Long Time... No Post

Let's change the tune here for a moment. I've realized that I've made weight the focus of my life for far too long, and instead am shifting my focus back to... creative writing! This is the stuff that makes me happy.  I've been writing creatively most of my life, since early grade school when I wrote my first spooky story, "The Ghost at Gurnee Mills" (complete with the most amazing stick-figure illustrations you've ever seen).  The writing bug bit me at an early age when I had early hopes of becoming the next RL Stine (later shifted to Stephen King), and it's never fully gone away.  I've tried writing in all its capacities - blogging, creative, technical, journalism, gibberish (just cuz), you name it.  But none drew me in as much as creative writing, and at this juncture in my life, I am seeking first time publication and dabbling with self publication, as well.

I received my (first ever) rejection from a literary agent a couple months ago. It stung, dude. It was from my "dream agent" (sniffle), but at least I was offered a tiny glimmer of hope - a personalized rejection (exact words: "While I was intrigued by your premise, I felt the writing lacked the line-by-line tension necessary to keep me glued to every page." aka, Your idea is good, but your writing sucks - better luck next time!) It's my first ever rejection because it's the first ever query I'd sent, and I've been told that a personalized rejection is a good sign. I am keeping my fingers crossed that this bodes well for the future.

Having been rejected, I guess I've officially joined ranks with all other authors who sought first time publication and heard the word "NO" over and over. I've earned my merit badge, and I suppose I'll be earning many more.  My novel still isn't perfect. It's finished, and in fact, it is the FIRST full length novel I have ever finished in my life (patting myself on the back for finally finishing what I started - you lost, laziness and procrastination, you lost).

But the more I look at my story, the more I read it over, the more I obsess and revise, revise, revise like a mad scientist. Originally, my story was an adult novel. Now, I feel my story works much better as a YA novel, and I am in the process of updating. (Of course, if by some miracle an agent replied back with a "YES" regarding my original version, I'd revert back - but I highly doubt the plausibility of that scenario).

Along the journey to completing my novel and seeking first time publication, I've discovered a few realities about being a writer:

1) You have to develop a thick skin.
2) On the flip side, you have to also be receptive to criticism.
3) Some days you will feel like your writing rivals the greats (Shakespeare has nothing on me!), other days you'll feel like a fifth grader with a sharpie could write more convincingly
4) To continue that line of thought, some days you'll absolutely love your story, and other days you'll want to start a bonfire with it.
4) Writer's block is a bitch.
5) Love-hate relationship - some days you love writing, and other days you loathe it and have to drag yourself kicking and screaming to the keyboard.

Yesterday, I loved writing. Today, I hate it. Tomorrow, I'll love it again.

--J

Nifty Gadgets - Day 35

So, I got a few very neat little gadgets to help me along during the new year.  A "Gruve" - this nifty little sucker tells you exactly how many calories you're burning during the day, and even vibrates when it senses you've been inactive for too long.  I've worn the thing two days so far, and gotten a little "surprise" at least 3 or 4 times.  Alright, alright already, I'm moving! Yeeesh. Second nifty gadget? It's called a Quantum scale, and it's a scale that never shows you your weight - you heard me right.  I, like thousands of other women in the US, cringe to hear the number on the scale and have a tough time deciding to jump on a scale at the start of any diet.  This scale simply "silently" records your base weight, then tells you whether you've gained or lost any. For example, if I lost  5 lbs, the scale would simply say "-5".  How ingenious is that?  Furthermore, why couldn't I have thought up such an idea and now be well on my way to joining the multi-millionaire club? Could, shoulda, woulda.  But these Christmas gifts could prove very useful on my weight loss quest - and both are Dr Oz approved (booya!)

Learning to Let Go: Day 21

There is a fine line between boredom and hunger.  Such is a piece of wisdom truer than just about any proverb.

