Small Change

I have The Herp again, which means the lower left-hand corner of my lip is swollen and pustuled and…well, it feels pretty tingly and gross, and I keep asking Adam if he wants to make out and surprisingly, he continues to turn me down. In truth, between freak lip and the dangerously hairy leg underneath my cast, I actually feel somewhat relieved that he’s letting me in bed at all. And, as I’ve discussed before, I’m still living in fear that I’m going to spread The Herp everywhere, and have become a model citizen in terms of hand hygiene, and if I smell Bath & Body Works Cucumber Melon anti-bac gel ONE MORE BLOODY TIME, I’m just going to smear my lips all over my body and be done with it for God’s sake, and just turn myself into a Garbage Pail Kid named Herpy Helga. I could do the circus circuit, actually, and probably make some decent money.

Somewhat separately, I got into a bit of a tiff with T-Mobile today (blah, blah, they reset my voice mail during a troubleshooting call and deleted my much-needed work related messages, blah), and I politely yet firmly expressed my displeasure…well, I tried to at least. I was very…firm and quite articulate in my dissatisfaction, right up to the point where I forcefully announced that under no circumstances would I call T-Mobile for assistance again “unless my PHONE was on fire!!”

Because a mobile phone fire is totally something I would have the flexibility to wade through three minutes of voice recognition introductions for, not to mention the vast potential for in-person help offered by some call center representative in Arizona named Dusty. And also, um, if the phone is on fire, I will not have a phone with which to call them. I also closed the call with the terrifying threat that “when my two-year mandatory unconditional contract is up I AM SO OUT OF HERE.”

I wish I were exaggerating. They are terrified of me, just petrified, can’t you tell?

(Also, that was entirely separately, not “somewhat” separately, because The Herp and T-Mobile have very little in common other than being vague nuisances.)

Even more distinct and separate, while I was out walking the other night, a neighbor stopped me and asked somewhat tentatively if I’d lost a lot of weight recently – she “didn’t want to offend,” but she noticed. Quite honestly, I can’t see how that would be offensive, because JESUS YES THANK YOU NEIGHBOR. Exactly no one in my actual life has noticed, save for a coworker who knew I was dieting all along who is being very kind and offering support by commenting how thin I look every day. But even I know how impossible it is to see weight loss on someone you see every day, because the changes are so gradual that they barely slip into our consciousness until one day everything is different, and you’re not even sure how it happened.

Not that you needed to hear this, but I’ve lost roughly 25 pounds since January, give or take a pound or two, and it’s a weird and completely exhilarating thing. It’s become passe to rely on the scale, out of fear that dieters – excuse me, lifestyle changers – will rely too heavily on the numbers instead of recognizing what’s in the mirror. To some degree, I get that, because although I don’t plan on getting carried away, I absolutely need the scale.

I need the scale to remind myself of what I look like, because I honestly have no earthly idea. I still look in the mirror and see a larger person – one who really should avoid anything sleeveless, if I’d like to protect the precious, precious eyesight of those around me. I went shopping with a friend the other day, and the things she suggested I try on simply shocked me – I can’t actually believe that I can wear them, and did you know that right now, I’m wearing a tank top? And I wore it outside of the house today and everything! And I looked almost good. Well, except for the hidden, yet excessively hairy leg and Herp-laden lip, that is. But we can’t have everything.

Happy Tuesday! I love Tuesdays.

*Tom Waits

19 comments June 4th, 2007