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January 31, 2012

blue in green.

dear love,

i know you’ll be the type of man who can tell, just from the look on my face as i walk in the door, when i need to be left alone and when i need a glass of wine and blue in green by miles davis on a loop.

yesterday was a miles day.

it wasn't a particularly bad one, but there were a few bumps. this week, this month, is one for the books, but i like the thought of one day dancing with you in our living room to a song that calms me more than almost anything. (make a note of that for future squabbles.)

love,
me

pretty things, part two.

my favorites from sunday night's sag awards:

talk about a woman who can wear a dress.

my favorite. i adore her. her speech was beautiful and i hope she wins the oscar.
i love me a lilac dress; this is gorgeous.

dear God, can i please age this well? my word.



she seems so fun. i wish she could be in my book club.

i love everything about this. i'm adding this kind of braid to my "list of things to try in 2012."

yes, even with the boots and the open shirt and the lack of a tie. i just like looking at this man. damn you, hbo.


(photos: people.com)

January 29, 2012

all of these things.

Pinned Image

i would like to always feel the peace i feel when looking at this picture.

i am not just a girl who struggles with weight and body image. my life is not that "easy." nobody's is. nobody's struggle is simplified and pulled word for word from a health textbook. i am more than a girl who works. daily. at loving herself, accepting herself, forgiving herself.

forgiving herself.

she is a girl who has good and bad days, a girl who wakes up some mornings so cheerful that she says hello to everyone she sees, and a girl who wakes up other days and grumbles and swears ten times before getting on the bus.

she despises mushrooms, but loves onions. she exclaims, "extra onions, please!" on everything.

she says Lord, nonsense, and oy. a lot. she says, "that's what she said" as often as possible.

she stands like a flamingo in her kitchen while slicing green apples and filling her teapot.

listening to rihanna makes her feel strong. and sexy.

she runs to bonnie raitt, the supremes, tom petty, jay-z, and bon iver.

she's made a family out of her friends. she says a prayer of thanks for these people everyday.

she's never not going to love "teenage dream." and she's not sorry about it.

she will adopt a child one day because too many people in this world have never felt love. and she can see herself as a mother before she can see herself as a wife.

she is way, way too competitive at board games.

she will always root for britney spears.

she tries to plan for everything and doesn't do well with relinquishing control.

she is learning to embrace flats. she believes they can make her feel just as sexy as her heels. she knows a girl who is happy and relaxed is always sexy.

she hopes to one day get married in may solely so she can be surrounded by lilacs.

she plans a trip to kentucky around a concert. she rents a red car and drives herself eight hours to visit one of her favorite people in the world. she fishes, swims, and walks every morning with men who've lived incredible lives. she's making plans to go back this summer.

she meets some of her favorite baseball players and gets flustered and more excited than the little kids in line in front of her. she rehearses what she's going to say and when she gets face to face, she fumbles and turns red. she laughs about it the rest of the night.

she still thinks about getting that tattoo, an italian word on the inside of her left wrist.

she has a hard time trusting people. she knows the man she winds up with will have to be the most patient man. in the world. she believes he's out there.

she's going to give yoga a chance. dating too, eventually.

she's going to smile at men on the train, the men she finds sexy. men in construction boots and men in very, very nice suits.

she makes a mean chicken tortilla soup.

she has very little patience; she's working on this.

she's a girl who's finally starting to feel like a woman.

she is all of these things.

she is enough.


she was always enough.






(photo source: maryruffle.tumblr.com)

the numbers.

at my highest weight, i wore a size 24.

today, i wear a 10.  

i'm still not satisfied. i don't know what number/size will make me feel satisfied. 

"i want to get under a certain weight," i've told jim.

jim shakes his head. "you need a goal that doesn't involve a number. because when you hit that number, then what? you won't be satisfied for long."

"maybe i should talk to a nutritionist," i say.

