The mantra for the week:
I wore this to work this afternoon. Sans guitar.
Today was the Day of Pink to provide a tangible way of teaching kids [and adults] about the issue of bullying. I showed up at work this morning and forgot to wear pink . . . and the kids totally let me hear about it. I went back this afternoon wearing this [except I left the guitar at home].
And, it’s completely possible that I have watched [the beginningish part of] this five times already today:
It’s not every day you wait impatiently for PRIVATE NUMBER to be displayed on your caller ID–for the better part of two or three weeks, I have been doing just that; most often sitting in the Starbucks at school, phone beside me, hoping for the above to materialize on the display. It got to the point where I was expecting that I was going to get this call at a really inconvenient time, or worse, miss it and require phone tag playing.
But today, sitting in the Starbucks, the elusive PRIVATE NUMBER appeared on my Caller ID.
“Hi, is this Kerri?”
It’s funny how relatively little time it takes for somebody’s voice to become familiar on the phone–I knew as soon as the caller ID popped up, though, that it was the practicum student doing my psychoeducational assessment. My mom went in a month ago; I haven’t been in for six weeks.
“We have your report ready from your assessment–when are you free to come in?” [My free hours are as tightly-scheduled, often between things, but still flexible, as much something can be simultaneously. I have open time in pretty much any available slot at some point during the week.]
“When are YOU free for me to come in?”
Tomorrow at 10:30, this process will begin to end, and another will begin. In whatever direction, whatever form it may take.
My appointment is scheduled for an hour–the same amount of time they scheduled me in for to determine my entire life story so far–for setting the course for the next part of the story. In the mix of anticipation, though, I have been a bit more settled about the whole thing emotionally over the last several weeks–and with a lot of help from a lot of good people around me listening to my ramblings, reading my e-mails, and supporting me through their responses. Knowing whatever the outcome, that I’ll understand more about where I’m at–and that understanding more will help me figure out where I’m going next–and how best to get there.
I cannot imagine they are bringing me in for an hour to tell me that they found absolutely nothing in my evaluation.
I want things to make sense. I want to understand myself better. I want to, perhaps, end a bit of this frustration that I’ve been feeling within myself in a bunch of different places.
I wait.
I wait for freedom from my own thoughts that simply cycle back to this continuously.
I wait with anticipation; I wait with this same craving for answers intensifying within me minute by minute.
I wait impatiently, another 15 hours to go, for what has been in the making for a long time.
Let’s do this. Let’s continue the story.
shooting for the stars / desperately reaching for something in the dark / pictures of memories, buried in my heart / lie awake and dream of the endless possibilities / catch my breath and go for it. / take apart everything that’s holding me down / make a point to pick a new direction / to make a new connection.
is this what it feels like finding out / that i’ve got the guts to say anything? / feels like, breaking out / when I can give up my reputation / finally, i can see, honestly / i’ve got the guts to say anything.
bold enough to fall / flat on my face / when i walk as they crawl / slowing down is just a waste of time to let go / tapping my fingers to the rhythm of a metronome / counting opportunities. / take apart / a gravity that’s holding me down / make a point / to find a resolution / to be my own solution.
if i’m gonna go down then just let me go / let me go down / let me go / let me go.
guts, all time low
My friend Mike started a thing called “Mirror Mantras”, where he posts a positive or motivating phrase on his bathroom mirror to keep him inspired throughout the week. Here’s mine for the week–one of my favourite quotes that has ever arisen out of a lecture and has stuck with me for over a year. Thanks Jay!
On the 12th of each month, a bunch of bloggers from around the world take 12 pictures of their day and blog them. Here are my pictures for March 12th, 2013!
7:28 am – work. Walking into work. Because it is EVERY DAY that you see a giant fake rock when you walk into work. [This is the joy of needing to walk through a drama room to get to my job in the morning. It is mildly interesting about 80% of the time.]
9:48 am – starbucks. The annex that includes the Starbucks at school gets its floors cleaned more times a day than the rest of the university does in a year. New project is to stealthily take pictures of the annex floor cleaner, and tweet them at Bryan.
2:06 pm – kitchen. My parents got home from Florida today. Since I didn’t get to go, I got lots of presents. Like this Peeps tumbler! (And yes, whenever I type “tumbler” I have to double check to ensure I didn’t type “tumblr”.)
