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Friday, December 31, 2010

Some Winter Goals

to
- practice writing whenever and wherever I can
- run often, so that I can begin to call myself a runner
- lose 9 pounds
- find a pleasant job
- go for a tattoo consultation
- brush my teeth more regularly (since I can't have braces yet)
- continue to grow out my hair
- take more photographs
- publish Tom-Tom #8
- drink "copious amounts of tea"
- achieve a 4.0 in my fourth semester
- register for a 5k
- employ a knitting pattern
- fill two notebooks
- read 15 non-school books
- listen to Beethoven's symphonies
- have friends over more often
- court new friends
- write with integrity--even for school
- submit new poems to new magazines
- spend time alone
- get to know Tim better
- reduce debt to 500 dollars
- become more mindful about shopping
- start over in the morning
- take care of my skin
- dress up more
- take my vitamins
- work to become physically stronger

journal excerpt, December 31, 2010

New Year is important to me, but, like I said, the new year starts on Christmas Day in the afternoon. And I made several almost arbitrary beginnings at various points during 2010. What may or may not have been a wedding was nevertheless the beginning of an entirely different way of living: no longer alone and no longer a child. In August I bought a pair of running shoes and stopped drinking grape pop with sherry. In September I started my third semester of university determined to do well. In December I began building some sort of new attitude: I had friends over for supper and went willingly to work. On this last day, I still don't know how to make Tim happy. I am 15 pounds smaller, and I can run 2 km. There are 4 new A- marks on my transcript. I'm proud of them. They cost me. I am still broke, but I am well on my way to getting out of debt. A year is such a messy thing. Can anyone have a whole "good year"? I'm tempted to claim that I've had a whole "bad year", but it's not the right term. I'm ready for another start-over. I won't forget 2010, but I will try to build on it, and bury it a little.

Thursday, December 30, 2010

music in 2010

There was...

Lady Gaga
Some girls won't dance to the beat of the track
She won't walk away, but she won't look back
She looks good but her boyfriend says she's a mess
She's a mess, she's a mess, now the girl is stressed
She's a mess, she's a mess, she's a mess



My Brightest Diamond
There was a silver tree
Down by a river wide
That's where we would go
To hang our pretty things
& watch the wind blow

There used to be a tree
Where we took our pretty things
We'd hook them by a thread
Golden egg lipstick and feathers
Pieces of glass, chandelier baubles
And empty bottles of wine
And watch the light shine through

I'm afraid to forget you
I am remembering you
You were sparkling



The White Stripes
If you think that a kiss is all in the lips
come on,
you got it all wrong, man.
And if you think that our pants was on at the hips
oh well
then do the twist.



Tegan and Sara
look me in the eye and tell me you don't find me attractive
look me in the heart and tell me you won't go

where does the good go?



Ron Sexsmith
Whatever it takes my love I'll find it
Whatever it takes, my love


The Klaxons
all plans are golden in your hand


Amylie
Un déluge de mots
Expulsé exprès
Pour laver mon cerveau
Et te défouler bien fait



The Beatles
Michelle, my belle
These are words that go together well
My Michelle



Cat Power
I believe in you


Joshua Redman
salt peanuts salt peanuts!


...and John Michael Talbot.
Where there is hatred
Let me sow love
Where there is injury, pardon

Grant that I might seek
Not so much to be consoled
As to console
To be understood
As to understand
Not so much
To be loved
As to love another

Sunday, December 26, 2010

Friday, December 24, 2010

happy Christmas


I wish you all the loveliest holidays, quiet, new underwear, snow light, and chocolate.

Saturday, December 18, 2010

on a Saturday in December





In Praise of My Sister - Wislawa Szymborska

My sister doesn't write poems,
and it's unlikely that she'll suddenly start writing poems.
She takes after her mother, who didn't write poems,
and also her father, who likewise didn't write poems.
I feel safe beneath my sister's roof:
my sister's husband would rather die than write poems.
And even though this is starting to sound as repetitive as Peter Piper,
the truth is, none of my relatives write poems.

