Raison D'être

Here’s something I don’t understand. I’ve got an appointment in another town and have to travel. We all get up, shower, dress in clean, color-coordinated clothing. The baby is in light pink polka-dotted leggings and a snow white tee with matching pink Hello Kitty sandals. The boy is wearing skater pants, Nikes, a cammie t-shirt. I’ve got on a khaki sleeveless cotton shirt with tucks and a knitted lace inset, longish and just a bit flared at the waist so it fits nicely and doesn’t accent my bulgey bits. With that, gray/brown grunge jeans (no holes), new Fila low top Converse-style casual sneaks that match the jeans. I’m wearing my gold circle earrings and watch, with a brown stone circle on a leather strip around my neck. This all goes well with the khaki shirt. I spritzed a little Chanel Mademoiselle on my midriff before leaving and by the time I reach the train station the scent is already diffused.

Here’s the “Huh. Well…?” part. After the appointment is over I walk back to the train station to wait for the ride home. The benches we usually sit on are full so I walk to the other end where I see plenty of space. The bench on our side of the track, consisting of about six seats, is occupied by one young man and one young woman. As I walk up the young man puts a large garment bag over four of the seats so I can’t sit down, opens a snack bag, turns away from me and proceeds to eat. The young woman, looking at him with a baffled expression on her face, gets up and moves over one seat so I can sit down beside her. The baby is in a stroller so that leaves the boy and me. I sit down first and invite him to sit on my lap. It’s too uncomfortable for everyone involved, including the kind young woman, so I get up and walk a little way away, where I see the benches facing the other track are empty except for one man in his late twenties, early thirties. I tell the boy “Come on, we’ll go sit over here and when our train comes we can still see it”, but I know this is going to be difficult because our back will be to it and we’ll really have to concentrate.

As I begin to sit down, the lone man occupying the other end of the bench immediately gets up and walks away. The boy brings out his phone and begins silently playing a game with the sound off. The baby looks quietly around her at the birds in the station. As I watch the man walk away to stand elsewhere and wait, I assume, because there aren’t any other seats available, I wonder why no one wants to be in close proximity with me. I wonder because this happens frequently. Like every day frequently.

In case you haven’t experienced this personally let me try and explain. Have you ever had to be in close proximity with other people, in a grocery, in a department store, in a line waiting at the bank, and someone came in who smelled like a bottom that hasn’t been washed in about a week. Or more. If you’ve had that happen and looked at the people around you you’ll notice they have public reactions to the offending party. Some want others to know they’re being inconvenienced so they’ll be vocal about it. Others have reflex actions and they’ll make a face and show their feelings a bit before they gain control and get over it. Others will simply move away. That’s how it is with me. It’s like I have an offensive odor or something, and I know that’s not true. In fact I smell rather good. I don’t look dangerous. I’m quiet and don’t bother people. I don’t attempt to chat or talk inappropriately. My clothing and shoes are high end. My children are well cared for and mind their manners, and they also look and smell clean and nice. But the fact remains that I can clear out an area, a corner, a table, a row of seats, within minutes of my arrival. People are that grossed out and uncomfortable with someone who is as overweight as I am. I’m 5’10″ tall and weigh about 330lbs/150kg, give or take. I’m a pretty big woman but I can still buy clothing in a retail store, and my behind doesn’t knock around leaving victims in its wake. I mean, let’s be realistic. I can sit in one seat on a bus without lopping over into the next, but there’s no way anyone will sit anywhere near me. Good thing my life doesn’t depend on it or I’d have been dead a long time ago. I can still sit in an airplane seat too, without having to buy a second. In fact, I don’t have trouble getting in or out of a chair at all, if that’ll give you some kind of picture of what my body looks like. It’s noticeably big but doesn’t have its own moon or anything.

Still, no matter what I’m wearing or how nice I smell, or how hard I try to be polite, quiet and unobtrusive, I’m treated with contempt wherever I go just like that person whose dirty body you can smell. I’m treated like I’m offensively dirty and disgusting. People either openly show their disgust on their faces or they pretend I don’t exist, or hurry away to stand a distance off and whisper behind their fingers if they’re with someone. Or roll their eyes and act put out if they’re alone.

