Okay so I've been a bit sad. On Friday I found out that I have Polycystic Ovary Syndrome. Now I am facing the big woman's mountain of hell known as "must lose weight." No choice now.
The number is 50 pounds. I want/need to lose 50 pounds. Losing this amount still won't put me in the "normal" category, but it is where I know I will likely feel comfortable and there is (hopefully) a good chance losing that amount will help to balance out some of my symptoms and lower the risk for greater health problems. Not surprisingly I am full of self-doubt, combined with intense bouts of self-loathing (it's like the worst emotional smoothie ever).
Today I cleaned the flat and spent a long time clearing out the fridge and even defrosting the freezer. I like to think it is a fresh start. At least part of me likes to think that. The other part says I'm procrastinating.
I am also not one of those people who can follow an "eating plan," whereby one is told by a piece of paper what to eat for breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks. This takes away the pleasure and leaves me feeling trapped, desperate and depressed. My typical response to being told I can't do/have something is frantically negative. I obsess over the thing I can't have until I rebel and go and get it.
The trick is to make the whole thing about "yes." I like yes. I'm a yes kind of girl. So far however, I don't know how I'm going to do this. But I can feel the lines of support rising around me, and this makes me feel better when it all starts to get too much.
In other news, the Seasick Steve gig last night was one of the best performances I've ever seen. The man obviously loves being on stage and seems to still be in awe that he is where he is instead of living next to the train tracks and using stale bread as a sieve to get the goods out of rubbing alcohol. Opening for Steve was Amy LaVere, a petite, child-like creature who plays a mean upright bass and writes incredible songs like "pointless drinking" and "killing him didn't make the love go away."
The Queen's Hall is a wonderful venue. An old church, there are not only pews on the ground level but two levels above the stage. It feels like one of those old-time revival churches - the kind where voices can gather to "raise the roof."
The only thing that dampened the night were the complete and utter losers who spent the entire show talking, despite Steve asking several times for people to be quiet. Steve kept a baseball bat next to his chair and while he picked it up a few times with humour in his eyes, mocking threats to those who would simply not shut up, at one point he did start to walk into the crowd with it and you could see he was really frustrated. He is a strange, wise, fantastic character and I feel blessed to have seen him play. Over and over he looked out into the sold-out crowd with wonder, standing up to bow so the folks at the back could see him. He also didn't mind sharing swings of Jack Daniels ("Tennessee soda pop") with members of the audience. He played wild and hard, as did Dan Magnusson, a most fantastic drummer, who Steve rightly pointed out looks surprisingly like Animal from the Muppets.
Another favourite moment: "If you thought the three-string was a piece a' shit, this is the real piece of shit," he said, hoisting his one-string "diddley bo" before breaking into "Save me." Finally, the beautiful ""Walking man" which he sang to a woman he invited onto stage. He wrote on a CD for her: "Justine..thank you for bein' my gal...for one song."
That's that. Only two candles are still burning and I still have to make up the bed before I can crawl in. After weeks of not seeing him, JP will be here in about eight hours. I have missed him so. Tuesday night we are going to see Mary Rose at (where else?) the Lyceum.
Through The Trees
1 hour ago