My sister's desk drawers don't hold old poems,
and her handbag doesn't hold new ones.
When my sister asks me over for lunch,
I know she doesn't want me to read her poems.
Her soups are delicious without ulterior motives.
Her coffee doesn't spill on manuscripts.

There are many families in which nobody writes poems,
but once it starts up it's hard to quarantine.
Sometimes poetry cascades down through the generations,
creating fatal whirlpools where family love may founder.

My sister has tackled oral prose with some success,
but her entire written opus consists of postcards from vacations
whose text is only the same promise every year:
when she gets back, she'll have
so much
much
much to tell.

journal excerpt, December 10

It's finally happened, and I am alone with nothing to occupy me but my poetry books and this journal. I also have a pen I need to press down on before it rolls smoothly. My printing is decisive.

Tim and I are at his parents' house. I have finally escaped the laundry and the laptop at home.

I aim to finish this book by Christmas. A new journal for a new year? Yes, I think it's as appropriate as ever. Since I was seven I've been a writer. It's shameful that this notebook has lasted me a full semester. I've been neglecting a part of me that has outlasted my adherence to Christianity. I always suspected it would.

...

I'm close to finishing a poem. I hauled it out again two nights ago. Three cheers for me! Sure enough, now that I'm thinner, I look more like a poet. Soon I'll have mystique. It's ridiculous how accessible poets make themselves these days.

I am in love with the idea of being a poet. Embarrassingly naive? Maybe, but it's working.

...

By the way, I have a new idol. She rivals S.P. Her name is Wislawa Szymborska.

Thursday, December 16, 2010

My little spruce tree died

It's a long story. I think it had been dying for months. I was in denial.

To cheer me up, Tim took me to buy a rosemary bush.





I've decided that now is the appropriate time to begin setting up goals and routines for the new year and semester. I'm finished all but one of my exams. Tomorrow I will stay quiet, and think.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

A message for Katherine

I seem unable to comment on your blog.

Take note!

I have mailed you a delightful parcel full of W's, but the post office warns me it will take 5-7 weeks to reach you.

I'm sorry I'm such a starving student and couldn't pay for air mail.

Saturday, December 4, 2010

Thank you Jess

breakfast today




The bowl contains the best concoction I have ever concocted, hands down. Even Tim agrees. It is delicious, healthy, filling, and full of the protein this quasi-vegetarian needs so badly. It's also cheap and fast. I don't have a name for it yet, but I'm open to suggestions.

Mix in a large bowl:

1 small can or 1/2 large can chickpeas, drained
1 can tuna or salmon, drained
2 or 3 eggs
2 cloves garlic
salt,pepper and lemon juice to taste

and any or all of the following, chopped up:

red pepper
green pepper
olives
green onions
tomatoes

Fry half a cup or so in a little olive oil until the egg is cooked and the chickpeas and vegetables are beginning to brown.

Mix dijon mustard, olive oil, lemon juice and a pinch of sugar in a salad bowl. Chop up some romaine lettuce and toss in the dressing. Throw the fried stuff on.

This is one of my favorite things to eat at the moment. It's also great with some cheddar cheese in a pita. The batter keeps for up to a week in the fridge.

Happy Saturday you all! I'm writing my last essay today.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

an update

After a long hiatus from blogging, running, biking, weighing myself, journaling, and attending class--in short, from everything except writing essays, the end of the semester is in sight and I miss you all.

Despite consciously slacking off on exercising, I am down two pounds to 152. I've been trying to keep eating well during this ridiculously stressful final month, and clearly it's paid off. But I miss running. I miss my bike and the high level bridge. I miss push-ups. I miss hooping. I miss stairs. I want to start lifting weights. Clearly, it's time to jump back into things.