"you don't need another layer. stop adding things. you have all of the tools you need. you've lost all of this weight on your own," he says.

three years ago, i tried weight watchers for close to six months. i lost and gained two pounds here, five pounds there for six months. i hated it. i hated everything but the chocolate snack bars they sold near the front door. i hated that my leader used to be heavier than me and now was thin and married and happy. she seemed so happy.

i hated sitting in a crowded room on saturday mornings surrounded by fat women complaining about their weeks, women congratulating themselves for only gaining one pound or celebrating losing two. i was envious of everyone who did lose weight. i was desperate to have the kinds of weeks others had. i wanted to be the women who lost five pounds. i wanted to be the women who were so joyful you could actually feel it just by being close to them.

it didn't work for me. i wasn't ready for any of it then. i will forever have the mentality of needing to do things on my own. and i have to accept that i need to change that.


yesterday afternoon, anna and i went shopping because i need clothes. 

i tried on five things: a dress, two tops, and two skirts. nothing fit. nothing. it was the first clothing store we went into. the day was ruined in the first twenty minutes. i kept it together as the woman in the fitting room tried to convince me to open the store credit card. i kept it together in the macy's fitting room as a very young and thin girl told me my bra size. i bit my lip and walked away.

anna was patient, extremely patient. she reminded me that every woman doesn't wear the same size in every single store. she reminded me that every store is different. if i'm a 10 here, i might be a 12 there. i can wear running pants in size medium, but my bra size hasn't changed in two years. i don't understand any of it, and all of it pisses me off.

i have to train my brain to understand that every store is different, no two pairs of pants are made to fit the same exact way.

my brain is having a hard time accepting this.


why isn't the scale moving faster? why can't i move faster? why can't i wake up every morning at 4:30 to get to the gym? i need to do this every.single.morning. i'm at a plateau. if i work harder, i'll get over it.

i'll get over it.

i know i can get over it.

i stood in a dressing room and stared at my body in the mirror. i looked at my stomach, at the loose skin. someone once touched my stomach and said, "you have a lot of loose skin there." as if i didn't already stare at it five times a day. i'll never forget it; i'm sure they have. 

get to almost 300 pounds in high school. lose 100 in college. gain back half when you graduate. lose all of it again. decide to get yourself to lose 20, 30 more. torture yourself.  

we moved from store to store and all i wanted was to sit down and obsess over the way the last skirt i tried on looked. every mirror we passed, i looked at my face, checking my neck, seeing how big/small it looked.

the only things i did buy yesterday were for the gym: a beautiful new bag and running shorts.

"i want to get a bag that's big enough where if i took a trip, i could use it then too," i said.

"oh, for all the relaxing you do," anna said.

zing. girl's got a point.

the physical weight i have lost sometimes feels like it's still there. i've felt this for a long time. the weight is still there; it's taken up residence on my bones as emotional weight, psychological weight.

it will stay there until i learn to let it go.

let her go.

"i still hate the fat girl inside of me," i say.

"you're just trying to make peace with her," molly says. "it's not about the numbers. the goal should be to be happy. there are women ten times bigger than you who are a lot happier."

jim once said, completely out of nowhere, "you have a listening problem." this made me laugh, a laugh deep from my belly.

"why are you laughing?" he said.

"because i know you're right. and no one's ever said that to me," i said.

perhaps it didn't come out of nowhere. i hear him. i hear molly. i hear anna. but i don't really listen. i don't listen because i don't believe them.

i want to believe them.

one way i know how far i've come is after a day like yesterday, the old me would've gone straight to the fridge or fast food. this time, i went home and cleaned. i took a breath. i went to bed early. i woke up when molly called and we talked and laughed for twenty minutes. 

i wonder if i'm always going to feel like this. is this always going to be here?

jim constantly tells me, "breathe."

i need to listen better.

January 24, 2012

the words.

"shame weighs a lot more than flesh and bone."
-portia de rossi, unbearable lightness

i never admitted it to myself and i never said it out loud. i didn't use the words eating disorder until a session with jim maybe six months ago. it was one of those ridiculously profound moments of clarity that felt very "therapy-ish."

"i have an eating disorder. i had an eating disorder," i said.

"it's an illness, a disease," jim said.

saying the word illness makes it sound random, by chance, as if it wasn't by my own doing.

i did this to me. i did this.

these are the types of things i'm still working through. because i believe them. because the amount of anger i have towards myself at times exhausts and terrifies me.

i want my childhood back; i want my life back.

i never used the words with anna or molly, two people who know me better than jim. i think back to anna suggesting portia de rossi's memoir to me. anna knew how much i struggled with losing weight, gaining weight, turning my obsession and hunger for food into an obsession with going to the gym.

she never said, "rhi, you have an eating disorder. you need to read this book." she would just periodically circle back to it while we sat in her living room and i stared at it on the bookshelf.

