May
9
May 10, 2007
Last July I posted a picture of my naked belly, a nearly-12-months-post-partum belly that I wasn’t feeling very proud of. My body had changed since having a baby; what was once smooth was squashy, where there was unmarred skin there was a weird, scrawling line of scar tissue.
I decided to take a new picture, because sometimes it’s just not possible for me to look in the mirror and see my own reality—the reflection I see is so often influenced by what’s in my head: comparisons, criticisms, confusion. I’ve been staring at it off and on today, trying to come to terms with what I see.
I see a body that’s gotten stronger. I see a body with flaws. I see skin that once stretched to accommodate a baby (under the clothes is the same scar as before, no less faded, still a dark pink slash). I see the results of exercising. I see a thousand things I’d like to Photoshop away.
I posted this new picture because I always feel as though I have to hide that part of myself at all times. My belly is my Kryptonite. So this is my fuck you to that feeling. Fuck you, belly shame, now you’re on the internet.
There are times when I find myself obsessing over my body’s shape, my skin, my hair, everything. Always looking for the magical salve or clothing item that will transform me into—what? What am I trying to be? I feel like I’m chasing some nebulous beauty ideal like a dog snapping at its own tail.
I’d like to uncover a self-setting for good enough, but it’s nowhere to be found.
May
8
May 8, 2007
JB gave me a copy of The Zombie Survival Guide and I cannot put it down. I highly recommend it, especially if you’re already semi-obsessed with zombies and you find yourself thinking about them at least as frequently as you think about, say, which boat crew on Deadliest Catch is going to get the most crab this season, which is to say, probably more often than is healthy.
The book includes, among other things, instructions for making your house as safe as possible during the inevitable zombie invasion. Basically, if you live in a one-story house without an attic—as we do—you’re fucked. You have to get on the roof. So now I think we should scrap this whole kitchen remodel business and build a second floor. With built-in zombie trapdoors. And multiple brain-smashing tools, such as crowbars, stashed in convenient locations.
What? It’s only paranoia if zombies don’t exist.
(STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT.)
I went running (so as to better prepare myself for escaping zombies, of course) yesterday evening, as long as we collectively define “running” as “alternating between trotting and walking while consistently producing the sort of wheezing you’d hear from an elderly, asthmatic pug”. It was a gorgeous, warm day here in Seattle (also, I would have loved a little of this sudden summery weather over the weekend instead of the chilly gray skies we did have, I mean what’s with the 75-degree temperatures showing up when I’ve got to sit in an office all day? NOOO THEY BE STEALIN MY BUCKET) and by the time I got back home I felt quite virtuous, what with my sheen of sweat and all. I’ll tell you, there’s nothing in the world like the feeling you get from running . . . when you stop, that is.
I’m looking to create the Ultimate Playlist for Running, because the iPod really does make all the difference in terms of distraction and motivation to keep going (instead of giving in to my natural desire to curl up on the road and weep steadily into the pavement). So far I’ve got:
Run Rabbit Run, Eminem
When the Music Stops, Eminem
Whiskey in the Jar, Metallica
Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger, Daft Punk
Blue Orchid, White Stripes
Buzzbomb, Dead Kennedys
Charlotte Mittnacht (The Fabulous Destiny Of…) , DeVotchKa (This one’s great for the end when you stagger up your driveway all triumphant-like.)
Perhaps you noticed this is a short list. Well, shut it. I can’t run very far yet. But on the theory that someday I will be able to pug-wheeze along far enough to need a longer playlist, or just to have some rotation, I want your recommendations. Share your favorite heart-pumping, zombie-escaping songs—anything that motivates you to move. Otherwise, I’m just going to add more Eminem, and then my language is just going to get worse. Won’t you think of the children?
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