(Some progress was made while I was dropping off the face of the earth. I hooped leftwards for almost a minute, and rightwards for seven minutes. I dealt successfully with several large plates of Christmas baking, eating a little of what I wanted most and not getting sick. I received a second surprised, "Wow, you look slender" - this one from Ros. I left half the hot chocolate in the cup, because I was full, for the first time I can remember. I bought a pair of leggings in size Medium. And I did a 60-second plank.)

My goals for this week:

- run or bike five days out of seven
- do twenty push-ups every day, in two or three sets, if necessary
- do fifteen push-ups in a row at least once
- climb 30 flights of stairs two days out of seven
- buy or borrow a set of dumbbells
- lose one pound

journal excerpt, November 25





I have this crazy idea to write a Christmas suite of poems, crazy mostly because I am an Atheist, and this holiday has been somehow taken away from me.

I want church, incense, carols, candles, a pagan tree, a creche.

I crave the spiritual discipline of a waiting season, of Advent.

Though I am as certain as ever that souls do not exist, I am equally certain that at times it feels exactly as if I had one. There is certainly some dimension of me that responds to everything (or nearly everything) the Catholics prescribe for the health of the soul.

It's presumptuous of me.

Monday, November 29, 2010

from the chapter on Tropes

"Try, for instance, to imagine time not as money but as a plant (or organism). It may seem difficult and even counterintuitive, but it's not impossible:

'The day blossoms'

'The past is our roots, the future our branches'

'Human history sometimes bears strange fruit'"

Saturday, November 6, 2010

an update

Last week was weird.

I exercised for 4.5 hours. I ate the same way I've been eating since September. I ran for 0.75 km straight (not a long distance, but almost four times as far as I could run a year ago). I assessed my jump rope skills (I can do 60 jumps in a row). My weight stayed at 154 pounds.

But nothing I did (save one 2 km run) really felt like a workout. I felt full and heavy all the time. I felt ugly.

Clearly, I am getting used to a lighter and fitter body. I need slightly less food, and slightly more intensive exercise. I need to remember that I am in this to feel better, and if my body isn't happy, I need to do something about it.

This is what I want to do:

- 15 push-ups in a row
- 100 jumps in a row
- 5 runs

Thursday, November 4, 2010

apparently

Tuesday afternoon was a horrible afternoon. On Tuesday morning, however, I decided to prune our pepper plant.




After I had groomed it, and was about to scoot it away to its doubtful winter dormancy in our front closet, I noticed.




This year, apparently, things are not allowed to die out.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Sunday, October 31, 2010

Ugh

Ugh. Today I feel all out of whack.

If I list it out (went for a 2 km run, had a bath, trimmed my nails, finished editing the first round of poetry submissions for the magazine, dropped off said submissions for the next girl, walked outside in the last dregs of glorious weather, ate fruit, and chickpeas and yogurt), I did well, yet my body is tired, bloated, sending confused satiety cues; my mind bucks and balks as I try to write a mere 700 words for tomorrow's English 207 class; my mood is volatile, and I feel I am just scraping by.

Yet I have something. I know what I have to do tomorrow, and it's a simple list:

- eat steel cut oats with a pear
- make the bed
- run again
- drink 2 litres of water
- go for another walk
- make time for my journal
- bike to school
- watch James Bond
- clean the house
- take notice


(a pair of earrings)

Even on days when it doesn't feel like it, this is what works, and what will work again.

Friday, October 29, 2010

an update

I didn't meet any of my goals for this week. Not any. However, I maintained my weight, exercised for approximately 3 hours and forty minutes, babied my leg, went to a tanning salon, and so survived what I thought was going to be a relapse into the depression of last winter. (It wasn't.) I made tea (with ginger root and lemongrass),

cranberry sauce, and pumpkin bread. I bundled up and rode my bike through the first snow. I practiced push-ups and leftwards hooping. I bought exotic salad material.

