So here’s the truth about my Christmas travels. Everything went well. We did Christmas on the 23rd, presents were received well (H got me a band t shirt, compass, pocket knife, and fancy hair dryer, all of which were great), then headed to Florida on Christmas Eve. We arrived late that night, then did a four hour drive north to my cousin’s new place in Saint Augustine on Christmas Day. Here was the biggest gathering of remaining family in quite some time - both cousins, kids, and step aunt - and it was lovely and full of warm moments. We all watched Spinal Tap that night and had a blast. Then we spent the remaining week at my sister’s place until Jan 1 when we flew home.
Here’s the thing, though - I felt lousy for most of it. Again I don’t know if it’s my age, weight, menopause, or what, but I was exhausted, bloated, and out of sorts the whole time. Up until the end I barely slept, my whole body was puffy and uncomfortable, and I just felt like a giant beached whale the whole time. It didn’t help that the weather was cold and rainy and grey, so activities were limited. We finally got one chilly beach day in on our final day, but mostly we sat around and tried to figure out what to make for dinner. Meal planning and cleanup was a constant annoyance, as it had to happen three times a day, for six people. Boy, did I not understand the burden on my grandmother on all those long family visits! No wonder she savagely crunched popcorn every night in front of the TV (after lighting up a Virginia Slim was no longer allowed by her doctor).
So basically, nothing (other than the weather) was wrong, I just felt wrong. And most of this was, of course, my disgust with myself for how much weight I’ve gained and how much work it’s going to take to get it off. Every bite of food was fraught with guilt and shame, even though for the most part I wasn’t stuffing myself or particularly overeating. I hate that I’m in this endless loop of feeling bad about my body - it goes against everything I stand for - but there it is. How can you not feel bad when for forty years you were effortlessly thin and then suddenly balloon up to an unhealthy weight and then spend years losing and regaining the same ten pounds, while all the while slowly gaining twenty pounds in the process so your starting point gets higher and higher and getting to any kind of healthy weight gets more and more difficult? And staying there sucks, because the fact is, to be thin in your 50s means being hungry, and being hungry sucks? Anyway. I could go on and on. At one point at 2 AM I panic signed up for some Facebook-promoted weight loss program for $70 and then immediately regretted it - it’s just a meal plan full of food I don’t want to make and the same calorie restriction I could just do on my own. I know how to lose weight. And I must, because I’m officially getting unhealthy. But boy do I hate it. I’m not motivated, but I know I have to reduce calories and get up and get moving, for myself mentally if not physically. I’m sick of good times being ruined because I feel lousy and tired and bloated and none of my clothes fit. There’s an easy solution to this, I just have to do it. Diet started yesterday.
I came home to a dead car battery and I can’t even get into the car to pop the hood to get jumped because my lock is broken from an attempted break in, so this morning the H will try to pry it open with a screwdriver to jump it, and if he can’t, I have to have it towed to the dealer to have them switch out the lock. So that’s potentially my day shot. Still looming over me is the fact that the deadline for uploading the grant paperwork is Saturday. I got it all put together before I left, but wanted to save it for uploading later in case I wanted to make any changes or missed something. The amount of terror over this grant audit has been a huge cloud over my head for the last month - pretty much ruined my Christmas season because of the stress - so I’m looking forward to getting that done. Once the car’s fixed. Sigh.
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