May. 12th, 2008

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The car hit a rock Sunday morning, 3am. so, in the last little while, we have:
- found the one and only place in brisbane that sells tyres that is open on a sunday and purchased two tyres
- had mother's day lunch 2hrs late with the in-laws
- had the car serviced, wheels aligned and balanced
- gotten two of the three quotes required to get aami to fork out for a new mag

jerub's been wonderful, handling most of the administrivia, while I sat in a corner and dealt with anxiety. Well, tried to anyway.

Sigh.

Aside from that mess, the weekend was great.

I've lost 3kgs in the last two weeks. At this rate, I might be at my goal in a couple of months. That would be nice, so I don't have to buy new clothes (I dislike clothes shopping intensely).

Some musing triggered off by various blog posts around the web, as well as the whole trying-to-lose-weight thing ...

I've been thinking about body acceptance lately. I'm pretty secure in my appearance; I think I'm a fairly attractive young woman. I don't hate any one part of my body. I dislike the size it is, but that's more a question of the magnitude of the shape, rather than the shape itself. I think my feet are pretty. I like my hands, even though they are small enough to make a lot of things a bit harder for me to do. I like my nose, my lips, my eyes, my eyebrows (invisible that they are), my hair, my ass, my calves. I have some quibble about my breasts, because they aren't in a commercially-available size, and they are kinda a bit saggier than I'd like. My thighs annoy me occasionally, because they aren't an ideal shape for stay-up stockings. My tummy jiggles when I run, which is uncomfortable. I wish my arms were stronger, so I could lift things more. I could live without the hormonal acne. But I think my freckles are cute, and I like being lily-white (so long as I don't have to go outdoors). The scars, I do not like. I am learning to live with them, though.

There are relatively few particulars I'd change about my body. I'd like to be smaller, because I find that when I'm lighter, I take up less space, and my body feels more comfortable to be in. I'd like to be stronger, because, well, handsprings are really cool. Also, I am too lazy to buy new clothes, and most of my nice clothes are smaller than I am, currently.

I have my fat and ugly days, usually hormonally influenced, this is true. I will be in tears over how much I differ from my in-the-head ideal. I know it's irrational, and totally doesn't match with reality, but unfortunately, reality doesn't have a lot to do with it when I'm like that. And, judging by some of what I've been analysing about my own behaviour lately, it's more an expression of generalised anxiety than anything else - I'm basically looking for something to get upset about, and it's the most convinient channel for that, sometimes (incidentally? not today, my anxiety has a slightly more valid target to overreact to).

I like my body. I wouldn't go so far as to say as I'm proud of it, but it is, at least, a good place to start.

That seems to me to be an odd attitude to have, particularly for women, in this day and age. I don't wear makeup or jewelery or accessories; I think I look fine just as I am. I don't dress fashionably; I do often aim for a certain level of elegance in my day-to-day wear, but I'm happy to rock jeans and a geeky tshirt as well. I know that when I take some time to choose what I am wearing, and how I style my appearance and expressions, I can turn heads on the street, and have, at various times. And I know that this is true, no matter what the number on the scales is.

So I want to change my body into something a little smaller. I can look sexy, desirable, elegant, beautiful at any weight; but I don't feel comfortable as I am. Comfort wins over laziness, so I'm doing the non-lazy thing of changing my body shape in order to feel comfortable.

Explaining this to people when I say "Sorry, it looks lovely, but I'm on a diet at the moment" is getting old, again. No, I'm not fat. No, I don't think I'm unattractive. But my thighs rub together a bit, I can't buy a bra retail, and my (very fine) ass doesn't fit into my second pair of jeans, or my nice going-out pants, and I don't feel like buying new clothes when I've got perfectly good ones right here. It doesn't seem to be a motivation that people, in general, can understand. I fall back on 'It's for my health; heart disease in the family, you know' far too often. That's *a* reason, sure, but it isn't *the* reason, by a long stretch. It's like the only reasons a woman has to change her figure these days is, basically, appearance. There's a feminist rant in there somewhere, but today has been long, and so is this entry, so I'll think about that another time.

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