i believe in miracles

I don't really distinguish between miracles and science. To me, science (especially medical science) is miraculous. The more i learn about science, the more i appreciate God's sense of design, His plans and attention to detail, His desire for us to connect to one another.

Take body donations, for example. We can donate so many different body parts after we die: organs, skin, even corneas. While alive, we can donate blood, platelets, plasma, bone marrow, stem cells, and even kidneys. Think about it: we all get two kidneys at birth, but we really only need one to survive. We get a spare, so that we can give one away if someone needs a new kidney.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately, because nearly seven years ago, a group called Be The Match visited my campus. I was a college sophomore at the time, and had given blood a handful of times before. My blood giving was sometimes interrupted by my tattoos, but i gave whenever i could. But this was something entirely new.

Be The Match was asking people to join the national donor registry. They collect DNA samples to simplify the search process when someone needs bone marrow. You fill out a form, swab your cheek, and they email you a few times a year to keep you in the loop about what the organization is up to. I signed up immediately. I heard from them about a possible donation once, but mostly they left me alone.

Until about a week before my birthday.

A 39 year old man with leukemia was a match for my DNA. They can't and didn't tell me anything else about him. I told them i was still interested in donating, and we started the process. So far, i've signed a consent form and reviewed my medical history over the phone. I'm scheduled for a physical at the beginning of January, and will begin injections of filgrastim to increase the stem cells in my blood. The only real side effect to this is flu-like aches. After five days of injections, i'll be hooked up to two needles. One will draw stem cell-y blood and pass it into a machine which will filter out the stem cells, and the other will put the blood back. I've been told to expect slight soreness and extreme exhaustion for a day or two following this procedure.

After that, it's all over. Within a week, i'll be back to normal. I may or may not be asked to donate again.

I don't ever plan to have kids. I like kids a lot, especially up to the age of about four, but i don't have any desire or need to have them myself. Like when you see someone wearing a cute outfit that looks great on them but isn't at all your style: i'm happy for you that you have a baby and that you are happy with your life choices, but i'm all set over here, thanks.

But this feels a little like what i imagine it feels like to find out you are going to have a baby. To realize that your body has this amazing potential to create and sustain life; to understand that your body is going to give life to another person; to know that you will give up some measure of comfort and control, will experience pain, will give up time for doctor's visits and injections and long phone calls about your medical history; and to know that at the end of all of it, someone will receive life because of your sacrifice, is almost unbearably awesome. I am nervous about the pain. I am nervous about the stress. I am nervous about the time commitment. I am beyond thrilled to be able to do this.

I can't stop telling people about it. I realize that it's a little inelegant to do so, that it's like bragging about how charitable i am, but i can't help it. I am so in awe of the science involved (i'm getting five injections to MAKE MORE STEM CELLS! and then i'm GIVING STEM CELLS TO A PERSON SO THEY CAN LIVE!), and so thrilled to discover the power and potential of my own body. I am so glad to be able to help someone who needs it. I want so badly for more people to donate whatever body parts they can, whenever they are asked to do so, because why wouldn't you?! Who doesn't want to witness a miracle? Who doesn't want to BE a miracle?

It's a birthday miracle for me, and a Christmas miracle for this man and his family. It's science and research and medicine and technology. It's prayer and a willingness to sacrifice and serve. It's biology and chemistry. It's communication and contact. It's cotton swabs and needles.

We are all stardust. We are all stem cells.

So there's a thing that exists that is bad and scary. Well. There are a lot of those things, but only one that i'm talking about right now.

That thing is "pro ana" culture. "Ana" is short for "anorexic", and "pro" means exactly what you think it does.

There are people who believe that anorexia, bulimia, and other eating disorders, are perfectly fine and valid and healthy ways to live. In fact, at the very far end of the spectrum, there are people who speak directly to "Ana". You could say they worship her. They ask her for the strength of will and body to deny themselves food. They believe that they have been chosen for something special. And they look down on those who try to emulate them, calling them "wannarexics".

In middle school, and in high school, and in college, and this week, i am and have been a wannarexic.

I lack the willpower and physical strength to deny myself food entirely. If i skip a meal and do not snack, i am shaking and nauseous and dizzy and seeing spots by the time the next meal rolls around. One meal is all it takes, and i'm falling apart at the seams.