Here’s the part I don’t understand. How can my simply existing in a space at the same time someone else is there be so utterly offensive? How can the mere sight of me cause people to leave the area? I’ve seen etremely dirty, definitely oderous, most likely mentally challenged homeless people tolerated with more compassion than I am. People hate fat that much. And you wonder, if you wonder at all, why our children are starving themselves to death.

Starting weight: 331.3
Today’s weight: 325.6

Total lost since last week: 1.5 lbs.

Total lost to date: 5.7 lbs.

Starting weight: 331.3
Today’s weight: 327.1
Total lost to date: 4.2 lbs.

Starting weight: 331.3

Today’s weight: 328.4

2.9 lb lost

Today’s the big day! :D Welcome to everyone who found me via the contest and best of luck to us all. May we come out of this thing a little lighter and more confident we can achieve our goals. So to business: My weight this morning was 150.6 kilograms/331.3 pounds (2.2lbs in a kg).

Hello big white feet! I love you, you hard little workers, you. Who’s my good foot, huh? You are! :D Strangely enough my misgivings this morning weren’t whether or not I should reveal my weight publicly, but whether I should post pictures of my poor ravaged feet. *lol* But I figure, hey, full disclosure, right? I really should do my nails, though, sheesh. I’ll make that a goal for next week. Until then!
(¯`v´¯)
.`·.¸.·´
¸.·´¸.·´¨) ¸.·*¨)
(¸.·´ (¸.·´ .·´ ¸

Tomorrow is the first day of the weight loss challenge I’ve entered and I’m excited and looking forward to it. You can’t tell of course but trust me, my face looks like this –> ^_^ I’m also putting together a couple good luck totems to carry until the contest is over. Not because I think they’ll help me win a prize, but to help me remember each day when I awake and every time I go to the kitchen to put something else in my mouth what my goal is. If I post my weight on time and get to the finish line, having lost the appropriate amount of weight or not, I’ll consider that a personal best. Well I’d better get off to bed. Tomorrow is the first weigh-in and I’ll get to see just how much damage that Ikea food did last week. Nite nite everyone!

I don’t know if anyone’s noticed the button in my sidebar but over at Plus Size Bloggers they have a new contest coming up called ‘Summer15′. The challenge is to lose 15 pounds this summer in a 12 week period. That doesn’t sound so hard does it? And get this, during the last contest thirty people signed up but at the end only seven remained. Of those seven a drawing was held and three were awarded prizes for their perseverance. How about them odds, huh? While I’ve got your ear eye, do I sound greedy to you? Because if I don’t you’re not listening watching closely enough. Those who know me know I’m all about the getting of prizes, so let me say that once more loud: EASY. PRIZES. FUN COMPETITION with REALLY COOL and MOTIVATED PEOPLE. So what are you waiting for? You know all I’m gonna do is write another post complaining about my landlady’s cats. Go sign up already! June 15th is the deadline so you don’t have much time left. Now scoot! :)

I know I promised kittens but sorry, no can do. You’ll understand why in a moment. In the meantime here ya go:

This is ‘Gary’, aptly named by my Spongebob Squarepants loving son. According to my son that freaked out look on Gary’s… um… eye… indicates he wants to come home with us and be our special snail. After much discussion I was successful in convincing him that no, Gary was happy right there where he was and forcing him to live elsewhere would result in depression, anxiety, loneliness, weight gain and possible death (sort of like moving to Germany, no?), and we wouldn’t want to take that chance. Besides, we can visit him every day on the walk home.

As for the kittens I’m lodging an internet complaint. When we first moved into this two family home our landlords, who live right under us, had a cat who had just given birth to seven or eight of the cutest kittens you’d ever want to lay eyes on. To come straight to the point the landlord’s wife seems to have kept the whole litter. Inside her house, mostly, and while we share a common cellar where our washing machines and dryers stand, occasionally when I go past her entrance I can smell the cats. Since this happens only occasionally I think she must be doing a really good job of cleaning up after them. Here comes the part I have a problem with.