This week, I'd like to make good on my goals from last week. I don't know how running will go, since I tried to go out tonight, and felt pain in my hamstring right away, but the others are all achievable.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Now, I'm just trying to be helpful

to all of you rich benefactors who live to shower me with expensive gifts (I mean you, Ros). Yes, it is with you in mind that I present:

A Comprehensive Christmas Wish List, Complete With Easy-to-use Links

- Oscillate shirt by Thimble and Acorn, in this, this, or this colour combination
- TOMS, TOMS? TOMS?
- The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
- wool socks
- a sea urchin
- leg warmers. like these or these or these
- a herringbone book
- boggle
- an elfin shirt
- some algal bloom or some undergrowth
- a crazy carpet
- chocolate
- house boots boots?
- a necklace
- a lady
- some paper
- a melancholy bear
- bicycles
- coziness and gorgeousity
- for cream
- little moons
- some of the Dove's work

Spread the word.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

heads up

The lovely Candace is hosting an ace giveaway in honor of her blog birthday. Hurry over and tell her about your favorite books and booze.

Monday, October 25, 2010



Up here, too far North, it's getting darker. The late afternoon light disappears by five o'clock. I can't take it. Just like last year, this third week of October has undone me. A threat looms behind my eyes. Lethargy drags at my feet. The air is dry, the city full of crime. My friends despise me. If I breathe deep, I start to cry.

Because I am a plant, Tim is ordering grow lights. He is determined to keep me sane.
He is a good man. I am determined that Winter will not be lost on me.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

This morning

I cried all night, over this news story. This morning it's starting to storm. My eyes are swollen. The Edmonton branch of the Delta Kappa Epsilon has its headquarters two blocks from the end of my usual running route, and its members are under threat of expulsion this week for abuse of initiates. I have been suddenly reminded of everything I make it a point to ignore, to live in spite of.

Friday, October 22, 2010

an update

This week I just tried to get back on track, after a week-long lapse due to stress and a mountain of homework. I tried to do several things:

- exercise every day while avoiding re-injury to my leg
- rein in my habit of eating in the evenings
- drink enough water
- pay attention to my hunger, craving, and satiety cues

Something worked. I've had the most rewarding and exciting week since I began this plan in August. This week:

- I broke my hula hooping record, hooping for five minutes straight
- I started practicing hooping to the left, which, it turns out, does not come automatically with the mastery of rightwards hooping
- I broke my push-ups record, doing 10 real push-ups in a row (which means I need to set a new push-ups goal)
- I had fun biking to school
- I went out to eat, and, for the first time in my life, did not feel sick and overstuffed afterwards. I ate only what I was hungry for, and didn't even want more.
- I adjusted my weight goal, from 130 pounds to 135, after looking up a BMI chart and realizing that weighing 130 pounds would put me at an unhealthy weight for my height. This decision is a significant sign that, for the first time in my life, I do not want to be underweight. I want to be strong. Healthy. Beautiful. More things than simply "thin".
- I ate piles of delicious, delicious mushrooms
- I lost 3 pounds
- I experienced the startling sensation of a pair of grey cotton leggings making their way off my waist and towards my ankles. I seem to have outshrunk my first item of clothing.

Here are my current stats, with my stats from August 23 in brackets:

Weight: 154 pounds (164 pounds)
Jeans size: ? - I'm still wearing my 10s, but they are loose (10)
Time I'm able to run in place: 6 minutes (4 minutes)
Number of push-ups I can do in a row: 10 (3)
Average bike trip: 10 km (8 km)
Activity over the past week: 5 hours (3 hours)
Time I can hoop: 5 minutes (30 seconds)
Distance I can run without stopping: 0.6 km (0.2 km)
Longest run/walk: 5 km (1.5 km)
Average run/walk: 2.5 km (1.5 km)

As for goals, this week I'd like to:
- continue to avoid eating after 7 pm
- run 0.75 km in one stretch
- practice leftwards hooping
- lose one pound
- assess my jump rope skills, and start including jumping rope in my stats
- take my vitamins every day

Before Christmas I'd like to:
- do 15 push-ups in a row
- run 1 km at a stretch
- go swimming with Laura
- have people over for dinner
- weigh 150 pounds

