Friday, November 30, 2007

Glimmer of light

Dr. Roda agreed to reduce my lithium, which should allow the antidepressants to exert more of a force on my mood. Also to make it a little easier for me to get up in the morning, since lithium is sedating.

It's funny -- I'm still functioning pretty well at work as long as I don't actually have to write a whole lot. My field instructor is constantly amazed by the way I get clients to open up about their history. She's learning new things about people she's worked with for years when we visit them together. (I told her that PR is all about getting people's stories so you can spin them.)

Writing, however, is torturous. I had to write a policy analysis paper, including a section on financing. Finance is a topic that causes me significant anxiety. I'm always afraid I'm going to die old, alone, and broke, even though I put a lot of money in IRAs before I went back to grad school. So writing about financing policies to support low-income people is extremely difficult for me. In class, when the professor asked us how we liked writing the paper (this only happens in social work school), I said, "That last section, on financing -- you know, it's like, 'It's 11:30 p.m., and I can write the financing section or cut my throat...'"

The class and professor laughed. I don't think they would have laughed if they'd suspected there was the smallest grain of truth in what I said.
Copyright (c) "Ayelet Survivor"

Thursday, November 29, 2007

Nails that speak volumes

My hands look awful. Every nail's a different length, some are jagged, the cuticles are ragged and bloody. If my doctor needs any proof of how bad I'm feeling, all he has to do is look at my hands; as I've mentioned before, the state of my manicure is a pretty good marker for my mood.

I keep remembering how Jerusha told me, after I gained all the weight, how much "meatier" my hands looked. It's a matter of some pride to me that even if my hands are fat, like the rest of me, at least they're neatly groomed. But I haven't been able to give myself a manicure in weeks, and it really, really shows.
Copyright (c) "Ayelet Survivor"

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Am I paranoid, or is he a jerk?

On the heels of the Guitar Hero debacle, still waiting to hear from Logophile, I decided to contact another guy on that dating website. This was his self-description:

I am a funloving guy that knows how to treat a lady like a queen so long as shes funloving as wel. Ilike activities around water and I travel extensively in my career. I also have a PHD in forensics so I am sometimes able to "know" and understand people quickly which can sometimes set back a not confident lady. I am a very generous and kind person and extremely confident in life.

He said he was looking for:

I find most of my dates to be women who dont have enough of a sense of adventure. I am drawn to intelligent and confident women who perhaps have an untapped sense of mission in life.

Poor grammar aside, I thought, what the heck. He's only a year younger than I am, I'll give it a shot.

Subject: take me skydiving!

I've never been, and it looks like so much fun. I can't get any of my friends to go, because most of them are married and boring.

My photo password is xxx. I've got a master's degree in psychology, and I'm getting a master's in social work, so you might not be able to read me as quickly as usual. But you sound like you're up for a challenge.

He responded:

thanks for the note.. i cant see myself marrying someone your age as id prefer someone younger but you do intruge me.. your note was different to say the least. im brutally honest

Not so tactful, but what the heck, he doesn't sound so bad. I wrote back:

I can tell. Why can't you see yourself marrying someone who is just one year older than you? As you can see from my photos, I look significantly younger. And to be honest, while I'm not the youngest girl on this site, I am the one who will most prioritize all aspects of her relationship with her husband -- emotional, adventurous, and intimate.

That got his attention:

pls feel free to email me directly at bigshotesq@aol.com

I'm always wary of men who try to get me to go off the dating site and into private email. It's never led to anything good. But my response might have been a little over the top:

I'd rather keep this discussion on this website for now, if you don't mind. In my experience, men who rush to outside email do so because their intentions are less than honorable.

Sounds reasonable, right? Not to the bigshot:

then asusme as you please.. I hate logging into this. my regular email goes to my blackberry.. I dont sit in front of a computer all day. But your response spoke volumes. Thanks

That sounds ominous. Can this relationship be saved?

You're reading too much into my response. I don't assume all men are after only one thing -- I just get suspicious because, sadly, I've had several bad experiences, when guys from this website said, "Email me at my private email" and then made indecent proposals ;) I didn't know that communicating this way was inconvenient for you. If you prefer, we can table our discussion until later tonight.

He didn't prefer.

I am no longer interested.. And never interested in sitting in front of my computer waiting for responses.. Have a wonderful and succesful search

Supposedly experiencing numerous rejections inures you to their pangs. I'm waiting.
Copyright (c) "Ayelet Survivor"

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Breathtakingly cruel

I've been trying to speak to that Guitar Hero friend of mine, the one I allegedly dated (according to him) and have been having all the bad sex with. I sent him a couple of emails, left him one phone message, and called his phone a few times without leaving a message. He finally emailed:

Why do you keep calling and emailing me? We are not dating and I do not wish to have a girlfriend - boyfriend relationship with you. Occasionally spending time is one thing, but please give me space.

I didn't know until last Saturday night that we'd been dating, in his view. I should have realized he was kind of immature when he disappeared on me the first time he made a move and I was surprised -- since, after all, I didn't think we were dating. He went out of his way to emphasize that the sex must have been bad because he's not really that attracted to me -- and was offended when I suggested that the Zoloft might be playing a role. Also, he initially wanted to get together on Sunday as well as Saturday -- as long as he got to decide the activity. At the risk of sounding too much like a therapist, I think he's trying to punish me for "rejecting" him years ago and "criticizing" him for taking antidepressants.

If he wants space, I'll oblige him.

