madermouse's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 9/9/02 My plans were clear. Come the end of this past Thursday night, I was going to buckle down and join weight watchers. My mind was made up. I had told everybody and their dog of my intentions. I was determined to stick by my word. But all day I was nervous. I felt unprepared - like I was embarking on a journey and I forgot to pack my underwear or toothbrush. I tried to imagine myself - checkbook in hand - forking over the initial $38 bucks, and weighing in for the first time. I shuddered to think what their scale would say I weighed. (especially since I always weigh myself totally naked, first thing in the morning...) God, I had drank at least a couple pounds worth of water over the course of the day, and eaten half as much food. That surely would make the scale go up. Plus, the dress I was wearing had at least a yard of extra (heavy) fabric hanging off the front of it. Not to mention the differences between scales! What if their scale weighed me in at like, 270 or something!?! How discouraging would that be? I'd probably just die right there, on the spot. Throughout the workday, my mind drifted to thoughts of points...of meetings...of money matters. I was stressing out because although I did want to try WW, I wasn't truly (in my heart) ready to make that kind of financial commitment yet. And most of all - I didn't want to be one of those "talk out your ass" types of people. You know who I'm talking about - the guy you work with who talks every day about quitting his job and starting his own business. But he's worked for the company for 14 years, and you know its all just talk....you know he'll never do it. Or the friend who raves about going back to school to become a brain surgeon at the age of 54. You know they don't mean what they say. They're just talking out their ass. And although I occasionally do that sort of thing, its not on purpose. That is the type of person I'd never want to be. I try to speak the truth. I try to follow through my ideas. Or, at least, I have the best of intentions. So there I was, last Thursday night, freaking out because I had basically declared to everyone that I was joining WW and if I backed out, I would look like such a loser. (And feel like one too) By the end of the day, I was in such a state! My stomach was in knots, and I had cold sores sprouting on my lips from worrying. My shift was almost over and I felt sick and freaked and worried. Worried because I had talked out of my ass if I didn't join. Worried about how much I would weigh on their scale, at night, in all of my clothes, after drinking all that water today. Worried about the $68 bucks it would cost me over the next 4 weeks - where would that money come from? I worried that if I did join - and I didn't stick with it or screwed up, that I would feel like a failure. Hickory dickory dock, this mouse ran up the clock. The clock struck 6:30pm and down she ran to the grocery store ...avoiding the road to the WW meeting altogether. And just about the time she was going to drown her worries in the crust of a frozen pizza, a kind reader offered to send her all the WW materials for free. This way the mouse could try out the points system for a few weeks without shelling out the big bucks, and decide whether or not she wanted to join. She was both relieved that she didn't have to make a huge commitment and sorry that she was a big, fat chicken butt. The moral of the story? I'm not sure what the moral of the story is. All I know is that I chickened out, but I'm still going to give it a try in my own *safe*, comfort-zone kind of way. I don't know when I became such a scared-y cat, but its not a trait I hope to indulge in often. I have a friend who's helping me go through my journals - from start to finish - and organize them into a book. She has an eye for what's good, and what's crap, and how to orchestrate the material into something that's worthy. I feel extremely lucky that she's willing to do this. It gives me hope that my dream of writing and publishing a book is actually possible. Anyway, I've had to re-read my journal entries from the beginning...and its been tough. For the most part, I don't recognize the person who wrote those paragraphs of positive, optimistic filled pages. I mean, I intellectually know I wrote everything there. But it's like a distant memory that's become a fairy tale. Its just a story that a retired magician tells to eager children...long after all the real magic is gone. Its like looking at a photograph with no recollection of actually being there. I'm such a different person now. This past year has hardened me into a black lump of coal who barely remembers the depth and clarity of being a diamond. 2:40 p.m. - 9/9/02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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