P.S. Thanks for putting up with the minutiae of this process. I promise to try and post some provocative photo soon.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

To Do

- fold up, stitch, and package an Etsy order (someone lovely in Japan claimed a copy of the how-to book!) CHECK
- stretch CHECK
- compose letters to Glynis, Robyn, and Emily CHECK
- run CHECK
- go to the post office CHECK
- drink a couple litres of water CHECK
- clean the bathroom CHECK
- put some laundry in CHECK
- finish The Hobbit CHECK
- read Lacan on Poe's The Purloined Letter
- make pizza CHECK
- write
- read whatever is supposed to be read for English two-oh!-seven CHECK
- download The Wind That Shakes the Barley CHECK
- clean the floors CHECK
- make some tea CHECK

Friday, October 15, 2010

a parcel









For the many small packages
and the stamped labels for everything,
for the lovely smell of soap
even before I opened the envelope,
for cloth which looks as though
you've just finished doodling on it,
for the address, which read Mrs. Elizabth Derksen,
for the funny, tiny books,
for the chalk with which
I will make sketched and hairsprayed pictures
to hang over my desk,
and birthday greetings on the sidewalk,
for celebrating our marriage,
as illegal as it is,
for the evidence of
your talent, skill, and joyful spirit -
thank you, my friend,
from the bottom of my heart.
I cried a bit when I opened it.

an update

The last week and a half have been terrible. I am not giving up. Tomorrow is another day. This week starts then. I want to exercise every day, refrain from eating after seven o'clock, and do as many push-ups and as much running as possible.

Monday, October 11, 2010

"Last Letter" - Ted Hughes

What happened that night? Your final night.
Double, treble exposure
Over everything. Late afternoon, Friday,
My last sight of you alive.
Burning your letter to me, in the ashtray,
With that strange smile. Had I bungled your plan?
Had it surprised me sooner than you purposed?
Had I rushed it back to you too promptly?
One hour later—-you would have been gone
Where I could not have traced you.
I would have turned from your locked red door
That nobody would open
Still holding your letter,
A thunderbolt that could not earth itself.
That would have been electric shock treatment
For me.
Repeated over and over, all weekend,
As often as I read it, or thought of it.
That would have remade my brains, and my life.
The treatment that you planned needed some time.
I cannot imagine
How I would have got through that weekend.
I cannot imagine. Had you plotted it all?

Your note reached me too soon—-that same day,
Friday afternoon, posted in the morning.
The prevalent devils expedited it.
That was one more straw of ill-luck
Drawn against you by the Post-Office
And added to your load. I moved fast,
Through the snow-blue, February, London twilight.
Wept with relief when you opened the door.
A huddle of riddles in solution. Precocious tears
That failed to interpret to me, failed to divulge
Their real import. But what did you say
Over the smoking shards of that letter
So carefully annihilated, so calmly,
That let me release you, and leave you
To blow its ashes off your plan—-off the ashtray
Against which you would lean for me to read
The Doctor’s phone-number.
My escape
Had become such a hunted thing
Sleepless, hopeless, all its dreams exhausted,
Only wanting to be recaptured, only
Wanting to drop, out of its vacuum.
Two days of dangling nothing. Two days gratis.
Two days in no calendar, but stolen
From no world,
Beyond actuality, feeling, or name.

My love-life grabbed it. My numbed love-life
With its two mad needles,
Embroidering their rose, piercing and tugging
At their tapestry, their bloody tattoo
Somewhere behind my navel,
Treading that morass of emblazon,
Two mad needles, criss-crossing their stitches,
Selecting among my nerves
For their colours, refashioning me
Inside my own skin, each refashioning the other
With their self-caricatures,

Their obsessed in and out. Two women
Each with her needle.