First, and least taxing of all, she told us we could use part of her garden for the children to play in. Since that time she’s asked me twice to bring the children out and let them play there. She doesn’t seem to notice or think it’s a problem that this is the area all those cats are using for a toilet, and not wishing to make an enemy of her and be branded a cat-hater I’m reluctant to bring it to her attention.

Secondly, she didn’t spay or neuter any of them, and now one has given birth to a whole new litter and a second is ready to pop at any moment. I saw her outside yesterday cuddling one of the newborns, and since she didn’t sterilize or give any of the first litter away, by the way she’s fawning over them it’s safe to assume she has no plans to part with this new litter or the pending one. So as of this writing we’ve got at least 15-18 actual cats downstairs with another 5-9 arriving at any moment. That could very soon be 27 cats in total, which in turn will grow exponentially.

In addition I begin to smell the cats more often when I go downstairs to do the clothes. Not very often, but more often than I did before. There are three adult humans downstairs. Two are working and one is going to school and/or working, and they vacation pretty regularly. When they’re on vacation for up to a week at a time I smell the cats more often. A neighbor comes over daily to feed and water when they’re away but of course goes home again soon after, so they’re not getting the careful care they’d get from their owners.

I asked my husband about it since this country is famous for its orderliness and attention to detail and law. He told me as far as he knows she can keep as many cats downstairs as she wants until it becomes obvious the family isn’t handling the situation and their lifestyle begins to lap over onto others and cause problems. Then the Ordnungsamt can be called in and they’ll determine what to do.

In our former city, right up the street from where we lived, an elderly lady residing in a single occupant dwelling (50-80 square meters) had around 40 cats living with her and nothing was done about it. The situation was remedied against her will when she was discovered passed out in her bathroom and the hungry animals had begun feeding on her. The city ordered that she not be allowed to keep cats again in her lifetime.

So yes I’m worried, even though part of me thinks it isn’t any of my business. I’m worried about the time when it’ll become my business whether I want it to or not, and I hope with all my heart before that day comes someone else will step in and tell her gently “Excuse me, but what you’re doing really isn’t a good idea” and point her in the direction of a good vet. Hopefully one with a ‘spay 5 get the sixth for free’ program. I’m crossing my fingers.

Well. Here we are again. Contrary to popular rumor I am still not dead, just slightly ticked off and silently brooding. I was bound and determined not to complain or write anything that sounded remotely like complaining on this blog, but then realized I’d cut off my whole idea base. How odd. Is that all there is to me then? Probably. But anyway, I’m going to write something and in keeping with my resolution to try and post positive and show more photos of rainbows and kittens and shit stuff I’ll try and keep the whine to a minimum.

First thing, dieting and trying to move around more is hard for me, but it must be done, and done consistently. This effectively means that for the rest of my life 50% of what I considered pleasurable about my existence just went into the toilet. Okay, I’m not going to lie about it, it’s more like 75%. And yes, lying on the sofa munching a big ‘ole chocolate doughnut meant just that much to me. I guess now I’m going to have to rediscover sex. *sigh*

The reason for all this thinking about dieting is that about three years ago my blood pressure started doing funky things and I began having to take pills for the things it was doing. The health professionals who prescribed the pills looked at me with pained expressions and made statements like “Oh this is such a shame, you’re so young!” Talk about freaking a person out, that’ll do it right there. I didn’t really know what they meant and to tell the truth I still don’t. I know it must not be good, though, whatever it is.

Right after my last pregnancy one of my legs began swelling and has remained slightly larger (about 1 cm proportionally) than the other one from the knee to the toes. I’ve been patient with it and decided to give it time and space to heal itself but it’s decided not to, so last week I went to a specialist. He tested me and found both legs otherwise healthy except for the slight swelling, and prescribed me some old lady pressure hose. Yes, those hose, the kind you see on 90-something grannies and occasionally drag queens. Not thinking this was a big deal since the doctor said I could wear them whenever I felt like it and was sorta nonchalant about the whole thing, I adopted the same attitude, waited a week, then popped into a pharmacy to order some.