"yeah, anna, i want to read it, but i've got so much other stuff i really need to read." this was what i kept saying.

anna was on to something there, especially with how she introduced the book. she knew how far she could take it before i'd get defensive. sometimes it doesn't take much for that to happen. she gently pushed me towards it and then either brought it to my apartment or handed it to me when i walked into hers. regardless, she put it in my hands; how it got there doesn't matter.

one of my biggest fears growing up was, "food is stronger than i am." i believed in that and allowed it to rob me of so much time, time i'm desperately trying to make up for.

sometimes i feel as though i should wear this information like a disclaimer on my forehead, the way a person with a food allergy has to inform a waiter.

if it takes a fair amount of energy to even say the words, "i have issues with food. i have issues with my body," that should be all you need to say. you shouldn't have to explain more until you're ready to explain more, until/unless you feel safe enough to explain more. you shouldn't have to feel the need to be on guard for comments and "jokes" that would've made the person you were at seventeen head straight to the kitchen.

someone makes a harmless comment, a comment without thinking, and it takes you back.

"why are you wasting your food? why are you being a food waster!?"

i'm not hungry anymore. i felt full five minutes ago.

"why aren't you drinking your wine? why don't you want your beer?" 

i never wanted the drink, but i took it to be polite.

i thought these things, but never said them.

"i'm recovering from an eating disorder, and i'm in therapy for it."

that is what i should've said.

i'm saying it now.

saying the words out loud, eating disorder, makes them real. yes. however, they were real before i said them out loud. i still binged even though i never told my doctor. i still starved myself to make up for the bingeing. i abused myself. i kept my shame inside. i told no one.

saying the words does not give them power. i don't and i won't allow them to control me anymore.

i'm finally getting to a place in my life where if someone says, "you aren't going to finish that?" i don't immediately become defensive/upset/nervous/self-conscious. i'm able to respond with, "nope. i don't want it."

i don't want it.

“in other words, accept yourself. love your body the way it is and feel grateful towards it. most importantly, in order to find real happiness, you must learn to love yourself for the totality of who you are and not just what you look like.”
-portia de rossi, unbearable lightness

love yourself for the totality of who you are.

i'm getting there.

January 22, 2012

i believe...


a saturday afternoon spent on anna's kitchen floor catching up on your weeks, playing with cats, and listening to ani difranco and adele is heaven.

writing an essay about traveling to kentucky last summer has got me thinking about a repeat this summer.

i will only be wearing running shorts from now on while on the treadmill at the gym. the days of being shy are gone.

van morrison's astral weeks: live at the hollywood bowl is one of the best albums, best things ever created.

in mint chocolate chip ice cream, even in january.

if you do some of your best writing on your best friend's couch while he plays video games, just go with it.

ruby is not boring just because she doesn't sit on random pieces of paper on the floor. thank you very much, kevin, ichabod, and spenser.

there's nothing wrong with using the word nonsense as often as one of the golden girls.

in spinning to "where have you been" by rihanna.

there should be a question mark after the word "been." rihanna, come on now.

anyone who can get me to wings and rings at 10:00 on a saturday night deserves a medal. point to you, anna and kev.

if you have to ask certain questions, you don't deserve to hear the answers.

in this:



Athlete Aimee Mullins.

“Born without fibulae in both legs, Aimee’s medical prognosis was discouraging; she was told she would never walk, and would likely spend the rest of her life using a wheelchair. In an attempt for an outside chance at independent mobility, doctors amputated both her legs below the knee on her first birthday. The decision paid off. By age two, she had learned to walk on prosthetic legs, and spent her childhood doing the usual athletic activities of her peers: swimming, biking, softball, soccer, and skiing, always alongside “able-bodies” kids.”

(source: npr.)

a list of letters.

dear extremely loud and incredibly close,
please be as good as i want you to be.

dear patience,
come out, come out, wherever you are.

dear hair,
stop getting tangled in my coat and scarves. i had you cut; please behave.

dear lavender-mint shampoo,
don't ever change; you're perfect.

dear parks and recreation,
don't ever change; you're perfect.

dear baseball,
please hurry up and get here. i miss you more than you know.

dear wings and rings,
i'm a bit obsessed with your garlic and parmesan flavor. however, the standards you have for the waitresses you hire need to be raised. a lot.

dear spinning instructors,
can all of you please stop playing the black eyed peas? pretty please.

dear sunday,
slow your roll.

January 21, 2012

amen.






