list of saved shows in my DVR
• A couple red Netflix envelopes
• Cats, in various states of repose
• My favorite knit blanket that my mom's friend's mom gave us for our wedding
• My husband's side profile, with his curly hair at the bottom (he's growing it out in an attempt to look like Jesus or Charles Manson; I'm still not sure which)

Boring? Maybe. While I admire the adventurous spirit of many blogs I read/skim, I just don't live that way. Larry and I are very excited at home. Would you like me to post screenshots of the computer game we play? Our characters are frogs. Mine is named "Amphi."

Maybe "seeing things small" is not all bad. For example, today, my entire day was made by a little gesture from one of my bosses. As I said in my last post, he gave me this little yellow envelope with what appeared to be a hairy acorn inside. He told me to put it in hot water and see something beautiful. I feel like people hear directions like this at events like Burning Man. Anyway, I followed his instructions, and this


(hairy acorn, right? Apologies for bluriness. Photography is not one of my daily life excitements)

became this


It's a flower, in a wine glass. Yes, we have wine glasses at work. Several, in fact.

And now I'm home for calzones and NBC TV. That's a perfect day to me.

What are your daily excitements? Do you see things small, or big?
***
Today's gratitude:

1. Tomorrow is Friday! We're going to my sister's house on Saturday and I'm half-way looking forward to it, which is good, as I haven't been looking forward to many non-homebody activities lately. We may be having dinner with our boss and his wife on Sunday too. I can't decide if I'm anxious about this or not; depends when you ask me. Right now? No. Earlier today? Yes.

2. "Important Things with Demetri Martin" and "The Sarah Silverman Program" are back on Comedy Central! Tonight at 10pm :)

3. I have a potential side job that sounds fun. Something to do with editing baby product manuals.

4. After a weeks-long debate, I re-subscribed to Yoga Journal and Poets & Writers. I have such a hard time buying things fr myself, it's ridiculous.

5. Did I mention it's Friday?

Food Blogs: Let the Comparing Begin

When I posted my BBQ pizza recipe, I was surprised to see comments in reference to what I said about eating the whole thing.

The basis of most of my surprise was this thought: People read that far? I know I'm wordy sometimes, so thank you for sticking with me. In all seriousness though, I didn't realize so many of us were slightly perturbed by the projected norm of "1 or 2 slices with a side salad."

I read a fair number of food blogs. Or, I should say, I skim a fair number of food blogs. There was a time when I would drool over food pictures and commit recipes to memory, to try one day, "when I'm better." Now, I eat what I like and I don't pine for any particular food, so I don't get as much pleasure from food blogs. It's not so dangerous and thrilling and porn-like for me anymore. I'm not really a foodie, though I appreciate good food. I tend to form blogosphere attachments to the authors, and I skim the food blogs for updates on their lives, or for intriguing questions-of-the-day, that kind of thing.

Still, the fact that I felt the need to mention that I eat the whole BBQ pizza, none of this 1-or-2-slices-with-a-side-salad business, tells me that I still DO care what others eat. I mean, I notice. I admit that I feel a bit gluttonous when I read some food blogs. I'm not up on all the health kicks. I'm not familiar with the latest in antioxidants. I don't even like salads. Never have. When I was in treatment, we got three "exception" foods. Many listed eggs or cheese or something like that. I listed vegetables. I'm not kidding. Raw vegetables hold no appeal for me unless they are buried in pasta, on a pizza, or in some sort of bread product (like a wrap). I do like big salads where the lettuce is barely visible beneath piles of beans and avocado and cheese and dressing and stuff. But, I don't like side salads. When I see them, I think, "Why? Do I have to?" My inner 5-year-old comes out, and I have memories of my sister as an actual 5-year-old, sucking Newman's Own off her lettuce and setting the leaves aside. Maybe this is why I don't like salad. Anyway, here's some internal dialogue when I read food blogs:

You only use 1/3 cup of dry oatmeal for your breakfast?! Does that even fill a bowl? That might fill my cat's bowl. I use a whole cup (yes, dry)...with toppings and whatnot.

What the f&*k is Kombucha?

Chia seeds look like something I used to feed my parakeets.

I don't understand 60-calorie tortillas. Please explain how this is not cardboard.

When did hummus become salad dressing?

Ditto for salsa.

And hot sauce.

I have a question more philosophical than, "If a tree falls in the forest and nobody is there to hear it, does it make a sound?": Is a burger really a burger if you don't eat the bun?

I'm looking through my emails for the memo re: quinoa, and I don't see it. Help?

I guess I'm kind of a sarcastic bitch. I know everyone's needs are different...and maybe that's just it. I feel like food blogs imply that there is one way that we're all supposed to be. There are all these trends! Copious amounts of "overnight oatmeal " are usually involved (someone please clarify for me -- is this COLD oatmeal?!). There are all the flavored nut butters, multitudes of vegetables, minimal bread products, and various condiments for flavor. (Don't even get me started on the topic of exercise. I never felt like a sloth until I started reading "health" blogs). I think the fact that I'm so snarky (my mom's favorite word for me) in reference to some food/health blogs shows insecurity with my own habits. I still have a slight hang-up over how much I eat (and an even bigger hang-up over the fact that people who eat way less, and exercise way more, are said to be so "healthy"). Don't worry, food bloggers, it's not just you who make me uneasy. I used to get really pissed off when I finished all my dinner and Larry didn't. Ask him about this. I'm sure he has plenty of memories of me passive-aggressively slamming kitchen cabinets while doing the dishes and seeing that he left half of his bowl of tortellini while I licked up my marinara like a greedy puppy. Nobody is immune from my comparing, not even my poor husband.