I assumed, incorrectly, that this meant walking up to the desk and telling them I wanted the biggest pair of thick, flesh-colored hose they had in stock, taking them home and stowing them on my lingerie shelf until I found a real use for them, like… I dunno… straining homemade cottage cheese or something. But nothing could be further from the truth, apparently. The pharmacy lady got all frantic on me and said I couldn’t just wander in and order these, I had to be off my feet completely before I was measured and we’d have to make an appointment. I told her no, I was only in town once a week and the only time I had to do it was now.

Two phone calls to her manager at the main office and a haggling half hour later she agreed to do it then and there. Agreeing to do it then and there meant I went into a back room, got naked from the waist down, and this chick measured my legs at several points for a solid hour and a half. She measured me so thoroughly that if they want to make a pair of bionic legs the shape and size of mine they should have no trouble whatsoever. And the thing is, the whole time she’s doing this she had that same pained “Oh what a shame, you’re so young!” look on her face like she was measuring me for the executioner’s blade. I’m this close to getting really paranoid, people. Am I dying and no one has told me yet?

Next thing, I step on a bus this afternoon to pick up my son from Kindergarten, I’m locking the stroller down and getting settled, and a woman getting ready to exit the bus gives me a glare like I’m something smelly she just stepped in. I mean that literally. I stood next to the door so I’m conscious that if I’m not careful I’m going to block the exit, so when she got up I immediately looked over at her and saw her talking to one of her friends, then her head turned and when she saw me it was like “OH, Ewwwwww…. GROSS”. That exact expression was in her face. Then she turned away in disgust like she couldn’t bear to look at me anymore.

Now, old Lisa would have questioned this until her eyes bled and pondered it and having done nothing to this person would still be wondering about it years later and not understanding. New Lisa is a realist. It’s the fat. I’m huge and to some people that equals ugly, smelly, disgusting, horrible, don’t touch me it might be catching. And I get this look about… oh… 20 times a day if I go outside. I’m to the point where it still hurts a little but I’ve got to not care anymore. If I went around apologizing to everyone who thought I was ugly or disgusting during a day I’d get nothing else done, so I’m not gonna.

What I am going to do is try and get more of this weight off, but I’m doing that for *me*, because I’m fabulous. Granny hose or not. I’m worth it. The people who can’t deal with me now, I’m sorry for ya, but there’s no more room in my life for this nonsense. You’ll have to put your stuff on someone else.

Next, the baptism date looms ever closer and I’m slowly freaking out. I don’t like company. I don’t like people in my space. I don’t like people being in my space and it being open-ended, and me not knowing when they’re going to be gone again. And yes, I’m just weird that way. Don’t like it. Not a bit. So I’m counting down the days until I can endure this and get it over and done with.

And now to the morals portion of this segment. To get right to the meat of the matter, my husband cheats*. I used to think he was simply a superior human being for all the success he had, but now I know he’s successful because he’s exceptionally good at cheating. This does not bother him in the least. He feels like he’s smarter for cheating. Like, it’s a given that a person should cheat, therefore he’s clever because he finds a way to do it quickly and efficiently.

He also steals, while I’m at it, and rationalizes that theft away constantly. For instance, if he’s sent somewhere to do a job and as a courtesy the place where he is provides a coffee kitchen for visitors, he’ll help himself to everything he can get his hands on while he’s there and doesn’t think a thing of it. After all, they’ve provided these things for him, so why shouldn’t he take them? Now I realize that my way is not the only way and there may be many people who don’t see a problem with this, but back where I come from this is called ‘stealing’. A couple packets of hot chocolate in your briefcase because that’s what you would’ve partaken of while you were there, only now you’d like to save it for later when you can relax, okay. I think the company expects that. Those two packets are definitely provided for you. Cleaning out the whole drawer secretly and hiding the contents in your car under the seat in a duffel bag? Uh-uh. This bugs me.