(source: pinterest)

January 20, 2012

van morrison.


dear love,

i have this thing for van morrison. the man’s voice does something to me. he makes me feel lighter. when i hear him, i see road trips in the summer: my bare feet on the dashboard, my left hand on the back of your neck, my right arm out the window. i look over at you and smile.

this is happy. 

this is blessed.

this is love.

i feel you smiling at me as i sing the words to my favorite song, a song i want played at our wedding. i see us dancing to it, me again in bare feet.  

and you shall take me strongly
in your arms again
and i will not remember
that i ever felt the pain



i look forward to these days with you.

love,
your sweet thing

January 18, 2012

compassion.

at the end of our sessions, jim almost always asks what i’m thinking.

sometimes it’s, “jim, i’m tired and i’ve just spent a good part of the last sixty minutes sobbing in this green leather chair and i’d like to go to the bathroom and throw water on my face. then, i’d like to go home and sleep.”

other times i want to say, “i want to write down everything you just said because i’m afraid i’m going to forget it,” or, “i’m thinking…i have a lot to figure out, jim.” 

when i say that, he always, always says, “you will.”

i smile. some days i nod and respond with, “i know.”

i walk out of his office, down the hall to the bathroom. i look in the mirror and see a pink face and tired eyes, but i like how i look after crying, alive, like i can see everything better. i can feel everything better.

in our very first session, i told him, “no drugs. i won’t take any drugs.”

“okay,” he said.

i’ve spent my entire life until now numbing myself with food and the desire and need to be needed by people. if i don’t feel needed, i don’t feel wanted. i fix things and i take care of people. taking care of people makes me feel good, but i’m in that chair to work through all of that and i can’t do that if i numb myself again.

if i’m sad, i will feel sad. if i’m anxious, i will feel that too. i will breathe, write, walk, and call my friends and walk through it to the other side.

i fully understand people needing medicine to get through the day and deal with pain, but this is how i feel about my struggles, what i want to put in my body. yes, part of it is stubbornness, but a bigger part is trying to see what i'm capable of.

i'm learning what it’s like to feel all of these things instead of reaching for food at the first sign of discomfort.

sitting in his office, week after week, answering his questions, i have come to realize how many different versions of that word exist. discomfort.

“you're doing too much at once,” he tells me tonight.

“it’s what i do,” i say in a joking tone.

nobody laughs.

“you’re trying to fix so many things,” he says.

i nod.

after meeting with him, i don't like to talk to anyone. i need the quiet to collect the tiny things he said to me, the things that aren't tiny at all.

i go home. i turn my key in the door. i collect my mail from the third step at the bottom of the staircase, another magazine i don’t have time to read. i walk to the top floor. i hear ruby purring on the other side of the door, my door. i shed a coat that’s entirely too big, but i love the belt and the color; i like myself in green. i feed ruby. i feed myself. i try to only feed myself things that nourish me. i listen to what my body wants. tonight, my body wanted a sandwich and a root beer float.

i light the lilac candle next to my bed and pour myself a big glass of cold water in one of my favorite mugs, a beautiful white and blue cup with red, yellow, and green flowers, like something i’d see in a spanish garden.  i can’t wait to see spanish gardens. i put on another sweater, one i only wear around my apartment as it is too big and frumpy. i never feel pretty when i wear anything frumpy. i climb into my bed as ruby curls up next to my left leg, as close as she can get. i turn on mary chapin carpenter, patty griffin, lori mckenna, etta james. strong women. their energy changes me. i feel their words change me.

tonight jim asked, “what was the last thing you did to make yourself happy?”

this forces me to pause. i need more moments throughout my day that force me to pause.

“i bought myself running shorts on monday. on saturday, i flirted with a man, a man who was kind and made me laugh. a man who asked about my writing and my life.”

“good, you don’t do enough of those things for yourself,” he says.

tomorrow, i will wake early. i will drink coffee from this same mug. i will eat an english muffin while i watch the news. i will read on the bus. i will go to the gym and push my body. i will say a prayer of thanks as i stretch. i will be thankful for the day and plans with people i care about, people who care about me.

i will show myself compassion.

January 16, 2012

because i like pretty things.

these are my favorite dresses and photos from the golden globes last night.

i love these shows.

SOFIA VERGARA photo | Sofia Vergara
i love this woman's energy. and this fits her like a glove.


CHARLIZE THERON photo | Charlize Theron
so soft. pretty in pink. and those legs. damn, girl.