That night
My dellarobbia Susan. I moved
With the circumspection
Of a flame in a fuse. My whole fury
Was an abandoned effort to blow up
The old globe where shadows bent over
My telltale track of ashes. I raced
From and from, face backwards, a film reversed,
Towards what? We went to Rugby St
Where you and I began.
Why did we go there? Of all places
Why did we go there? Perversity
In the artistry of our fate
Adjusted its refinements for you, for me
And for Susan. Solitaire
Played by the Minotaur of that maze
Even included Helen, in the ground-floor flat.
You had noted her—-a girl for a story.
You never met her. Few ever met her,
Except across the ears and raving mask
Of her Alsatian. You had not even glimpsed her.
You had only recoiled
When her demented animal crashed its weight
Against her door, as we slipped through the hallway;
And heard it choking on infinite German hatred.

That Sunday night she eased her door open
Its few permitted inches.
Susan greeted the black eyes, the unhappy
Overweight, lovely face, that peeped out
Across the little chain. The door closed.
We heard her consoling her jailor
Inside her cell, its kennel, where, days later,
She gassed her ferocious kupo, and herself.

Susan and I spent that night
In our wedding bed. I had not seen it
Since we lay there on our wedding day.
I did not take her back to my own bed.
It had occurred to me, your weekend over,
You might appear—-a surprise visitation.
Did you appear, to tap at my dark window?
So I stayed with Susan, hiding from you,
In our own wedding bed—-the same from which
Within three years she would be taken to die
In that same hospital where, within twelve hours,
I would find you dead.
Monday morning
I drove her to work, in the City,
Then parked my van North of Euston Road
And returned to where my telephone waited.

What happened that night, inside your hours,
Is as unknown as if it never happened.
What accumulation of your whole life,
Like effort unconscious, like birth
Pushing through the membrane of each slow second
Into the next, happened
Only as if it could not happen,
As if it was not happening. How often
Did the phone ring there in my empty room,
You hearing the ring in your receiver—-
At both ends the fading memory
Of a telephone ringing, in a brain
As if already dead. I count
How often you walked to the phone-booth
At the bottom of St George’s terrace.
You are there whenever I look, just turning
Out of Fitzroy Road, crossing over
Between the heaped up banks of dirty sugar.
In your long black coat,
With your plait coiled up at the back of your hair
You walk unable to move, or wake, and are
Already nobody walking
Walking by the railings under Primrose Hill
Towards the phone booth that can never be reached.
Before midnight. After midnight. Again.
Again. Again. And, near dawn, again.

At what position of the hands on my watch-face
Did your last attempt,
Already deeply past
My being able to hear it, shake the pillow
Of that empty bed? A last time
Lightly touch at my books, and my papers?
By the time I got there my phone was asleep.
The pillow innocent. My room slept,
Already filled with the snowlit morning light.
I lit my fire. I had got out my papers.
And I had started to write when the telephone
Jerked awake, in a jabbering alarm,
Remembering everything. It recovered in my hand.
Then a voice like a selected weapon
Or a measured injection,
Coolly delivered its four words
Deep into my ear: ‘Your wife is dead.’


This poem was only just discovered, and published for the first time last week. This is a link to the news broadcast.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

And the winner is . . .

Emily!

However, to everyone else that entered: I was so thrilled to see your comments that I want to send each one of you some other small surprise. I know, I am terrible at giveaways. I want to go overboard. Please email your snail mail addresses to lizziederksen@gmail.com. (Laura and Glynis, I have your addresses. Emily, I don't think I have your new one.)

peppers



In May, Laura gave us a pepper plant for our wedding...

an update

The goals last week were to lose a pound, and to run five times.

I lost a pound.

And I ran five times. I covered, over the course of the longest run, 5 km, 3 of which I actually ran. On the way home, as I turned into our street, instead of collapsing in a heap of palpitations and nausea, I started to sprint.

It is strange to watch my shadow flowing beside me in the grass. I can move so fast? I feel like an animal. I am the mortal envy of my lumpish younger self, who didn't eat because she was convinced that she would not be able to do anything worth fueling for.

Tim rode beside me, measuring our pace with his bike computer. He said, "You're much faster. More than that, you're fast."