I used to be angry with myself for this. I used to be angry that i couldn't hold out for more than one meal a day, angry that i could rarely go more than a few days in a row before i stopped skipping meals and ate regularly, angry that i couldn't just stop. Stop everything. Stop being fat, stop being ugly, stop being awkward, stop feeling uncomfortable in my skin, stop feeling uncomfortable in my head, stop saying and doing embarrassing things, stop being lonely, stop being afraid, stop being sad, stop being numb, stop being.

When i got a little older and a little wiser and learned a little more about myself and nutrition and mental health, i developed a healthy fear of that anger. I figured out better, healthier habits that would actually result in weight loss without making me physically ill. I climbed mountains, i swam oceans, i lost the "freshman 15", i gained the sophomore/junior 20ish, i lost the senior year haven't-even-been-weighed-in-years-but-all-my-pants-keep-falling-down, put on the real job with an actual paycheck and car now-i-can-afford-food-and-don't-have-to-walk-two-miles-for-it. And none of it bothered me that much. I would like, even now, to jiggle a little less. I would like to feel healthier and happier in my skin. But i would also like to eat all of the chocolate cream pie right now please, thankyouverymuch, and then you can bring me the fresh bread with butter and the beer and the buffalo chicken waffle fries with extra cheese and then maybe a bowl of whipped cream. To dip my peanut butter cups in.

Anyway. I'm mostly in a much better place, and things were going well for a while, and then i lost my gym momentum and while the ten pounds i lost in the first quarter of the year have stayed off, none of their friends have joined them.

And lately i've been depressed and anxious, what with all the uncertainty about jobs and student loans and will i even be able to afford groceries this winter and oh my God what if something happens to my car and everyone in my family keeps getting rushed to the emergency room and my boyfriend and i keep having uncomfortable conversations and i can't sleep and i really wish my thighs were a little slimmer, a little firmer. I wish my stomach was flatter. I wish i didn't have the tiniest shadow of a double chin. Because somehow, if i could magically become super hot and fit overnight, that would obviously fix all of my terrifying life problems.

And then i start to feel out of control.

And then i start to wish that i was chosen. I start to be angry at myself for my lack of control, for eating more food when i really wasn't hungry (even though the "more food" was fresh veggies, or raw almonds with dried fruit, or chicken lettuce wraps). I'm angry about my lack of motivation to go to the gym. I'm angry at my apathy. I'm angry at my depression. I'm angry at my body. I'm angry at Ana.

This week, i have honestly and legitimately had a lot of work to do, and it's been hard to go home for lunch. And every day, there's been some fresh disaster on top of the huge piles of work that i didn't get a chance to finish the day before. And ordering out is, unfortunately, not in my budget right now. So i really don't have a lot of options.

But i could still leave my desk and go eat lunch. Nothing i do at my job is so urgent, so crucial, that delaying it for an hour would spell the downfall of Western civilization. It wouldn't even spell the downfall of my job. And i could still pack myself a lunch to eat at my desk, knowing how hard it will be to get away and go home. I don't have a lot of options, but "not a lot" is more than "none".

And yet.

I keep skipping lunch. I skip lunch and i eat a spoonful of peanut butter at my desk, and then i go home and eat a snack and get busy until it's too late to eat a full meal, so then i go to sleep hungry. And then i wake up hungry and don't have anything fast and easy, so i eat a spoonful of peanut butter at my desk, or some almonds and dried cherries, and i drink a lot of water and tea and pretend that the hunger pangs are dehydration.

I don't have anything clever to say about any of this. I don't have any hope to offer. I don't have a light at the end of the tunnel. But it is two o'clock now and i am heading home for lunch.

i'm too sleepy to think of a title

1. "For a long time, I've puzzled over those two lines from that bikini post that everyone's been talking about. Is it really that simple? I just . . . save some extra cash from baby-sitting? Are we living in the adult world? With adult women who pay bills and work jobs and have to feed themselves and pay back student loans?

'It's just a little extra cash' has me scratching my head. If there's anything that solidifies modesty culture as the domain of the suburban, middle class, white, evangelical church, it's this 'it's just a little extra cash' attitude."