PAULA PATTON   photo | Paula Patton
i love paula patton and i adore mustard yellow.





such a gorgeous color on her.


so sad she didn't win, but she looks fabulous. she is 47. 47!



mission: find out the name of lip color elizabeth moss is wearing.


GEORGE & STACY photo | George Clooney
lucky, lucky girl.
REESE WITHERSPOON
 photo | Reese Witherspoon
this is what happy looks like.

i strongly disliked what she was wearing, but i love this photo of her.



DIANNA AGRON photo | Dianna Agron


                                     stunning


(photos: nytimes, imdb, people.)

outgoing guts.


and by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. the worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.
-sylvia plath

"this is about you. your life and your happiness and you're taking care of yourself."

two things i needed to hear when i needed to hear them. thank you, universe.


one sign of a good weekend: your best friend sends you an email monday morning and starts it, "dear axl rose."

i did have a lovely weekend, one that consisted of mucho margaritas for a friend's birthday, some running, book club, a really good hair day, quite a bit of fun at one of my favorite neighborhood bars, and a conversation with someone who pays really close attention to the things that matter.

this coming weekend shall be much quieter. (yes, it's only monday, but the day is nearly over and tomorrow is tuesday and soon friday will be here. i'm trying extra hard to practice the power of positive thinking.)


all i can think about, besides the obscene amount of reading i need to do, are the super cute, super on-sale nike running shorts i got today and how i can't wait to go home and try them on.

i'm thankful for friends who remind you, as often as you need to hear it, to let things go.


let.
it.
go.

sometimes you have these tiny moments that you churn into big moments, moments that pull you back a bit. but it's a weird and funny and powerful moment when you finally realize and accept that there's nothing to fret about, nothing you haven't figured out, nothing left that needs to be fixed. 

sometimes you believe things over and over in your head and your heart so many times that the first second of doing it again leaves you so tired things start to feel heavy again. and you remember how much it hurts and you've stopped doing that. you promised yourself, and of anyone in the entire world, you deserve to keep the promises you make to yourself.

i am the only one capable and responsible for my life, for making myself happy. and step one is worrying less about the non-important things and focusing more on the real ones. anything that makes you spin and feel frazzled does not deserve the energy it steals from you.
 

this is my prayer for monday, tuesday, wednesday, and every day that follows. when bad days come around, i will collect small moments of grace that remind me of what i want, why i work so hard, what i deserve.

outgoing guts. that is my happiness.

January 12, 2012

i believe...

earring backs disappear and coffee mugs multiply, all on their own.

people should not bring their problems onto the bus. nobody wants to hear you grumble and yell at the driver or the air. you aren't the only person who had a long day.

in wearing aprons. with polka dots and pockets.

robin thicke is a gift from God.

in the lemon loaf pound cake with pear huckleberry jam from the restaurant at my corner. i could’ve wept, truly.

if viola davis and jessica chastain do not win golden globes sunday evening for "the help," i will be very disappointed. very.

amy poehler also deserves to win sunday for "parks and recreation." pay attention, people. please.

in choosing clementines and red grapes over the bowl of kit kats at work.

in planning ahead to avoid temptation, and in trying to do this in every aspect of my life.

it’s imperative to have people close to you who make you laugh so hard that it hurts, who give you sore stomachs “for the right reasons.”

in tacos with cilantro and onion only.

funks never last forever.

life can only be tackled one thing at a time, one day at a time.

January 11, 2012

baby steps.

early this morning, i saw a man walking his dog.

he smiled at me.

i smiled back.

he smiled again.

and not once did i think he's laughing at me. that's why he's smiling. i took the smile and reciprocated.

sometimes a song comes on and you remember how perfect it is and how in that moment you hear words you'd been looking for. and sometimes a professor says exactly what you need to be told. write what you want to write. do not censor yourself. those words will bubble up in the middle of something else. they will haunt you.

i'm so thankful for sometimes.




pick up your crazy heart and give it one more try.


baby steps. baby steps.