(Also this week, I bought a pair of school sweatpants. For running. In size small. This is double-time dream fulfillment, since when I was little, the coolest girls were the skinny ones who went around with the names of their universities on their bums.)

I am terribly disappointed that I won't be able to run this week. I pulled a tendon connected to one of my hamstrings last night, and need to let it heal. (Ha! A runner's injury!) Instead, I'd like to ride my bike four times, jump rope three times, stretch daily, and journal my food intake/hours of exercise again after a bit of a lapse.

As for longer-term goals, I need some new ones. By Christmas,
I would like to weigh 150 pounds.
I would like to have gone swimming with Laura.
I would like to have had people over for supper.
I would like to be able to do 10 push-ups in a row.

Sunday, October 3, 2010

give away, away, away


I miss my trips to the post office. I'm sure one of you people out there could use some mail. I am just itching to give this little number away.

Comments will be open until Wednesday at 12 am. Tell me why you want it (if you want it), and which poet it will reside beside on your bedside table.

EDIT: This isn't a first-come, first-served deal! (Although I will delighted to send the poems to Sunny if she wins.) Comment! Be clever!

Saturday, October 2, 2010

the second of October, on a Saturday

I am overwhelmed -

with a reading list 600 pages long
with two essays and a project coming up due
and the essays not started
with the heavy feeling in my stomach
not knowing whether I'm hungry or full
with my neglected notebook
with my neglected river valley on this glorious day
with Kant and Freud and how desperately wrong
they can be,
with my dirty hair
with a pile of laundry
and the mountain of recycling
with the dying garden
with its last spurt of life
with ripped fingernails

- and I do not know where to start,
what to fight,
what to acknowledge and nod to

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

green





I made these two nights ago.

an update

This one is late because last night I tried to read A Clockwork Orange in one sitting. I was supposed to read it, and write a response paper to turn in before my Tuesday 12:30 class. This morning, I wrote the response. I based it on the 50 pages I actually got through. (Lucky: I've read the novel before, and I've seen the movie. My grade is probably not doomed.)

Anyway. This week, yet again, I did not lose any weight. I'm a little confused by this, since I have been eating really well and continue to up my level of exercise. I do, though, notice brand-new muscles in my legs and torso. My energy level begins to astound me. I look thinner and feel calmer and sleep better. So, despite the unmovable scale, I do not want to quit. It's actually quite the revelation. My previous methods of weight loss (which did not involve exercise) usually caused me to feel horrible. And once I stopped losing a pound a day, I gave up - it wasn't worth the listlessness and constant hunger. I am sure I will begin losing weight again, but for now I am thrilled to see that I am getting stronger. There has been enough of a change in my body that I feel justified in suggesting that I am gaining muscle mass quickly enough to make the fat I'm losing inconsequential to the scale.

This week: I ran 2.2 kilometers (instead of 1.5) in preparation to attempt the 4 km to the high-level bridge, I hooped for about six minutes straight, I used my jump rope, I weighed my sugar, I biked to school, I biked and ran both over the course of one day, I resisted date squares and rhubarb crisp and pound cake and ice cream that I was not hungry for, I ran outside during the day, and I made salad dressing for the first time.

When Tim tells me how good I look, how proud he is of how hard I'm working, I float right up to the ceiling like that skinny Mary Poppins...

It's been a good week, but I am frustrated by the '158' that keeps showing up every time I weigh myself. This week, I would like to lose a pound. And run five times.(And fix myself up in the mornings. And take my vitamins.)

When I get to 150 pounds, I am going to buy some ridiculous, glorious Oscar de la Renta perfume. Just so y'all know.

Friday, September 24, 2010

new quest

The hill I first conquered in June is simply too friendly to conquer any longer. I just scoot up, and salute at the top.

What a battle we could have if I left my bike at home, and wore my running shoes.

My runs to date have been about 1.5 km each, but lately they haven't been killing me. It's time for a new quest. 4 km along my bike route. I'll let you know how it goes.

in the road