This one hit me hard. First of all, i'm a "curvy" (fat) double D. I have big, full breasts and round hips and my gay boyfriend recently told me that my ass was amazing. I have a lot of skin to cover up, is what i'm saying. I have hundreds of camisoles and tank tops, because if i don't layer them under my shirts and dresses, i show too much cleavage and/or midriff. I have tights and leggings to cover my legs under skirts. I wear the longer-cut shorts from Old Navy to keep my thighs in check. I spend a lot of money on clothes, and on modesty clothes (like tank tops and leggings), and i have a whole complicated system for figuring out what i can wear to work, vs. what i can wear to church, vs. what i can wear on a date, vs. what i can wear at my boyfriend's parents' house, etc. It's a lot of time, and a lot of money, and a lot of fabric. Packing for a weekend is an ordeal. Packing for longer than that requires medication (which i can't afford, so i buy  $7 bottle of chocolate flavored wine and call it a day). So now we're talking extra baggage fees, carrying heavy suitcases on the train, buying a larger suitcase in the first place, and so forth. And that's just packing. I haven't even touched on clothing storage in my own house. In other words, it's not just a little extra cash to buy the more modest bathing suit. It's a little more cash for every garment you ever own, plus extra cash to find places to put all of those garments.

Second, a little more cash for me right now is the difference between eating fresh veggies, pasta, chicken, fruit, yogurt, oatmeal, salmon, eggs, mushrooms, salads, and drinking water and coffee (and yes, the occasional $7 bottle of chocolate flavored wine) for three healthy, satisfying meals a day, and eating rice and beans twice a day. Notice i'm not talking about preparing gourmet feasts of veal steak and oysters and toasted Brie and ordering sushi and pizza every weekend. I'm talking about eating real, healthy food that i prepare myself. I've lived on rice and beans before. I'm not eager to go back to that. It's only a couple of extra dollars for this one bathing suit, and only a couple of extra dollars per tank top to layer under your clothes, and only a couple of extra dollars per cardigan to layer over them, and only a couple of extra dollars for the longer shorts, and then suddenly your bank account has nine dollars and seventy-three cents left in it and you haven't bought groceries yet. I have lived (and am living) this reality. Modesty is sometimes purchased at the expense of physical health.

2. "Figuring out my stance on homosexuality felt like a life and death decision. When I described the intensity of my concern to other Christians, most would say, "but, why? You don't even have a gay family member." This response was very confusing to me. Isn't the whole point of Christianity that we are all family? . . .

And while we're at it . . . that still, small voice suggests to me often that He'd appreciate if Christians picked up a couple more issues other than homosexuality and abortion to address. You know, maybe a couple He actually mentioned . . . like care for the poor and sick and lonely and hungry and imprisoned and widowed and orphaned and recently immigrated. Maybe we should all be required to pick an issue that requires US to change and not OTHERS to change. I think that'd be good."

3. Shame has no place in the Kingdom of Heaven. Let's not get into the habit now.

4. Yup, this is pretty much Jesus.

The next book i'm tackling is "The Year of Living Biblically", by A. J. Jacobs. A.J. is an extremely engaging writer, and his neuroses and anxieties are all too familiar. While this isn't a theological treatise or a spiritual reflection or anything like that, i'm still excited to add it to my spiritual reading list. After all, some of the books that have provided me with my greatest spiritual awakenings have been fiction, or poetry, or decidedly un-religious. God meets us where we are. And after spending the last couple of years frustrated and baffled by the large pockets of Christianity that insist on a "literal interpretation" and "straight reading" of the Bible, it's refreshing to see someone do exactly that. A.J.'s approach highlights some of the conflicts and difficulties (and absurdities) of this kind of scriptural understanding.

For example, when discussing the struggles that he and his wife had to conceive, he cites the command to "be fruitful and multiply". It's the first thing God tells Adam to do, the first commandment in the Bible.

"Now, if I were taking the Bible absolutely literally, I could be "fruitful" by loading up on peaches at Whole Foods Market and "multiply" by helping my niece with her algebra homework. I could scratch this commandment off my list in twenty minutes flat.
"This hammers home a simple but profound lesson: When it comes to the Bible, there is always -- but always -- some level of interpretation, even on the most seemingly basic rules."

There are a couple of things i want to point out here: first, because the phrase "be fruitful and multiply" is so old, and because the concept of fruitfulness has so long been tied to human fertility, and because the concept of increasing your family has been so important to so many cultures for so long, we forget that this is actually a metaphor. It's easy to see those words and read their meaning and forget that we are interpreting, but we absolutely are. It is not possible for a human being to literally be fruitful, although multiplication is certainly attainable.