But, I digress.  Christmastime is nearly upon us - tis the season, baby.  I have locked, loaded, and braved the malls, valiantly finishing my shopping with time to spare (brief pause for a little well-deserved self-back patting).  More importantly than that, another year is nearly gone, another new start on the way, ye auld lang syne, resolutions lists being compiled, the whole nine.  This year isn't going to be any ordinary, mundane year in the book of Jess, I'm willing it to be not so.  Because you see, I've realized something else about myself on this new year cusp...

I find it very difficult to let go of things. 

There, I've gotten that off my chest - and, no, I'm not referring to grudges.  You see, I let go of a grudge almost TOO quickly, in fact.  For a large part of my life, to be frank, the term "doormat" would've been a suitable description for my inability to confront those who'd wronged me (I have since improved on a marginal scale - but again, I digress).
 
Ladies and gents, I am, quite simply, a sentimental fool.  To add supporting details to this statement, I have been a puddle of tears on and off for the past week.

Why? Well, for starters, I just finished watching Toy Story 3 (the ultimate tear jerker film with a central theme about letting go and moving on) - but furthermore, I'm an emotional mess because I've had to let go of things in my own life.

I bought a new car - a very cool car, a car I am proud to say I purchased all on my own with a reported 730 credit score to boot (woot woot).  But that didn't stop me from crying harder than a tween girl at a Justin Beiber concert when I had to trade in my old car.  Anyone else would've been merely elated about such a purchase, but me? NO, I hardly felt the $900 they gave me for the trade in was worth it.  Not worth it for THAT car because THAT car was my baby.  Heck, I even named the damn thing.  It was my first car, the car I'd been driving since the day I got my license.  That car made it through highschool, through college.  It transported my friends to and from wherever it was we decided to go on whatever particular night we happened to hang out.  I used to drive around in it listening to my favorite tunes, singing like an idiot at the top of my lungs, feeling freedom like no other for the first time in my teen life.... and that's when I realized, it's not the loss of the car that was making me depressed, it's what the car REPRESENTED for me.  It was the memories.

Another light bulb went off because, holy cow, could I possibly apply this to other apsects of my life, as well?

The answer was clear... Yes, yes I could.

As said previously, I find it incredibly difficult to let things go.  I save things most people consider trash just because "It might come in handy some day".  I see the good in whatever that thing is, and become blinded to everything else about it.  Forget the fact that the car never handled correctly and always had a faulty transmission - it was still MINE, it still reflected all those years of fond memories.  That's the only thing I could think about.  But, what else in my life had I been holding onto for all the wrong reasons?  Or perhaps not WHAT, but WHO.

There WAS something else, and it was a major something else.  It's about a boy, one that I allowed to have a hold on me, this guy that probably read like something directly out of a chapter of "He's Just Not that Into You".  I made the terrible mistake of letting this dude dictate my happiness.  I know, smooth move, sister.  But I couldn't help myself because when he called, I was elated.  I was beside myself.  I felt SPECIAL.  When he asked me out, I was over the moon.  When he ignored me (which turned out to be the majority of the time), I was devastated.  But he was INTO me, he'd told me himself! We got along great, we had the same taste in music, he made me laugh, he was GOOD LOOKING, and a good kisser to boot.  But, that's where the positives ceased.
 
Bottom line, he had more issues than Lindsey Lohan pre-rehab, and he only called me when it was convenient for HIM.  Yet it didn't stop me from grinning ear to ear like a fool every time he sent me a stupid little text.  This guy, as it turned out, represented so much more.  I mean, a guy that good looking who'd admitted to having a crush on ME? Like a lovesick puppy, I was willing to take a beating because, due to my own glaring self esteem issues, I felt I wasn't deserving.  I TOLD myself I was deserving, but the mirror told me another story no matter how I tried to convince myself otherwise.  I had to learn to listen to myself because the ultimate truth, is that I deserve BETTER.  I deserve to not function solely as a tool of convenience for another human being - it's a two way street, as they say.

It was time to cut him loose - and I finally took that leap.  I deleted his number.  The several years of back and forth, wishy-washy crap was over.  I let him go, I let the car go, heck I even let some of the old junk in my closet go, and I moved on - and happily so.