And lastly, I have yet to finish anything I’ve ever started in knitting. I couldn’t figure out why before but now I think I have. Call it better psychoanalysis through knitting, the result of which is, I have a definite fear to commit. I cannot bring myself to commit a ball of wool or yarn to an object because I have a great fear that a better object or use for that wool or yarn might come along and I’ll be left at a loss. Go figure. So it doesn’t look good in the knitting department for me at the moment, which is a shame, but at least I know why.

That’s all for now and next time I’ll try and get a kitten picture up, for sure. Until then, be good, don’t grimace at fat people, don’t steal hot chocolate, and hug someone you love.
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*Update: I read back over this entry and to clarify in case it wasn’t already clear, when I say my husband cheats I mean at games, on tests, in contests, at cards, etc. If I ever wrote a post about him cheating on me with another individual – a boldness on my part which would be unlikely but you never can tell – I would start that post with “My husband is a randy no-good adulterin’ dawg”. I’m just sayin’.

So much has happened I’m reluctant to talk about it for fear I’ll break the spell. It’s been one of those weeks where I just want to curl up and process how I feel about everything before I make a decision. Did you ever feel that way? But now I’ve arrived at the point where if I don’t write about it I’ll forget, and I don’t want that happening so I’d better get started with the remembering. In no particular order or significance here it is.

Post-surgery my body feels and reacts differently. This was not expected. It’s been my most difficult surgery to date in relation to pain. I don’t know whether this is because of my age or other factors, but the four C-sections, even the first where I went through labor for nineteen hours beforehand, were nowhere near as painful as this one. I knew how to handle the pain and that was helpful but it wasn’t dulled a bit by that knowledge. I seem to be healing more slowly too but no matter. As long as I get there, you know? I have to take it in stride.

I’ve been listening to Anne Rice’s ‘Mayfair Witches’ series and am so far unimpressed. This was also unexpected. Every now and then I’ll get the desire for a good horror book and have either been very lucky in my choices or more tolerant, but this time I’m left feeling sort of ‘meh’. I love the ‘Twilight’ books by Stephenie Meyer as you love an old friend. All the reviews I’ve read slam her for writing style but I found the characters charming and the story, although meandering at times, still led me where I wanted to go.

Desiring to keep with this theme I switched over to Rice because of her enduring popularity in the genre. Wanting to begin at the beginning and watch her develop I started with ‘Interview With The Vampire’. Unfortunately the story felt as flat as a bottle of shaken Coca-Cola. I just couldn’t identify or sympathize with the characters. On the contrary I disliked them thoroughly. Undaunted by what may have been first book blahs, I decided to try again and switched to the ‘Mayfair Witches’ but found more of the same. I’m thinking of finishing the first book on principal and if it doesn’t get any better, stopping there and moving on to another author. If anyone has any suggestions for good horror books do please let me know.

While in the hospital I had the chance to meet someone who I can only describe as a fascinating person. The poor creature was there to have her tonsils removed and unfortunately I was so taken with her I barely stopped talking the whole five days we were together, bless her heart. After that first day she determined to give her sore throat a rest and I made my mind up to help her by zipping my lip, so I picked up my knitting and kept my mouth shut, but she’d say something to me and the yada-yada would begin again shamelessly. I had such a good time – if you can believe it, I was in a hospital for goodness sakes! – when she gave me her contact info afterward I was afraid to tarnish the memory by getting in touch with her. I still am, in fact. This is the same fear that hinders me from making any contact. But this morning I’ve decided to go ahead and jump and see what happens.