Second, i'm neither a history buff nor a math whiz, so i may be wrong here, but i'm not sure that multiplication was invented when God said that. I'm not even sure it was invented whenever that passage was written. I think that the original word is probably more like "increase" than "multiply", which means that even if A.J. had done a few quick sums, he would still have failed at a perfect literal following of the text, because of a translation error. The Bible is full (like, bursting and exploding at the seams full) of translation errors and oddities, and probably tons of transcription errors that we don't even know about. What is the virtue of following the Bible literally if the words are not correct? Do you get points just for trying? And if so, why is it not okay to try to interpret the text? Do you not get points for trying to get closer to the meaning that the author actually intended?

A.J. also had some really great insights about prayer. This is something i've been struggling with a lot lately: why do we pray? How do we pray? When do we pray? What do we pray about? I won't ramble all of my thoughts here now, but i will leave you with A.J.'s:

"In Deuteronomy, the Bible says that we should thank the Lord when we've eaten our fill -- grace after meals, it's called . . .
"I'd like to thank God for the land that he provided so that this food might be grown . . .
"I'd like to thank the farmer who grew the chickpeas for this hummus. And the workers who picked the chickpeas. And the truckers who drove them to the store. And the old Italian lady who sold the hummus to me at Zingone's deli and told me 'Lots of love.' Thank you . . .
The prayers are helpful. They remind me that the food didn't spontaneously generate in my fridge. They make me feel more connected, more grateful, more aware of my place in this complicated hummus cycle. They remind me to taste the hummus instead of shoveling it into my maw like it's a nutrition pill. And they remind me that I'm lucky to have food at all. Basically, they help me get outside of my self-obsessed cranium."

I've been doing a lot of reading and writing and thinking lately (really, for most of my life, if i'm being honest) about food and food ethics and how i can consume more ethically and what is healthy for my body and what is healthy for my mind and heart and spirit and what is healthy for the bodies of others. So connecting that whole food conundrum to spirituality, and particularly to the prayer conundrum, was really eye-opening.

Ten points if you get that reference.

1. I also hate mayonnaise, and i can't wait to make this potato salad! (Side note: i have a bizarre desire to make my own mayonnaise some day. I don't understand why. Though i've been told that comparing homemade mayo to store bought is like comparing homemade chocolate chip cookies from scratch to stale sugar-free store-brand chocolate-flavored chip cookies.)

2. I waffle a little with Sarah Bessey. She has amazing stories to tell, and you can't deny her talent, her voice. But sometimes she's a little too sappy and feelings-y for me. Just personal taste.

Other times, however, that sappy feelings-y nonsense taps deep into something unexpected, and i find myself sitting at my desk, holding back tears. This is one of those.

"What is there to say? What can we do but huddle into rows of chairs, and clutch our hearts, and sob into our shredded balled-up tissues? What can we do but stand around and drink juice, red-eyed and hicupping? We'll sign up for a few meals when what we really want to do is lay out on the floor, beside you, and cry until we're empty because what else? There aren't old stories to tell, no laughter breaking through the sorrow. This is lamentation. I am fumbling for hope. Is there really comfort in the idea of a baby in the arms of Jesus when all we want is for that baby to be in the arms of his broken mama? . . .

God has asked too much of us."

3. So i've been on this whole get healthy kick this year, right? I want to be less jiggly, and have more energy, and generally feel happier and healthier in my skin, right? And then i read this article on Cracked, and i remember that terrible quote (i think from Kate Moss?): Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels. And i think, skinny can't possibly feel good enough to make any of that go down easily. Also, bacon. It's just not worth it.

4. I'm a white woman, so i can't really comment meaningfully on the Black Male Code, but i thought that this was a fascinating read. And, based on stories i've read and people i've talked to, this sounds like depressingly good advice.

"I thought my son would be much older before I had to tell him about the Black Male Code. He's only 12, still sleeping with stuffed animals, still afraid of the dark. But after the Trayvon Martin tragedy, I needed to explain to my child that soon people might be afraid of him.

I was far from alone in laying out these instructions. Across the country this week, parents were talking to their children, especially their black sons, about the Code. It's a talk the black community has passed down for generations, an evolving oral tradition from the days when an errant remark could easily cost black people their job, their freedom, or sometimes their life."

5. Patton Oswalt is freaking amazing. I've been thinking about this letter all weekend and will likely continue to ponder it for a long time.

