Observations from the Invisibility Cloak

When I was 28 and writing poetry, I wrote a poem lamenting the feeling that I was invisible because I was no longer the youngest, cutest thing on the block --- and I had become a mother. Now I'm in my sixties and really invisible. And I like it!

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Rubenesque, they say

I don't think, in 1968 when I was put in the yearbook as "Best All Around", that I was supposed to take it quite so literally. This morning I feel like a Thanksgiving turkey, stuffed and trussed.

I'm going in for my yearly physical this afternoon. I really like my doc, who is within a couple of years of my age and has been with her (younger) partner for the same length of time that Jill and I have been together. Over the years I've seen her go through various phases and regimens to deal with unwanted pounds, as have I. But still, when I step on the scales this afternoon, I know it'll be time for a come-to-Jesus-meeting.

Never, in my wildest dreams, did I think I would attain this august age and still harbor the same thoughts and feelings about body size that have haunted me all my life. Think about it. When I was young, back in the olden days, recordings were played on vinyl. I even had my own, very snazzy, battery powered record player. We also had a reel to reel tape recorder and lots of reels of tape. I skipped over 8 tracks, though I knew about them, and went straight to cassette tapes. Then what? CDs I guess, and on to all the electronic gadgets of today.  The point is, all these different devices for recording sound, and the ones that came before them, have become obsolete. Old cassette tapes are filling the dump, vinyl records gather dust in the attic, most of these old things can't even be played anymore, either because they're degraded or there's nothing to play them on. But you know what's survived, intact, at full volume? The endless voice loops in my head.

Enough, already. Yes, I've read all the stuff, all the books, all the webpages, all the articles, all the theories.  Well, not all of them. I'm sure there's enough still out there to distress me the rest of my life. I've had endless conversations, friends constantly recommend whatever lifesaving technique they're currently using. I've been up, down, up, down, off the merry-go-round, back on the merry-go-round. I wake up in the night and scare myself silly with threats of diabetes, heart attacks, hip replacement, stroke, cancer. I resolve, scold, soothe, exercise, cry, pretend, ignore, meditate, visualize, diet, not-diet, follow programs, make charts, harangue, and (momentarily) accept ---- all to no avail. Still the tape goes round and round. Why is this the only recorded voice that never goes away?

This morning, against every instinct in my body and mind, I got up before the sun rose and drove the five miles to walk with friends. By the second lap, my back was hurting. By the fourth lap, it was killing me and I bailed out. Would I have been better just sleeping in? I've been packing and moving boxes all week and I'm tired and sore. But this is my constant fight with myself, the feeling that the barbarians are at the gate and if I don't fight them off with everything, I'll be overrun. And even so, the little buzzards are sneaking in the back gate and feeding me Halloween candy!

What brings me to this pass? I do know I'm not alone. Now that we have 100,000 channels again (a whole 'nother story) I see commercials and mainline tv for the first time in 3 or 4 years. That's enough to make a girl want to throw in the towel. I've been watching voluptuous dames from the 30s and 40s black and white movies the past few years. Now, there are some REAL women!

"And acceptance is the answer to all my problems today. When I am disturbed, it is because I find some person, place, thing, or situation --- some fact of my life --- unacceptable to me, and I can find no serenity until I accept that person, place, thing, or situation as being exactly the way it is supposed to be at this moment." p417 Alcoholics Anonymous


I've been reading that book for almost 31 years. You'd think it would have sunk in by now.

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