Now, where else can I cut out some negatives in my life?  Time to do a bit of de-friending on facebook, perhaps?  Honestly, why am I still keeping in touch with someone who suddenly decided to stop being my friend back in the 10th grade?  Just because we used to have a lot of fun, once upon a time?  My question remains - why keep waste in your life?  Besides, the memories are what stay with you - so what is the point of becoming so attached to an inanimate object, or a person whose importance in your life is long past his or her prime?

I have a knack for focusing only on the good and thinking - "Hey, things can be good again, I'm SURE of it", and I wait for years for something or someone to come around - and it sure as shit never does.  I call it the "Boomerang" effect - if you toss it and it comes right back, you catch it happily in your hand and move merrily on your way, fine - but if that boomerang exceeds its prescribed return time, then the bitch is broke, it's time to move on and realize it ain't ever comin back, K?  Why not cut the defects out of your life?  Suck out the proverbial poison.  If something doesn't continue to make you happy, why keep it around?

It's time to clean house.  Now I'm not saying I'm about to embark on a bridge burning rampage, but I'm simply taking a moment to sit back and evaluate who or what is adding value to my life, and who or what is simply making me miserable.  A little spring cleaning on the brink of a new year, never felt this good :)

Best wishes for a Happy Holiday, Merry Christmas, and a fresh new start for a fresh New Year,
-J

Being Thankful (and Falling off the Diet Wagon) - Day 4

I write this to you from a post-stuffing and pumpkin pie coma.  You know you've reached the estimated average Thanksgiving consumption of 4500 calories when your jeans literally become circulation and respiration inhibiting torture chambers.  But oh, that stuffing, that one side dish I look forward to year long, that decadent, carbohydrate-saturated lump of sheer awesomeness.  The wine, cider and sweet tea starts flowing, the food makes its way from oven to serving dish (plentiful enough to feed a small country), the customary family fights begin over cleanup and leftovers and before you know it, you've single-handedly consumed enough for a family of five.  Then regret sinks in when your over-stuffed (pun intended) stomach pains you to sit, stand or bend.  This, my friends, is what falling off the diet wagon feels like.  No, this is what diving HEAD FIRST off the diet wagon feels like.  However, Thanksgiving is the one day (well, maybe one of a handful of days) when we're entitled to total, guilt free self indulgence.  The family is together (however functional or dysfunctional that family may be), and we remember those things we're truly thankful for.... I know how cliche this sounds, but I truly do have a lot - a whole lot - to be thankful for.  I may not yet be (quite) the person I hope to be, but I am working on myself one day at a time and for the moment, I am simply thankful to BE me - to be a person surrounded by family and friends that love me, to be blessed with (relatively) good health, a decent-paying job, and a pretty nice roof over my head (if I do say so myself).  It's nearly impossible to look at all this supporting evidence and deny that I am, in fact, a very lucky girl, and thank God for that.

Now, time to go pass out.

Until next time,

-J

What Makes Me Happy - Day 2.2

Arrived back from a wonderful lunch of soup and salad.... alright, so the soup and salad wasn't so wonderful, but the company was indeed more fulfilling than the food.  There are few things more satisfying than good conversation with good friends... Which brings me to another point - there are many things in life much richer than a slice of cherry cheesecake.  The food brings momentary comfort and fulfillment - but it is indeed fleeting, and in fact, soon leads to regret, just like any temporary "fix" or "high".  For example, drinking yourself stupid can make you feel like a million bucks in the moment - maybe it pushes your money problems to the back of your mind, maybe it gives you the nerve to tell that guy you think he's hot, but it stops feeling fun when the room starts spinning and you wake up praying to the porcelain gods (with a helluva headache) the next day, and it sure as shit doesn't pay your bills or cause Mr. Right to magically appear and sweep you off your feet. 

