Dip Your Fork

“Nothing tastes as good as thin feels” Ahh…one of the many mantras doled out so easily-breasily by my “group leader”. I’m sitting in a small group of women (there are three of us this the present a week before Thanksgiving) listening to Sally, smartly dressed, in a tasteful but boring brown skirt, beige blouse and ethnic jewelry, you know, to “punch” it up.

I’ve been here before, too many times. Listening to the same tips and tricks to weight loss, as if hearing the dipping-your-fork-in-salad-dressing for the hundredth time will be magic key that unlocks the secret joyous world of happy, thin people. I am so sick of it.

This line, Nothing tastes as good as thin feels, makes me cringe. It makes me want to throw up the three-egg white omelet and two soy patties I had for breakfast. As much as I disdain these attempts to fuse these sayings into our psyches, I had to re-join the fold as I found it more and more difficult to keep avoiding all reflective surfaces and mirrors.

I had to commit to returning because being accountable to me just didn’t hold the same threat as it once did. I’ve put myself (intentionally) back in the OCD world of counting points, calories, glasses of water consumed, ounces, portions and trips to the bathroom. I’m glad, though. Really. It feels good to dip my big toe dipped into the pool again. The best part is feeling like I have a schmidgeon of control over my life while living in a place where I have no idea how I ended up. I feel like I just grabbed onto something comfortable and familiar amidst a swirling mass of confusion and it feels good.

It will be a few weeks yet for my body’s creakiness subsides…why this 36-year-old even has creakiness drives me nuts but it’s a truth that slaps me around every morning when I get out of bed. I feel like an old lady walking around but in the interest of keeping things positive, I’ll think of them as baby steps.

Yes, I Am. What's Your Point?

What is so bad about being Filipino? People are always cloaking their “Filipino-ness” with other asian stylings. I was watching the premiere of Medium the other night. As a side note, isn’t there something so endearing about big stars with bad teeth? I love it! It’s so humanizing. For those who are not fans of the show, Patricia Arquette plays a medium who has prophetic dreams and can see dead people. She’s also the Phoenix Police Department’s ace-in-the-hole for solving crimes. Oh, and she’s got crooked teeth.

The show opened with a naked Filipina girl, lounging in a bed talking to an unseen person. How do I know she was Filipino? Not only did she look Filipino with her almond-shaped eyes, brown skin and black hair, her speaking Tagalog pretty much gave it away. I know my knowledge of Tagalog is waning, but I do know it when I hear it. And this girl was speaking it. Yet—she was referring to being Indonesian, being in Indonesia, loving Indonesia. Okay, I got it…you’re Indonesian.

If you look Filipino, speak Tagalog, and quack like a duck…aren’t you a Filipino duck? I wonder if I am taking this too personally. On most days, my self-esteem already lingers on the basement level of Loehman’s. What are the producers of Medium trying to tell me? Is being Filipino something to be ashamed of? Would it be so horrible to set the scene in the Philippines rather than Indonesia? What is the big deal?

Squinty-Eyed and Ready

I feel squinty-eyed right now…like a rescued coal mining worker emerging from a tiny opening in the earth, after being trapped in a collapsed tunnel for 17 days. My body is sore, not from being cramped in a tiny, dark space but more from the inactivity of being chained to a desk (resulting in the dreaded “secretary spread”—those with desk jobs know what I mean). At this moment, I am bathed in the so-called “light at the end of tunnel” and although it blinds me a bit, I welcome the feeling with open arms. For the first time since I moved to Las Vegas in June, it’s not quite as hellish as it used to be.

“Hellish” is probably too strong a word—it seems insulting to those whose lives actually warrant that characterization. Nevertheless, I am still reeling from the move from Oakland, California to Las Vegas, away from my comfortable life, my good friends, my cheap rent—shouldn’t I be over it by now? As I write, inklings of my exit strategy are taking shape although it’ll be a few more months until I have solid action plan.

Not helping in my transition, my work life was swallowing me up whole. Do you remember Lily Tomlin in “The Incredible Shrinking Woman”? The image of tiny Lily trying to keep herself from being washed down the drain, swimming against the swirling current that wants to suck her into oblivion. I’m not sure if this was an actual scene in the movie or something I fabricated in my mind but I could relate to Lily on a visceral level. Work has not been the joy it used to be. I’ve been feeling exploited, like a sweat shop worker with a dental plan. I exaggerate again—I don’t mean to liken my work situation to that a third world garment worker, slumped over a sewing machine for 12 hours a day. My sewing machine was a Dell laptop and although I was slumped over it for literally days at a time, in the back of my mind I know I could walk away from the job and still be able to survive. Not so true for the millions who toil in sweat shops all around the world, I suspect.

Today, I did very little actual work work and I do not feel guilty at all. In my mind, it’s still not a fair trade for the life I sacrificed. Not to be melodramatic but life maintenance—my maintenance—took a backseat to work. I can’t help but wonder, Would my managers expect as much of a commitment from their married-with-kids workers? The single, female, no kids, no mortgage worker is my company’s favorite demographic. At sixteen months on the job, I am the second most senior employee in my department. The most senior employee started 2 months ahead of me. Do the words “burn out” mean anything?

I need to use this short respite to figure out what to do next, about me, about my life, about my future. Everything that was on hold has now been released from its stasis…and now I’m left to deal with the business of my life. I no longer have the distraction of work to keep me busy…from me. Yikes.