Purple Blues

Gorgeous purple dress arrived in today's mail. This, please remember, is my dream dress, the one I shouldn't have bought because I have nowhere to wear it.

And that's a good thing, because the dress looks just awful on me.

I'm trying not to focus on that, trying not to see how horrible I looked in the mirror, trying not to see how what I thought was a fitted dress ended up being a slinky-fabric dress, hugging where it should have skimmed, and skimming where I needed it to hug.

Currently telling myself the dress will look great after I loose fifteen pounds. Not really, but I have to be upbeat about something. I did come home starving after a thirteen-hour day at work, and still managed to cook dinner instead of going out. I ate a quesidillas made from a multi-grain tortilla, chicken, cheese, and a few canned tomato chunks. One quesidillas, not my previously-normal two, with just a little cheese, and with that weird multi-grain thing. Wasn't sure about the multi-grain thing at all, but this was OK. I could eat it again.

So far I've lost six pounds, which sounds great but really isn't much of a statement at all since my weight varies five pounds on a monthly basis. And the first fifteen pounds are always incredibly easy. I'll loose that much, then celebrate -- wow, isn't 268 pounds slim?? And practically the next week I'm back up in the high 270s.

I'm trying very hard not to feel like a failure already, this soon into a diet, but I've failed so many times that it's hard not to. I'm accustomed to failure.

I have to break this custom, though. I'm successful in so many other parts of my life. I have a great job, a nice house, and a steady income. I'm so close to having what I want out of life. All I have to do is shed the weight, then I can chase after some of the dreams I'm not living.

It won't be easy, even with the weight off. I don't know if I'll ever again meet anyone I can envision spending my life with. And being thin will expose me to a whole new range of uncomfortable social situations. For instance, I can't remember the last time I had to reject an unwanted sexual advance. I wasn't good at that in my twenties, and I know that I've lost whatever skill I had. I don't know how to turn a man off any longer. Of course I don't remember how to turn them on either, so that's only to be expected.

Sooo feeling end-of-day home-alone blahs. Work was great, I accomplished all kinds of things, but am I excited about that? Nope. I'm upset because for some stupid reason I counted it up. I actually did the math, when I know how awful that number makes me feel. Fourteen years. Fifteen in a couple of months.

I hate how empty my life is.