6. Okay, seriously, Hayley Campbell? I love her.

"I think Pumping Iron -- and I don't think I'm alone here -- is one of the greatest films you can watch in nine parts on YouTube. For starters there's Arnold Schwarzenegger, all smiles and absurd accent, being genuinely charming but mostly weird in tiny underpants."

Humorous writing, just like all other forms of artistic expression, is partly art and partly science. The science part -- knowing how to set up a joke, knowing how to structure the punch line, knowing what should follow the punch line? Hayley has a Ph.D. in that science. She also has the raw talent to pull of the "art" part. And she apparently lives a life of absurdity and adventure (and normal, banal things like going to the gym) which is rife with material. I seriously love her. Hard.

Grrrr. Arrrrgh.

Guys. Let's talk about avocados for a minute.

Now, i am not one to turn up my nose at a perfectly ripe avocado. It is, after all, perfectly ripe. It is tender and buttery and rich and you half expect it to melt in your mouth. I like perfectly ripe avocados mashed into guacamole, or sliced on top of burgers, or simply dipped into sea salt and eaten alone. I even like avocado ice cream. Savory, sweet, or naked, a perfectly ripe avocado is pretty irresistible.

But sometimes, what i really want is a slightly under-ripe avocado. (DO NOT eat an over-ripe avocado. They taste like over-ripe bananas. Bad idea.) Slightly under-ripe avocados remind you they are, in fact, a fruit. They are tender yet firm, like a peach, and so sweet and mild in flavor. You can taste the richness ahead, but it's still soft and delicate.

Let's talk about how to eat that slightly under-ripe avocado. And let's do so while ignoring the mess on my bed. (Except for Volume Two of Buffy: Season Eight. Yeah, that's a yellow sale sticker you see on Faith's perfectly tousled hair. Six bucks, whatwhat?! Shout out to New England Comics!)

What you see here is a masterpiece of a meal. I bought this five-grain blend at Marshalls (quinoa, brown rice, red lentils, two other things, who cares), and cooked it slow and gentle, risotto-style, and then melted in some Parmesan. I did that a few days ago and had leftovers in the fridge, so a healthy serving of cold grains were the first thing in my bowl. Next was falafel. You can just see the yellow grittiness of it, above the blurry rainbow grains and below the brilliant scarlet mess of gazpacho. Yes, gazpacho. Homemade. Garlicky and vinegary and chock full of veggies. (Actually, side note: SO MANY of the things that i usually think of as vegetables are really fruits. Like avocados. And tomatoes. And peppers. So this dinner is really fruit soup with fruit slices and fruit patties and grain.)

So. Yes. Gazpacho. I've made this every summer for the past three years. My recipe is based on one from the "Quick and Easy Seven Dollar Meals" cookbook, but it's a little different every time i make it. I'm pretty happy with this batch, though. I'm especially happy with the way that it melts into the falafel and the grains and the whole thing makes a heavy, intensely flavorful stew. Thick enough to eat with a fork, and all sloppy and healthy and colorful, and topped off with those sweet, firm, buttery avocados.

Eat while watching Buffy: Season Three. And then follow immediately with an entire pint of Ben and Jerry's Coffee Heath Bar Crunch ice cream.

[searching for a synonym for "fat" that doesn't sound like a synonym for "fat"]

So, yeah. I am "full figured". I am "curvy". I am "voluptuous".

I have big breasts and full hips and thick thighs and a little extra belly fat that made my preschool-aged cousin ask if i was having a baby.

For most of my life, i have fought the word "fat".

Because fat is unhealthy. Fat is unattractive. Fat is gross.

Except that it's not. And i'm not sure when or how or why we came to believe that it was, or how this belief has been sustained for so long. What about Melissa McCarthy? What about Queen Latifah? What about Oprah? What about Christina Hendricks? What about the fact that, even among these women (called "plus-size" and "curvy" and "full-figured" every time they are mentioned), there are few who are actually all that above-average in their weight? Christina Hendricks has larger breasts and smaller waist and hips than me. She's also slightly shorter, and almost certainly weighs less. (Also, i'm about as straight as it's possible for a lady to be, but Christina Hendricks makes me awfully tingly. Hubba hubba, is what i'm saying.) Queen Latifah and Oprah fluctuate in their weight all the time (because they're, you know, human beings), but Queen Latifah still got to be a CoverGirl.

For most of my life, i have been "fat".

