weighing on me.

i've been having this dream lately where i get on a scale to weigh myself and realize i'd ballooned up to 188 pounds without knowing it. in the dream i'm always still wearing my normal jeans, but they're tight. really tight. and my mom always makes an appearance to say something like, "jessi, you are out of control. how did you get so heavy?"

that's weird right?

i mean, it's sort of psychotic.

sure, i haven't weighed myself in over a year because it is a flipping nightmare for me to be tied to a number on a scale. but suddenly, irrationally, i'm terrified of the mere idea of finding out how much i could weigh now.

honestly, i'm guessing i've put on a couple of pounds.

because i'm turning 32. i am getting older. i am not restricting my food intake in the way that i used to. which means, I AM BEING HEALTHY. and god forbid, i'd put on a few pounds and be up from the 117 pounds i've weighed SINCE I WAS 17. seriously. it's ridiculous.

why do i care? i want to be happy being whatever weight is healthy for me. which is why, when i was at the doctor's office the other day, i stepped on the scale backwards and told the nurse to say nothing to me about what the number said. and at the gym, i don't even look at the scale in the locker room as an option.

because i know better.

but still. even though i know better, i'm struggling.

i want to stop having this dream. this anxiety-filled nightmare. i want to grow up. i want to forget my eating disordered past for good. i have no reason to be tied to it anymore. but, wow, that's such a hard chapter to close.

so i am praying for strength.

and honesty.

fact.

at least one time a week, i get heartburn in the middle of the night and convince myself that i'm having a heart attack.

imperfect.

My biopsies look like cigarette burns. One on my arm. One on each leg. Two on my back. They’re ugly and scabbing. And they hurt.

The good news is, three of them are fine. Which means, I have ugly spots on me for no reason.

I haven’t heard back about the other two yet.

It seems I’ve been collecting scars lately. Like, it’s my new “thing.” Remember when I pretended the sidewalk was a slip-n-slide the day after my half marathon last October? Because of that graceful moment, my knees are forever altered. Last April, I had to remove a pre-cancerous mole from the back of my shoulder, which left this 3-inch long, discolored scar. And now these new ones. I sort of hate them.

I want to pretend that I love them because they give me character. They’re battle wounds. They are part of my “story.” Blah Blah.

They’re one big fucking cliché.

Battle wounds?

Please.

yawn.

i'm exhausted.
like, 100 percent, sleep-deprived tired.
i woke up at 4 a.m. on monday. and got sick.
i tried to wake up at 6:30 a.m. for work. my head was pounding. i sent an email alerting them to my not-coming-in-today status.
i woke up at 10:30 a.m.
dizzy.
exhausted.
queasy.
i watched a million episodes of the millionaire matchmaker.
i went to bed at 10.
the damn cat woke me up at 2:44 a.m.
i. did not. go back. to sleep.
i went to work.
exhausted. headache. queasy.
i stayed all day.
meetings. work. meetings.
and now, now. NOW, i need to sleep.

goodnight.

things i'm loving. the august 2011 edition.

all things bumble & bumble.
my car (yes, a whole year later.)
radishes from our garden.
our moved and re-designed bedroom.
the sleep sounds app for the iPhone.
trader joe's.
hummus.
garlic.
garlic hummus from trader joe's.
sunflowers.
prison break.
that dexter season 5 comes out in like 10 days or less.
highlights.
zumba.
that my nephews are both CRAWLING now.
that my niece now calls me on the phone.
our budget that is helping us save up for the adoption.
that my future holds motherhood.
that our baby could already be growing somewhere inside someone.
hope.

repeat.

i get obsessed with songs. right now, it's this one.

i listened to it all day. on the way to work. at work. on the way to my biopsy appointment. and then to my other appointment. and then now. now, i'm listening to it. singing it. working out the harmony. imagining what my life would be like if i had actually broken through my fear of singing in public. on stage. with other people. and an audience. and anyway. i had two biopsies today. and three on tuesday.

so i guess that means that when i turn 32, i'll have 7 scars from moles that shouldn't have been there. one that was almost cancer. and hopefully 6 that weren't. i'll know in two weeks. until then, i wait. and listen to songs on repeat. and try to remember that worrying is stupid. i mean, my ARM says "in darkness a light shines." in ink. in my SKIN. so, yeah. i need to be positive.

the glass if half full. the glass if half full. the glass is half full...

dream.

i've been toying with the idea of writing a book. for the last 10 years.

i used to want to write a memoir. but i think, maybe, i should save that for when i'm closer to 50 and have lived more life.

a book of poems would be nice.

or creative nonfiction.

essays.

thoughts.

headlines.

ideas.

all i know is, the longer i put it off, the larger this void feels.

i. need. to. be. writing. it.

oops.

the parking garage at work has some pipes that leak this nasty stuff. smelly. like crap-tastically nasty stuff. awful. sort of a milky white substance. similar to what surrounds a dumpster on a hot, sticky saturday morning. before its been emptied from the previous night of revelry.

i always remember to avoid parking beneath the leaky pipes.

but yesterday, i forgot about not walking under them.

my hair will never be the same.