4:07 pm – bathroom. Yes, you’ve probably seen this already if we are friends in some sort of internet-y capacity. As I finally post this on Sunday, it’s just about time for another one!
7:21 pm – kitchen. Fitbit needs charging. This thing requires charging so infrequently, it’s a wonder I don’t accidentally run the battery dry more often.
8:55 pm – kitchen. Having a nice chat with my buddy Mike on Twitter.
9:30 pm – bathroom. About to scrub the hell out of this pen to get it off of my leg. And arm. And the side of my tummy from yesterday’s body comp lab. The pen on my subscapular area, however, is a mystery to me whether it is still there because obviously I cannot reach, nor see, there. Also, if you look closely you can see one of my knee scars [out of four].
10:40 pm – kitchen. This is not going to be done today. Especially with working in a daycare, where we obviously do not do post-“expiry” dairy, I can’t bring myself to do milk anything more than the day after the best before, even if it’s still technically good. It just weirds me out.
10:56 pm – bedroom. Thank God I don’t have to set my alarm for this time tomorrow–6:50 is early enough.
11:05 pm – bedroom. Been living out of this bag for ten days. Good to be home.
11:13 pm – bathroom. Bedtime meds. [Yes, I did have a boring day and yes, i am desperate for pictures at this point.]
11:18 pm – bedroom. Sleeping in my own bed for the first time in over a week, instead of my grandparents futon. Like I said, good to be home. [Actually, I had a nap here one day last week. Sleeping on a futon is not apparently great for the energy levels.]
Trigger warning: body image/eating disorders.
Today I did a couple things–I went to lab, and I had some discussions about lab.
In specific, I went to Scientific Principles of Fitness and Conditioning lab and we all pinched each others’ body fat with calipers.
I think I don’t need to say that I, nor anybody else, in the lab was really looking forward to the whole thing.
I have not blogged any on the subject of body image. I’ve started several posts, and never finished them. Just because I haven’t blogged it, doesn’t mean I haven’t struggled with it. From what I heard today, though, was that while nobody talks about their insecurities, we all shared the same struggles when staring the body composition lab in the face today.
Like this guy:
From the similar remarks between my classmates to one another and the lab instructor, I figured out I was definitely not the only one. The comments from my friends Natasha and Jenni on Twitter solidified this too–as if the lab were cruel and unusual torture. (It’s not torture, it’s exercise science. But still torture when you’re in there). Nobody took the option of going into more secluded space; nobody refused to participate–yet we all hesitated to start, and we all complained. This lab, I think, for everybody was a step out of our comfort zones, and a step towards the realization that I have from time to time that pretty much everybody struggles with their perception of their own body. And I knew I was in good company and not alone with my insecurities in this lab.
Last week was National Eating Disorders Awareness Week. I had full intention to blog on the body image subject then. However, it is timeless.
Today, inside myself, I freaked out over the numbers in front of me.
Today, I tried to pacify myself knowing that I am healthy.
Today, that is hard.
My thoughts tear between I am okay and I can do better. The old patterns, the old thoughts come back to me.
Where every bite is agonized over and sometimes, frequently, not taken–or where every bite is ignored fully. I cannot live in either of those places as I have in the past.
Where I compare myself and my body to those around me . . . frequently my often very athletic classmates who I feel so different from the majority of the time.
Where I agonize over a stupid number.
I get angry at myself for doing this. I get angry at society that i feel the need to feel this way about myself. I get angry that I just can’t shake the thoughts and move on and move outside of myself.
My heart knows I am not a number, that I am more than a number–it’s my head that needs convincing.
held up on my last strings / of this marionette of me / that you control in your spare time / pick me up i’m a pantomime / but cut the act. / and all the strings and the stupid smile / you’re seeing inside, i’m slowly breaking / my heart is aching.
this marionette of me / just ain’t cut out to be what i would like to be
skulls and hearts and crossbones / pick me up when i am all alone / the only friends that i dare see / fears of what you’ll do to me / but let me fall . . . / onto the dusty floor / and let me cry and talk what i / have held inside for so long.
and i am cutting all my strings / you can try to hold on, but i’m already gone.
held up by your dwindling, nervous hands.
this ain’t me, no . . .
marionette of me, tess dunn
And I am not alone.