There was a while there when i was a rail-thin little kid, but as i hit puberty and began to feel awkward and uncomfortable in my skin, and as my shape began to change and shift and expand, i put on some extra weight. And since then, i've been on a roller coaster that is familiar to pretty much every female person in the world, and plenty of male persons too. I've tried dieting. I've tried not eating. I've tried exercising. I've tried cutting out meat. I've tried counting calories. And for a while, everything is going great, and then i feel good and i relax and it all comes back and then i hate myself.

I wore hand-me-downs for a long time. When i was in high school and had my first job, i bought myself a pair of jeans. They were daring: low-slung waist, flared leg openings, and fitted smoothly to my thighs and ass (which i was just brave enough to call "butt" in my head, and nowhere near brave enough to even mention to my mom). They were a size 13.

I'm 23 now, and it should be a point of pride to me that i can still fit into a size 13 pair of jeans, except that once again, my body has changed.

There was one change, near the beginning of college, where the jeans i had owned before still fit flawlessly but the new jeans i tried on in stores were way too snug. And this was partly, i think, because fashions had changed since i'd last bought jeans, and they were designed to be tighter than ever, and also they were new and hadn't been broken in yet. But also, i had changed and hadn't noticed it, and this was the beginning of the end.

Since then, i've lost and gained weight over and over every year. And while i can fit into size 13 jeans, i have had to accept that they give me a muffin-top. Regardless of how thin or fat or straight-figured or curvy you are, no one looks good in a muffin-top.

I started noticing this change when i started buying "professional" clothes. Because "professional" clothes, you know, generally fit higher on the waist than casual ones. So when you're wearing low-rise stretch jeans that are really too small for you, you can scrunch them a little lower and button them under your pregnant-like belly and ignore everything until your little cousin starts asking awkward questions. But when you're wearing tweedy dress pants, or a stylish new pencil skirt, it's a lot harder to ignore the fact that you can't even drag the garment over your oh-so-juicy ass, let alone zip it up.

I've tried Spanx. I've tried Spanx with control-top pantyhose. I've tried Spanx with control-top pantyhose and not eating very much. The conclusion was inescapable, and yet i kept searching for a way out.

Recently, i bought a new pair of jeans. I went to Marshalls and tried on lots and lots of pairs. I finally found one by a brand i hadn't heard of (Denizen, by Levi), and was amazed at the comfort and perfection of their fit. I could easily slide into them! I could easily zip them! They didn't give me a muffin top! "It must be this new brand!" i thought. "They must use a different fabric, a more honest measurement, a more attractive cut!"

It wasn't until i got home that i saw the tag: 18. They had been hung on the wrong hanger, sorted into the wrong section. They were not 13/14. They were not even 15/16. These perfectly fitting jeans were an 18.

I almost cried. And i know how shallow and silly and vain and self-involved that is, but if you're a woman i think you understand my deep and visceral and immediate feeling of shame and disgust and disappointment. I wasn't supposed to be an 18. I'm supposed to be a 14 at the most. Buying those size 18 jeans felt like a disgusting failure, like an alcoholic or drug addict falling off of the wagon. I wasn't supposed to be like this. I was supposed to be better than this.

Luckily, this moment came in conjunction with me discovering lots of hilarious and smart and incisive and empowering blogs where all kinds of "women's issues" were discussed. Yes, i've been reading about feminism, and i'm going to start linking to some of these amazing women soon, never fear. And here's the thing: fat is not automatically bad. I know we all think it is, but it's not. You know what is bad? Hating your body. Being disgusted by yourself. Crying because you're ashamed of the size of the jeans that fit you really well and look amazing on you.

Allow me to repeat and elaborate on that point: the jeans i was wearing before made me look five months pregnant. I only had about three shirts i could wear with my old jeans that minimized and hid my protruding belly; all the other ones were too tight and only exacerbated the problem. I was wearing ill-fitting clothes, and they looked bad on me. I found clothes that fit, and nearly cried from the shame of it. It wasn't that i woke up one day and discovered that i had gone up two sizes. I had been an 18 for a few years. I had just continued to buy clothes that were too small. I was crying because i had discovered that, for at least three years now, i had been two sizes larger than i thought. Again: this situation had been going on for a long time! It wasn't sudden and shouldn't have been all that surprising! Also, it was only two sizes, not ten! I'm still pretty healthy, still have a well-defined waist and firm (if meaty) thighs, still feel pretty in jeans and dresses and even naked. I feel exactly the same as i always did. I look different, but mostly because i'm older and i got my hair cut and sometimes i wear eyeliner and i have tattoos and, yeah, my curves are more billowy than they were a few years ago.