The main problem here is not trusting myself and my choices. Why compare? I think I'm searching for the "right" way, the ultimate "best," though I'm realizing this is entirely arbitrary. Some people may really love side salads and a couple slices of pizza. That's cool. I like my whole pizza, no salad, and a snack a couple hours later. There really is no reason to compare what I eat -- or anything I do, really -- to someone else. I know what works for me, and that should be all that matters.

Do you read food/health blogs? If so, why? Do you get stuck in comparing? If you share daily meals on your own blog, how does it help you? I can see how it might be great for accountability. I started my blog with that in mind, but I lost interest with the food stuff.

***
Today's gratitude:

1. We had our "pet sitter consultation" last night and it went really well. I liked them and feel good about them caring for our kitties when we go on vacation :)

2. Earrings. I wore some today. I don't know why I forget to adorn myself so often.

3. "Hawaii" (the book, not the state in quotation marks for no reason). I finally started it. So far, they are talking about how the islands formed. Lots of lava references. Sacrifices have been made to a god. My mom assures me that there is a story involving people, and I'm grateful for this possibility.

4. The return of Demetri Martin and Sarah Silverman on Comedy Central this Thursday! I love these comedians.

5. Whatever is in this little yellow envelope one of my bosses gave me. I wish I had a camera with me. It's like a hairy acorn. He told me to put it in hot water and watch what forms. Then he said it's not edible. He's Russian. Maybe I'll explore this tomorrow.

Recipe of the week: BBQ tofu (or chicken) pizza

I like to consider myself a progressive female. However, nothing makes me happier than being housewife-ish. I love cooking for my husband and me. I very rarely feel burdened by the need to make us dinner, especially when I know he's going to enjoy it. And he always enjoys BBQ pizza night.

This is a pretty easy pizza to make, on the assumption that you have a Trader Joe's near you where you can get the ready-made pizza dough. If you do not have this, I know there are other refrigerated pizza doughs, but I have no idea what to do with them. I'm loyal to Trader Joe's, forever and always.

What you need for 2 pizzas:

-1 package of Trader Joe's pizza dough (I like the whole wheat one for this recipe)

-Extra firm tofu (I take a block and quarter it, then use however much tofu looks right. I know, I'm a horrible recipe-giver. Sorry)

-(For Larry, I unthaw a chicken breast to use in place of the tofu)

-BBQ sauce (whatever you like)

-Olive oil

-Red onion

-Tomato

-Mozzarella

-Cilantro

What you do:

-Set the oven for 450.

-Take out the pizza dough and let it sit near the oven. It's easier to work with if it's nice and warm-ish.

-I like to cut up the red onion and tomato at the beginning. I use about a half of a red onion, sliced into slivers. I cut about 10 tomato slices.

-Now, get going on cooking the tofu (and/or chicken). First, press your tofu with paper towels to get the water out. Then, cut your tofu into cubes. Do the same for the chicken, if you're using chicken. In a sauce pan, put a little olive oil (1-2 TBSP) and a couple tablespoons of BBQ sauce. Set to medium heat. Throw in the tofu (or chicken). I have to use two separate sauce pans for Larry and me, like this:

I'm a pretty good wife, cutting the veins out of his chicken chunks and giving myself extra dishes to wash, huh?

Ok, so your tofu/chicken is in the pan (s). While it's getting nice and cooked, face the dough. To make 2 pizzas, I cut the bag in half with scissors. You could throw one half in the freezer if you're only making one pizza. It freezes/unthaws well. Take your half and press it into a circle on a lightly oiled baking sheet. I don't have to use a roller. I just press it until it resembles a circle.

Now, stick the baking sheet in the oven for just THREE MINUTES. I realized that this is the best way to make sure the crust is cooked through at the end (I had a soggy problem for a while...that sounded like a Depends commercial...Moving on).

After three minutes, take out the baking sheet and put on your toppings: A swirl of BBQ sauce, red onion (as much as you want), tomato slices (4-5), cooked tofu/chicken, and mozzarella.

Stick it back in the oven for about 6-7 minutes.

Take out and top with cilantro.

Delicious!

I eat the whole thing, as does Larry. I realize most healthy food bloggers would have two slices with a side of salad, but I don't like salad, and I do like pizza, so there ya go.

Enjoy!

***

Today's gratitude:

1. I made an appointment with a psychiatrist for next Monday. I'm trying to just look at it as an "information session." If I think too far ahead and start calculating costs and considering side effects, I freak out.

2. I did not totally flip my shit over a snafu with my taxes; I only sort of flipped my shit. It'll get resolved, I think.

3. Anthony Bourdain in Prague. I love this guy.

4. Skype. This is gratitude in theory, as I have yet to successfully download Skype. I will though, I will. My friend is in France and I want to talk to her!

5. This blog: Beyond Blue. I think she has some wonderful things to say about dealing with depression and anxiety.