Part of the reason I'm blogging so much is that I'm supposed to be writing 5 pages of fiction for school and can't.

Unexpected issues/pleasures re: my recent weight loss
If you don't regularly see me in person, you don't know that not too long ago, I was pretty damn chubby. I weighed a lot more than I was comfortable with and was not happy about it. People (other women) would make comments like "real-sized women like you and I" (mostly from someone who I always thought was a lot larger than me) and I never felt like I belonged in that group. In my mind, I was never supermodel-skinny but I certainly wasn't fat and sassy.

But I never really did anything about it until this last 6 months or so. Part of it has been not working at a desk anymore, part has been due to a couple other things, namely playing goalie and some really intense personal drama that I'll most likely not share here. Things seem to be on the mend but the one good thing about these months of drama and heartache has been a great change in my appetite -- I just don't eat much when I'm stressed.

So here I am, still chubby but not nearly as much so. I am slowly assembling a new wardrobe (forsaking a closet full of very cool but gigantic t-shirts) that I adore, complete with t-shirts that are not baggy and pants that fit. The toughest thing so far is my skates. I knew that feet shrink/grow depending on your weight but I didn't anticipate how that would impact me. My old shoes mostly fit but my beloved skates, well, that is another story.

My skates were always a tad big. Just a tad, and that was fine with me because I've always had them that way. But now that my ankles are skinnier, it's just enough difference to make my skates fit like ass. My ankles hurt almost the entire time I'm skating, no amount of adjustment to my lacing structure, my shin guards or hockey socks has really remedied the problem. It's a fine problem to have but it's going to mean a $250 investment that I'm in no shape to make right now, despite my IKEA riches.

The good news is that I can now wear kid's size skates and save about 1/2 the cost, so that $250 now buys me top of the line skates instead of mediocre-to-not-bad skates.

The other really good thing? Today, while shopping with the Ladies Who Lunch (aka Ladies of Leisure), we went to inline sports and tried on more fleece jackets. I wound up buying a new one because it was a SIZE SMALL! A SMALL! ME!! We practiced all the ways I could bring it into the rink or leave it in the car so the tag would show, telling all the world that I can wear a small. Woo! SMALL!

So, school has started and I'm taking 2 English classes. I'm reminded of being an undergrad, when I knew I loved to read, knew I could write with some degree of skill and/or talent but struggled with my classmates and teachers. For me, reading is personal, done for pleasure and enlightenment but not done to look deeply for meaning or to make those who don't read as much feel bad. My colleagues seemed to feel differently. Like the Bible Thumpers I used to know who felt that everyone who was not saved was in a lower class, worthy of the eternity in hell that awaited them because they weren't Thumping their own Bibles.

When I hung around those people (most of middle school, if you must know), I took great comfort in the social out that their youth group provided and had more than the requisite number of crushes on the leaders but knew somewhere down deep that it wasn't right. Too much judgement, too much scorn and shame. Eventually, I lost my virginity (to a boy) at a far too early age, told one of the aforementioned leader/crushes and became myself part of the Shamed Ones for my transgression. The real end of my relationship with those people was when I mentioned Gays. I was told that Those People are going to hell and I shouldn't be around them. Like queerness is catching.

Hmm, now that I think about it, maybe it was! Maybe Maria from my parent's church sneezed on me while strumming her guitar next to her long-term lesbian lover and that was it! That single moment overshadowed a lifetime of being more attracted to girls than boys (yes even and especially after the virginity losing, thankyouverymuch) of not feeling like I had any business being a boy's girlfriend. But yes, I'm sure it was the sneeze.

But I digress. So now I'm back (from outer space) in English classes, and once again struggling with the attitude. Last Tuesday's class featured a roomful of MFA in Creative Writing candidates, all of whom thought they were Hot Shit because they are 'published' in a variety of lame ass midwestern literary journals. Well hey, motherfuckers, I'm published too. Here on LizSpeaks (3 years and counting) and in a cheesy book on adoption a few years ago. Just because the St. Olaf University Press hasn't chosen me as a featured author doesn't mean that I'm any less a writer than These People.

It was hard to listen to them and not scoff. Not that I'm any better. I, too, am a struggling writer, working hard to make sense of the bizarre gift that being a writer is. (Note, I didn't say 'good writer,' I just said 'writer.' Good or bad, this gift has meant a lifetime inside my head, spinning every event for a real or imagined audience who will most likely never hear the dialogue I'm constantly writing in my head. While this particular skill is nifty in some ways, it's also something of a curse (all the good things are, aren't they?). It means that I often miss what's really going on in the real world because I'm so busy writing in my head.)

One (okay, two) of the interesting things that came up in the Class of Pompousness is the notion that it's very much not normal to be contstantly writing in your head. Evidently the rest of the world does not operate this way, You People do not constantly spin every event for an imagined audience (is that true?? email me), you simply enjoy (or loathe) every moment for what it is, not for it's literary value. Hmm. How freaking novel would that be? Anyway, I guess some researchers (grad students, no doubt) are doing/have done a study of what goes on in our brains as we retreat into the world of a book or of our own writing. The world does fade away when I read or write, my sole focus becomes the story I'm reading or writing. In a way, it's like the only time I'm really "there," and not off writing for my imaginary friend.

For the record, there are 2 other times I'm actually "there," when playing hockey (and now that I've written this, you may see why I play so often) and having sex.

The struggle for me won't be so much in the writing or in the work of these classes but in dealing with my pompous colleagues. It was hard in undergrad, I'm sure it's only going to get worse in grad school. I will have to remind myself often that I'm here to hone my skills, be more disciplined in my writing schedule (i.e. develop one) and learn how to submit pieces (still unwritten) for publication. Part of this skill development may well be learning to at least understand why these people are so damn analytical of writing (to improve their own skills, I imagine) and how I can learn from that analysis without getting so irrated at their demeanor that I forget to listen.

Wish me luck.

I have a cold, courtesy of IKEA. It's been so crowded, it's unreal. While I like my job, don't mind my co-workers and naturally have an interest in home furnishings, it's also absolutely exhausting. It's like working at Disneyland on opening day. People were lined up around the store in front trying to get in all day yesterday.

Jesus Christ, people, it's just furniture! But please keep buying and returning it, I like a steady income.