I'm fat, basically. I have more fat on my body than i need to have to survive. I mean, i do live in New England, but i'm not a polar bear or a whale or something. I don't need insulation from the frigid temperatures. I have a space heater and a cat. I will survive. But i'm also not a marathon runner or a body builder or something else where i need to trim my body fat down to zero. I'm allowed to have full, rich curves. I'm allowed to jiggle a little when i walk.

I could be healthier than i am, and i'd like to be. I could be less jiggly than i am, and i'd like to be. I could trim myself back down to a size 13, and i'd like to do that, but mostly because i don't want to buy a whole new wardrobe, because i'm lazy and broke. I probably will lose a lot of weight this fall and winter, when i am student teaching and therefore a) can't afford lots of fancy food and snacks and will eat lots of beans and rice and tofu and drink water and tea and b) will spend lots more time walking around and lots less time sitting. I'm losing weight now, as i work out semi-regularly and am more aware of what i eat. But really, truly, in my heart-of-hearts, i don't care that much about being thin. Which is good, because i have a naturally large and full frame and want to have kids some day, so without drastic surgery including things like bone-shaving (is that really a thing? i've always been too afraid to find out), i'll never be what the world calls "thin". 

But i have curves that make women jealous and men drool, and i have to admit that i like them, too. I like the fullness of my breasts, even though they constantly get in my way. I like the curves of my ass, even though it's hard to zip into a pencil skirt. I like my heavy thighs, even though they rub together when i walk, ensuring that my jeans always wear out in the crotch. I like my roundness and fullness and ripeness. I like the way my body looks, naked or clothed. I like the way it feels to be in my skin. I like the way it feels when my boyfriend looks at my body, or runs his hands over it, or talks about how much he loves it. And if looking and feeling the way that i do means that i have to wear a size 18, then that's what i'll do. After all, there are worse things in the world than being incredibly sexy. The only thing i have to get over now is the word "fat". But i'm a writer. I'll find a way to make it work.

Lady Problems

So i have a list for this year. I have a list of "responsible adult get my life started" things that i need to do in order to feel like a responsible adult and to start living the life i want to have. They range from the simple and obvious (change my official residence from Maryland to Massachusetts) to the slightly more complex but completely necessary (find some doctors that accept out-of-state insurance and start scheduling check-ups for the first time since 2009) to the specific and expensive (register to take teaching licensure exams).

These items have been on my to-do list since graduating from college in May 2011. Some of them have been postponed because i couldn't afford to do them, some because they were important but not urgent, and some because i forgot. But it's getting more and more important that i figure this shit out. For one thing, i can't do my student teaching until i take and pass my exams, and i can't graduate until i do my student teaching, and i can't get a teaching job and leave my current job until i graduate. So i kinda need to take those exams. And lately i've been having some weird circulation issues that may or may not be indicative of something more serious, so i should probably get some check-ups and whatnot.

Anyway. Tomorrow, i am taking some personal time in the morning to visit the RMV and become a Massachusetts resident. I'm excited -- i like living in Massachusetts, and i've known for about five years now that this day would come eventually, and having that Massachusetts ID will make it a lot easier to get alcohol, but i am NOT enthusiastic about spending time in the RMV (or the DMV, or the MVA, if you live in other parts of the country. Whatever you call it, i think we can all agree that it sucks). But i'll bring a book, and by the time i leave that will be one more thing crossed off of my list. Next item: get my cat fixed. And then get back on birth control.

New Year, New Obsession

I mentioned before that i'm trying to be healthier. Let's talk about how that's going.

I have been faithfully going to the gym three times a week for an hour each time for the last week and a half, except for one time when i gave up after forty minutes because the elliptical was hard to use. Don't laugh. It's tough to find your rhythm at first. Plus my knee was really hurting and i wanted to cry. But i still made it through forty minutes, so suck it.

Originally, i was planning to switch between the treadmill and the elliptical. The elliptical is better for my knees, because it's a lower-impact machine, but for that same reason it's not as good for muscle tone and bone strength. When you're forcing your bones and muscles to propel you forward and hold you upright, they get better at doing it, and then when you're old you won't have to worry so much about things like osteoporosis or becoming feeble. But i've noticed that i turn my right foot slightly outwards, which is probably why my right knee hurts way more than my left one. This tendency is easier to see and correct on the elliptical, so i'm mostly sticking to that now.