Next, one of the nurses brought her daughter in to meet me and afterward offered me a job as an English tutor, saying she wasn’t satisfied with the instruction the girl was getting in school and hoping I’d supplement that. I have to admit I’m a little stunned. My introduction to the work world didn’t go well at all when I was younger so after the birth of my first child I resolved to be a housewife and mother. Nothing gave me greater satisfaction so I was certain I’d found my place in life. Still I’ve harbored the secret hope that after the children no longer need me as much I’ll be able to find a little something to do to fill my time. I’ve always considered teaching a worthy profession but didn’t think myself equal to it, being as shy and backward as I am. While I know there is little chance I could be a teacher here in Germany, tutoring one-on-one would be teaching of a sort, and I wouldn’t have to stand in front of twenty-five adolescents who were ready to murder me from boredom. So… as soon as I’m healed a bit better I think I’m going to call this lady up and give it a shot. The only problem is I don’t have a clue in the world what to charge her for such a thing.

The next big upcoming event in my life is the baptism of my children, in approximately a month, for which I will host my husband’s family in our home for the first time in… well, for the first time. Don’t ask me how this has happened since for over six years we lived just around the corner from them, but there it is. And I’m stressing a bit over it, thinking the house or the food or our company won’t be good enough. They’ve been such gracious hosts to us over the years I’d really like the opportunity to make them comfortable and feed them well. More on this story as it evolves. Right now I’ve got enough to do to put things back together from my own family’s week alone while mama was away.

I have more to say about the town and my reception here since October but I’ll leave that for another time. Work calls and the day promises to be beautiful. I love the Spring. Hope you all have a great day and get out in the warmth with someone you love.

Surgery was last Thursday. Just got home today. Weak and tired but that’s to be expected. Hugs and love to everyone thinking of me. ^_^ More later when I’ve slept for a couple days and stopped walking funny. xxx

As I indirectly mentioned in a previous post, next week I’m being admitted for surgery. I’ve made peace with the fact. I’ve had four other major surgeries and a couple minor ones with little or no complications, so I consider myself somewhat of a veteran in this area. I’m not frightened or even overly concerned. That is, I wasn’t overly concerned until I spoke to my family today.

Earlier this morning I logged onto Facebook and saw my daughter had turned up the contrast on her profile photo to produce a spooky ghostlike face with wide, scared eyes. Her status read “I have a feeling something bad is about to happen.”

My response: 0_0

Later on Skype I mentioned to my sister that I’d been seeing ravens everywhere, our town is full of them, and what beautifully large birds they were. So beautiful in fact I went looking online for a raven picture to use as my avatar. My sister then proceeded to tell me the last time she saw a raven it was locked in dire battle with a snake, and witnessing this she got one of those deep, instinctual feelings that something was about to go wrong. Sure enough, later that week her partner’s grandfather died.

My response: 0_0 + !

Then she tells me my mother is afraid I’m going to die during this surgery (or afterward) and my husband will lose his job because he has to stay home and care for the children and this will leave the whole family destitute.

My response: >_< + !!!

Internet, I am officially freaked out.

One thing, though. If I don’t die during this surgery (or afterward), I am so gonna call my sister, my mother and my daughter up and scream a resounding “HA!” at them. Bastions of support and comfort that they are, I will only be wishing I could do it in person, and preferably after eating a large amount of onions.

I think I’ll call her Penelope.

The weather is slowly turning warmer. Some days it fools me into leaving the windows open for a while then remembers and chills me to the bone. The taciturn trees, not being the type to suffer such foolishness, are blooming defiantly in spite of everything.

My baby has learned to stand up tall on her toes, stretch out her torso and open doors. Our front portal now has to be locked from the inside. Not only is her body longer but also her hair, and soon there will be pigtails and ribbons.

Change is everywhere and also in me. The part that once held the potential of making me a mother will be taken soon. Or rather, offered up willingly as I enter the next stage of my life. I smile as I think that as the seasons change, so do I.

I’ve taken up knitting and it is a comfort. I’ll need bifocals before long, and while I can clearly remember the child in me sitting in a classroom long ago barely being able to conceive itself at 40, I surprise myself by welcoming these changes with a glad heart. I am no longer fearful of the blessing that is growing older.

“With love and patience, nothing is impossible.”
~Daisaku Ikeda