So, sure, when I'm feeling down, that brownie seems like an insanely brilliant idea.  That brownie is easy.  It's tasty.  It's convenient.  It doesn't judge me.  But.... I judge me, and I know that that damned little square of ooey gooey chocolatey goodness isn't going to do anything for me in the long run but raise my blood sugar and make me want to do double sit-ups the next day.  Which got me to thinking.... what if, everytime I started feeling that creeping sensation of depression wash over me, I simply made a list of all the things that make me happy (other than food)?

This ended up being quite a project, because my list, it turns out, is quite long.  Oh, there's the usual, like spending time with family and friends, or hell even my pets.  Seeing a funny movie, going to a rock concert, listening to my favorite band, spending time outdoors and relaxing with a book when the weather's nice, cheering on the Bears during a good season, traveling somewhere exotic when the TSA's not trying to cop a feel, writing, drawing, watching the two guys from Supernatural mud wrestle.... OK, that last one may have slipped in from my subconscious, but you get the idea.  There are plenty of (healthy and much more fulfilling) alternatives to create a bit of happiness in your life - ones that don't come in the form of temporary highs that lead to regret.  Americans are a stressed out people - we work, work, work, and find it hard to come down.  As a result, we're often living our lives jumping from one high to another, in the ultimate pursuit of pleasure to distract us from the daily bump and grind, and we fail to take a moment, slow down and ask ourselves, "Is this REALLY making me happy?" or "What do I REALLY want to be doing right now?" Perhaps we need to ask ourselves these questions more often.  If your answer is, "Gee, I really, TRULY want that brownie right now," then go ahead, have that brownie.  But I'm finding that, more often than not, my answer suprises me because it's usually something along the lines of, "Well now that you mention it, I'm pretty full - but I DO feel like finishing the latest Hunger Games book."

BINGO.

-J

The Pain Begins - Day 2.1

Note to self: crunches are an energizing way to start the morning, unless you are dumb enough to do them on a tile floor.  Yeouch!! "Yoga mat" just became numero uno on my Christmas wish list.

365 Days to a New Me - Day 1

I am just your average 24 year old female college grad trying to make sense of life.  I am a daughter, a sister, a friend, a writer, and a significantly overweight individual.  How much? I won't say.  Heck, I don't even know myself, I don't step on a scale for fear that the little metal box will scream "Good God, get off me, lardo!!", the second I set foot on it.

OK, I'm exaggerating.  It's not THAT bad, I don't weigh a metric ton like Fat Bastard (though I often felt that way when I looked in the mirror), but I do have quite a bit of extra weight to lose.  And I am starting this blog on a good day, because today is Day 1 of my new diet - no, wait, improper phrasing.  Today is Day 1 of my new LIFESTYLE, Day 1 of the soon-to-emerge, shiny new ME.

I realize that my timing is horrible, what with it being 3 days before Thanksgiving and all.  However, in another manner of speaking, my timing is impeccable.  Because, you see, this new me comes in the wake of my EPIPHANY.

My epiphany, it turns out, was rather simple.  A no-brainer, really.  I had always viewed weightloss as a means to be HAPPY, not HEALTHY.  I viewed it as a way to attract the opposite sex, to make other girls quiver with envy over how I can squeeze my boney ass into a size 2, to not cringe every time someone mentioned the word "scale", to not avoid pictures like an anorexic avoids cake.  My epihpany came to me out of the blue.  It reminded me of a game of Tetris - I was confused, baffled, rejected by the opposite sex, feeling fat and ugly and lonely, unable to understand how I could get to feeling better.   My confidence was at an all time low.  My life didn't make any sense - it was a war zone, a pile of those ugly z-shaped Tetris figures that just kept piling one on top of the other, further burying me in a tangled, jumbled web of misery when suddenly, EUREKA! I turned one of those Z-shaped mo-fos the right way and suddenly everything FIT, everything made perfect sense.  20/20 vision baby, I saw the light! I was DEPRESSED.  Yes, depressed.  Which was very hard for me to admit because I always prided myself on being a jovial, positive person.  But the optimism only applied towards other people.  I could write a novel on why someone else was great, on why another person's life was all hearts and flowers and puppies, and yet I was down on myself 24/7.  In my own mind, I was never smart enough, pretty enough, hot enough, charismatic enough.  A metaphorical little grey cloud hung over my head just like the literal ones in those Zoloft commericals. 