I'm using this app called My Fitness Pal to keep track of how i'm doing. It's pretty easy, and i like it a lot. Instead of one of those programs that tells you to eat four cups of steamed broccoli and do sixty crunches, this program is just a way to track what you're already doing and how successful your efforts are. When you set up your profile, you tell it things about your current status (weight, age, health conditions, etc.) and your goals (faster, stronger, thinner, etc.). You also put in your fitness plans (run thirty minutes every day or whatever.). Based on your age, weight, sex, lifestyle (as in, are you a sedentary office worker like me?), and fitness goals, it gives you a recommendation for net calories and an estimate for when you'll reach your goal. Each day, you input what you've eaten and what you've done, and it tells you what your net calories are. It also tells you how well you're matching your fitness goals by saying things like, "If every day is like this one, you'll lose one pound a week!" or "If every day is like this one, you'll be down to 214 pounds in five weeks!" (NB: they didn't ask me to write a review or anything, and the app is free. I highly recommend it.)

I usually eat very well, so the only real difference is that i'm being faithful about going to the gym three times a week, and that i'm giving myself less leeway for things like snacking. It used to be that i would sometimes get hungry in the afternoon and run over to the school store for some chips and a candy bar, to keep up my strength in the two hours remaining until dinner. (Go ahead and roll your eyes at me. I rolled my eyes at myself every time, but i did it anyway.) Now, when i want a snack, i eat something healthy, or i just stay hungry. I mean, i live in the USA, and i have a job and a home. I can live for five hours without food. I need to stop being such a drama queen about hunger, when i'm so much luckier in that regard than so many other people.

But let's take a minute to talk about my healthy snacks.

Have you ever eaten roasted salted almonds? Not chocolate covered almonds, or almonds crushed up in ice cream or a candy bar, or almonds coated in toffee or honey and cinnamon. Just plain, roasted almonds, lightly dusted with sea salt.

Did you know that they taste like cream?

One of my roommates was mildly obsessed with almonds for a while and ate them every day. But she ate, like, wasabi almonds, or chocolate mint dusted almonds, or whatever. They were all dressed up in other flavors. I don't know why anyone, having tasted what a plain almond is like, would ever want to mask that flavor. All i want to do is pair it with other amazing things, like dried cherries. Dried cherries! Why would anyone eat dried cranberries or raisins when there are tart, spicy, wine-like dried cherries in the world?! Dried cherries or dried apricots with plain almonds can render me speechless. Pair with a tiny bite of dark chocolate and it's hard to imagine anything more mind-meltingly delicious. (Of course, i say things like that and then i hear Tina Fey's voice in my head saying, "I don't know. Have you ever put a doughnut in the microwave?")

And then there's raw honey.

I've been learning more about honey and bees, because i'm worried about Colony Collapse Disorder (Google it. It's terrifying.) and what it means for the future of the planet, and i'm interested in healthy, natural foods that taste amazing, and i want to support local apiarists who treat their bees well, and i want to be exposed to real honey, not the processed clover crap that comes from a plastic bear. (Apparently, apiarists who make clover honey tend to treat their bees very poorly.) Bee Raw has shown me things about honey that i never thought possible. Their Florida orange blossom honey tastes like floral green tea. Their Maine wild raspberry honey tastes like butter. And the orange blossom honey with aged cheddar cheese and fresh bread is like manna from Heaven. Did you know that you could eat honey with cheese? Did you know that when you do, it will change your life? Did you know that raw honey can help reduce or eliminate suffering from seasonal allergies? Did you know that raw honey blends smoothly into even cold liquid, unlike processed honey, which tends to sink to the bottom stubbornly? Did you know that raw honey, whisked together with lime juice and a little mustard, makes a low-calorie salad dressing or marinade that is better than anything you could buy in the store? (Except Ranch, obviously. Nothing is better than Ranch.)

Don't worry. This isn't about to become a health and fitness blog. It will always be the bizarre hodgepodge you've come to know and love: bitching about my roommates or work or money, gushing sappy garbage about my boyfriend, talking about my mental illness(es), updating you on my comic book, reflecting on my daily devotions, and making absolute statements about education and writing and civil rights and the economy and politics and so forth. But sometimes, i will also talk about honey or the gym or salads. I'm growing as a person. It's beautiful and magical, so come with me on this crazy journey of life or shut up and read someone else's blog.