January 10, 2012

incomplete.

when i went to florence, i caught the flu from the three planes it took to get me there: chicago-->new york-->frankfurt-->florence. i was horrendously sick for the first few days. the only solace i had was lying on the bathroom floor, the only cool place in our apartment. i passed out in the cell phone rental store. luckily one of my roommates, the fabulous katie who just visited me, was an RA and there to catch me as i fell, literally. great first impression to make on the people i'd be living with for the next five weeks.

i remember sitting on the terrace, hiding, praying, calling home, crying. so far from my family and friends, so far from my dogs. in a country with a language i didn't know, miserable heat, and five roommates who were strangers. sitting on that terrace, over the balcony, i said the following prayer:

please let me let this place change me. let me let myself be happy. please grant me the grace and courage to do that.

the grace and courage to be happy.

happy is a hot bath, purifying face mask, and a beautiful travel book. a book about food, of all things. the love of it, and the nourishment and life it symbolizes. happy is learning to understand that. happy is a set of freshly-painted dark purple toenails. (always with the dark. why so afraid of light, huh?) happy is the most supportive friends you could ever ask for. happy is a christmas tree you just can't bear to take down.  

grace is taking a compliment, accepting it, appreciating it, not making a joke, not belittling it. grace is living each day with more forgiveness and less fear. 
one of my favorite songs/poems/things ever, ever, ever.



it's an anthem. it fits, every line fits me. every line makes me smile.

the grace and courage to be happy. i'm going to pray for this daily.

January 9, 2012

look up.


walking out of a coffee shop this afternoon, i saw this board by the door:





this is what i wrote:


a bit blue.

i found this picture on postsecret a few weeks ago and saved it. every sunday, there's usually at least one postcard that makes me close my eyes and exhale, one postcard that feels a little too close to home.

right now, things just feel a bit...blue. van gogh had his blue period, and i suppose this is mine. i just feel like i'm in a funk and it's starting to cloud everything. part of it's winter, part of it's being sick, and part of it is the impending loneliness that grows a bit deeper when you have a lot going on, especially when you bring the "a lot" on yourself.

i've just spent close to an hour writing about kentucky. and i hate it. "write 3-5 pages on your autobiography as a traveler. take 30 minutes. take an additional 30 if you need it." i took a bit more than the allotted 60. and i still hate it. sitting in front of a blinking cursor thinking of all the restrictions made the restrictions all i could focus on. if it's not perfect, i don't want it. well, good luck with that, rhi. what a healthy way to go through life. this one life you have.



i found this one several months ago, maybe closer to a year ago. "at least when i'm fat there is a clear reason why no one looks at me" describes me during high school. and sometimes still.





sometimes i feel* like i purposely sabotage myself when it comes to losing the last remaining pounds i want to lose, the pounds i feel i need to lose. they are an armor, my armor. they protect me. if i keep them on my bones, i won't have to worry about the messiness that comes with dating someone. never mind that a man wanted to date me when i was seventy pounds heavier. and a different one wanted to date me when i was fifteen pounds heavier. it has nothing to do with them. if i keep these last few pounds on my bones, i won't get hurt again. i won't get hurt again. i don't want to get hurt again. i don't want to date anyone right now. i just want some peace. i want the peace i promised myself on new year's eve. i don't want men looking at me, not on the bus, not at the gym, not in class. because all i think in those moments is what my 12 year-old self felt, what my 14 year-old self felt, what i felt at 17, "they're making fun of me." my obsession with food as a teenager has turned into an obsession with being healthy/going to the gym enough/with how i look. i've traded one drug for another.


*i know i do.

i listen to mary chapin carpenter as i sit in the same coffee shop i spent so many sundays as an undergrad. sundays inevitably spent staring out the window, wondering and making up stories in my head about the people waiting for the bus at the corner, the people at the table next to me.

the things that make me feel good: running, spinning, walking, just walking, walking to walk, without music. walking to feel the muscles in my legs, walking to look at the houses and dogs staring out front windows, and old people sitting on their front steps, walking to see the life that surrounds me, these are my good habits. stewing and spinning these thoughts around my head are the ones i'm working on. 

holding my breath is one of the worst ways to go through life. i need to put those days behind me. days like today and the past few, i remind myself this will pass. this heaviness will pass. but it starts with me.

January 7, 2012

on my way.



(Photo: Pinterest)

January 6, 2012

let her go.


wednesday was a bad day. 

now a few days removed from it, i see everything is really quite simple: little thing upon little thing piled up and everything was manifested because i waited too long between eating. i didn't pack enough snacks for the whole day. i'm still getting over a cold. and i wanted mcdonald's.

things are always much, much simpler than i make them out to be. 

i walked into jim's office and asked about his recent trip to texas. he shows me some pictures.

"you look like tim robbins," i say. "forget the eric clapton thing." he laughs. but if tim and eric had a baby, it'd be jim.

