Lift Off

(Did I lift this from Getty? Why yes, I did.)

For most of my life, the question of body weight has been cling-wrapped in emotional pain, like cantaloupe wrapped in prosciutto.
Now at sixty-two,there’s a lot less emotional pain… but now I must add physical pain. Weight has become more a matter of physics:
"Weight is actually a measure of force––the force of gravity on a physical object, of how forcefully objects are pulled downward."

I. "Getting off the floor is a huge motivation."

. . . And, weight determines how much force you need to lift physical objects, such as one's body, upward. Gravity does a number on bodies, eh? 
Looking old photos recently, I was envious of myself leaping into the air with abandon only ten years ago.
Now my knees are reluctant.

Last week, when I was in the middle of moving books for three days in a row, there came a moment when I was sitting on the ground shelving books on a bottom shelf, and I had to hold onto something to hoist myself up, with some effort.
Had to!
This is new.
"I need to get serious about losing some weight," I thought.

I don't know how to change my eating patterns, though, without setting inner alarm bells clanging so horribly, they cause me to stop trying.
I know everything about weight-loss, nutrition, body image, and the psychology of eating that a woman in a weight-obsessed culture might be expected to know---which is a lot–-and every possible combination of foods. (The Donut Diet! "That's all you eat, now, don't you cheat".)

It's not more information I need.

Though uncertain, I'm going to try again (again, again).
As bink said, when we discussed this,
"Getting off the floor is a huge motivation."

II. Lighten Up

It's not just physical weight.
I also wonder if I want to lighten up, socially.

I came to a turning point last week, when I got together with an old friend I'd barely seen since 2019. He asked me about my experiences at the thrift store, and I started to talk intensely about life there, in the armpit of Lake Street, on––as Em calls it––SlobKnob Alley.
My friend looked more and more horrified and withdrawn.
Finally I  stopped, apologized, and changed the topic.

I've been surprised--resentful that many have not been able/wanted to contribute meaningfully to the Philosophy and Theology of SlobKnob Alley.
The stupidest thing people say, "you're overthinking", will never not make me go ballistic.
But I think my expectations are a tad unrealistic.

After seeing this old friend, who I like very much and who is not a lightweight, I thought, I'm being unfair.
I mean, I'd even freaked myself out writing a daily thrift-store diary, it was so dark.

What if I changed tack?

Like, what if instead of talking in terms of crucifixion or lynching (in casual conversation), instead of asking people how they are holding it together as civilization slips off the edge, what if... I told amusing stories? It's not like I don't have them.
Less steak, more popcorn.

Yes, Fresca, why don't you JUST DO THAT already?