And the key to all my problems? I had to learn to be happy with myself, just as I am.  NOW.  Not TOMORROW, not 20 POUNDS from now, not WHEN I find Mr. Right, but NOW.

So I proceeded to hurriedly make a list of all the things I like about myself.  I have a pretty face, I'm friendly, I have a good sense of humor, I'm kind, I have a high IQ, I have nice hair, and I like my freckles and I do have a lot to offer, damnit!  That was a start.  Baby steps. 

The next step? Renew my gym membership - Check.  Start the new diet, er, lifestyle.  Check...ish.

Day 1 is tough so far, I won't lie.  Don't get me wrong, I'm used to diets.  I've tried every diet under the sun.  You name it.  Atkins, South Beach, Nutrisystem, 14 day fasts that lasted exactly one day.  Some worked, others didn't.  But I gained the weight back every time.  I've always been an emotional eater, and as a result, was a chunky kid and turned out to be a chunky adult.  I inherited from my father's side poly-cystic ovarian syndrome, a slow thyroid, an Italian-family style addiction to food, and a high probability for getting diabetes.  At the same time, I also inherited from my father an unhealthy attitude towards weight and happiness and learned to confuse the two.  My father, the poster child for the old "pot and the kettle" adage, would remind me, after taking a swig of his beer and scratching the gut that went with it, how men aren't attracted to "fat girls".  My father's version of "I'm proud of you" came in the form of, "When I was doing laundry, I noticed you're down a pants size.  Good job - now go down 2 more, fatass".  His comments depressed me.  The more I became depressed, the more I ate.  The more I ate, the more depressed I became.  That stupid old vicious cycle.

So why, you might ask, is this diet attempt any different from the myriad of previous failed attempts? Simply, because this time I've learned to stand on my own two feet and be happy with the person I am now, no more stupid depression clawing at my insides (and when it does, I tell it, in a loud, firm voice, to bugger the Hell off).  I'm fed up, and determined to become healthier.  I don't want diabetes like my grandfather.  No gangrene for me, no sir.  This time, it's going to stick.  I used to love that old phrase that went, "Inside me lives a skinny girl screaming to get out, but I can usually shut the bitch up with cookies".  Well this time, I'm gonna feed the bitch egg beaters and let her scream all she wants.  In fact, the louder the better.  And no quick fix, can't-stick-to-em fad diets this time.  It's good old calories in versus calories out, slightly higher on the protein, slightly lower on the carbs, and exercise, exercise, exercise.  I had a graperuit, green tea, and a small (serving size) bowl of mini wheats this morning, and my grumbling stomach is currently proving to be the bane of my existence.  My co-worker came by with marshmellow treats.  I didn't tell him I was ready to gnaw off my own arm, but instead politely declined.  I made it through to lunch, opted for a healthy pita sans (gasp) my favorite topping in the world wide world - CHEESE, oh beloved cheese, how I miss thee already.  But it's will power baby, sheer will power.

Step 1, indeed.

I'm turning the quarter century mark soon (in 3.5 months, to be exact), and I want to hit my goal weight before I turn the qaurter century mark plus one.  And it's not because I want to run off and marry Lee DeWyze.  Or because I want to look skeletal upon my return trip to my hometown Chicago (Lord knows I'll never be a size 2 anyway, this body ain't built for that), or so I can stick it to the skinny chicks in my office by showing up to a function in the same dress and looking better in it than them, or even so I can look smokin hot when I get that novel published and go on that book tour around the world (a girl can dream, can't she?).... rather, it's because I want to be healthy, and I want to have the glowing confidence that comes from obtaining and maintaining a healthy body (and body image).

Today is Day 1, friends.  And so far, it feels pretty damn good.

Until next time....

-J