“what do you call it when every single thing, literally, every single thing physically annoys you?” i ask.

“ when everything annoys you…” he says. 

“cause right now, i’m calling it wednesday,” i say. 

he laughs and says, "want to stop avoiding things? want to tell me why you're so mad?"


"i'm not mad,” i say. i say it immediately. i say it immediately to trick myself into believing it.

i sit in the same chair and i cry. i cry for nearly an hour. in the beginning, when i was worried that he would be overly concerned about me, i’d chew gum. i thought doing this would keep me from crying.

it didn’t. 

"i'm mad that i got two plain hamburgers from mcdonald's after my class last night. i'm mad that i wanted mcdonald's on my way home today," i say.


"but two plain hamburgers isn't bad," he says.


"i don't want them. i don't need them. i shouldn't be having any of it," i snap. i feel every part of my body. i feel huge and heavy. 

"you're about to crawl out of your skin," he says.

he's right.

"i'm mad that even now  i'm still thinking about mcdonald's. i'm mad that i got sick again after christmas and haven’t been able to work out. i’m mad that i feel fatter, that i feel like i look fatter. i’m mad at the number of times i look at my face in the mirror each day,” i say.

“you are not going to wake up one day having gained back all of that weight. it’s not who you are anymore.”

this really makes the tears fall.

it’s not who you are anymore.

“it’s hard to let go of who we were for so long,” he says.

let her go. 

sometimes...

i think i like lemon more than chocolate. sometimes.

i can see myself getting married outside, but then i remember how easily i burn. and how little i like finding sand in random places at the end of the day.

i think paul newman is the most beautiful man who ever lived.

i spill God-knows-what on my winter coat and get really strange looks at the dry cleaner's. first and last guess is always coffee.

seeing little kids on the bus at 10:00 at night infuriates me, but then i try to think of how long a day their mother sitting next to them had. and how long tomorrow will be for them.

it's too easy to judge people.

flirting is the funnest thing in the world, especially when it's with someone who makes it easy. 

i have to actively remind myself that it's not necessary to constantly be on the defensive.

an evening walk with your best friend is the perfect end to the day.

you hear a song you wish you could live inside of. this is one:


January 4, 2012

wednesday morning prayer.

in the black audrey hepburn flats i got while in kentucky, this is my prayer for wednesday:

January 2, 2012

the year of better.

my friend laura has this wonderfully on-point theory about mondays. "mondays just about always suck if you let them. i try to make them as fantastic as possible because i really think they can set the tone for the week!"

i couldn't agree more. i saved her email to remind myself on those especially long, cold, and generally gloomy mondays, when everything feels so very much like a monday. the mondays won't stop, winter won't stop, and freezing cold days are not going to stop, so it's imperative to surround myself with things that make me happy, not things that pull me back. in trying to keep the blahness at bay, here's a potpourri of things i'm loving right now. yes, i said potpourri.

seeing my molly across a bar, both of us nodding and smiling as the perfect sara bareilles song comes on. feeling this sickness finally leaving my bones. the $13 men's slippers i got yesterday at target. crab cakes and steamed veggies with really, really old episodes of seinfeld. completely monopolozing the jukebox at mitchell's, on the bartender's dime.

and this woman. my word, this woman. 






i'm not making resolutions. i'm putting what i want and deserve out into the universe. then i'll start the process of making these things happen.

for 2012, i want more. more walking, more running, more boxing, more yoga. more adele. she makes me want to try a smoky eye. yes, i'm serious. that big hair. big voice, big heart. more fresh flowers next to my bed. more hummus, more water, more kissing, more dancing, more singing, more lipstick, more color, more dresses, more showing-off the legs i work so damn hard for, more writing, more sleep, more baking and cooking, more snort-inducing laughter.

i want less. less worry, less fear, less belly, less puffy eyes, less diet coke, less cheese, less nonsense, less apathy from the people i allow to enter my life, less of those people.

i want less anything less-than wonderful.
i love that i woke up to snow on the ground and blooming tulips in my bedroom and living room. take that, winter. 

it wasn't until katie (see cute headband) pointed it out to me, but standing behind her, i'm the spitting image of the girl from my blog header. and i really love it.

anna, katie, and kevin all put up with the ridiculously high/conehead-esque hats i got for us. on new year's eve, you gotta wear dorky hats!


i will make this the year of better. better everywhere.

the other florence i love.



i'm completely in love with this. i love it more than the drake version. there, i said it.