I wanted to talk because I've found your recent behavior confusing. However, you've now made yourself quite clear, and I won't trouble you any further.

At least he improved my Scrabulous game.
Copyright (c) "Ayelet Survivor"

Monday, November 26, 2007

Crisis averted... for now

So I decided to do some damage control and wrote the guy I taught "ephebophile." (I really don't want to call him "Ephebophile." Let's call him "Logophile.")

Subject: somnographia

Another new word; means writing in your sleep. Which is apparently what I did when I responded to you. I can't believe how idiotic I sounded, but that's what happens when you stay up until 2 a.m. playing Guitar Hero on your friend's X-Box. (It's pretty cool, and I needed a break from studying.)

Anyway, I hope I haven't scared you off. Your profile says you're an impatient guy -- you can understand my tendency to put my cards on the table perhaps a wee bit too soon... ;)

He responded:

Not to worry I usually have to review my messages and also probably speak or write without forethought. I will get back to you later.

Okay. Maybe I didn't screw this one up. Yet. And patience is clearly not one of my issues.

I'm seeing Dr. Roda on Thursday, and I'm going to tell him how difficult things have gotten. Like thinking before I email. Or writing papers and process recordings. Or getting out of bed. Or showering (unless, of course....)
Copyright (c) "Ayelet Survivor"

Sunday, November 25, 2007

Shooting myself in the foot

I got an interesting message on a dating website last night:

Saw you in my old messages.

I am sure that whatever struck me to send a message then is true today.

I hope you are still on this line but it was worth a shot.

Okay, I'm not seeing anyone, might as well respond:

I see that we corresponded, but I don't remember you. What is your photo password?

I thought that if I saw him I might remember him. But I could have been friendlier. He sent it to me, saying:

I'm still working out the system. I trust that if my pic meets your approval you will send me yours.

I kinda have faith in my prior shallow past so if I corresponded with you it means you had a photo and I thought you were a beauty.

Other than that I will read your profile and if you return message will try to formulate some intelligent response.

Okay, nice picture, although I still don't remember him. Which is odd, because we traded a bunch of messages; I just didn't save them. So I sent him my photo password, and he sent me a message with the subject line, "Ephebophile." (Psychological term for a person who is attracted to adolescent boys, which I taught him -- I have no idea why.)

Teach me a word and I'll remember you forever.

Perhaps though we could pick a 2nd word.

Liked your profile much.

Saw that you were once the most{something girl on this site........... hope it is still true.

Now that was an opening to send him another obscure word. Or something flirtatious. Instead, I pulled out my hair-trigger gun and shot myself in the foot:

I was the most something girl on Frumster? Probably most fun, most passionate, or most interesting. Definitely not prettiest or thinnest, although I am neither ugly nor fat. Definitely not the neatest -- my computer is very organized but my apartment is a disaster. I vaguely remember teaching you that word but I have no idea why. I also don't remember why we stopped corresponding, but I'm going to assume you met someone else and focused on her for a while, and it didn't pan out. Luckily for you, I'm still available and I don't hold a grudge ;)

Why, why, WHY do I do that to myself!? There is so much wrong there, I don't even know how to begin to categorize it. He hasn't responded, and I doubt he ever will. I'm an idiot.
Copyright (c) "Ayelet Survivor"

Limited motivation

I didn't go to shul this weekend, and I didn't make plans to go to Friday night dinner or Shabbos lunch. It would have been easy -- a couple of phone calls or emails. But I didn't. I couldn't.

On Sundays I often go to a local farmer's market to buy fresh apples, which are much tastier and juicier than supermarket apples. Today I can't. I just can't.

A friend invited me to go to a movie or a dance performance tonight, and I begged off.

I can't clean, although I usually don't even when I'm feeling more generally motivated. And I'm having immense trouble working on the take-home exam, although I did manage to finish one paper. I can't focus. I don't even care.

The only thing that motivates me, apparently, is the prospect of sex. I grasped at the slim hope of having sex last night; that got me to shower, get dressed, and get out of the apartment. Although I forgot my cell phone and my friend's address, so I had to take a taxi home to get it, then back to his vicinity. My mind is clearly shot. But I got there, and eventually he showed himself willing -- as I suspected he would. I didn't even have to try; he offered, despite his alleged lack of attraction to me.

It wasn't even good sex; that's what's killing me. That -- and the fact that I can't motivate myself to do anything else but the minimum. I go to work, I go to school, I do some of the reading, I try hard with my clients. But nothing else motivates me.
Copyright (c) "Ayelet Survivor"

Internationally renowned author

How do I procrastinate? Let me count the ways... I'm more or less done with one paper, except for the section on financing, which is of course the most boring section to write. I've organized my sources for the other paper, which is a take-home final, so I could start it at any time. Instead I'm playing Scrabulous and blogging...

I got an email recently from someone who found the paper I published:

I recently came across your paper on (subject). We recently did a personality analysis of him in our upper level psychology class. I am wondering if this paper has been published and if so, in what journal and when? Please let me know as I have passed your paper on to my professor and she is wondering about its credibility. Excellent information provided regarding his case, though.

I wrote back:

The paper was published in (name of journal), a publication for grad student writing. Where are you in school?

She responded:

Thanks so much for your reply! I thought your paper had been published but wanted to make sure. The course I'm taking is Theories of Personality and after doing our in class 'analysis' of (subject), our professor 'concluded' that he had Asperger's based on research that had been done on him. I work with children and adolescents who have developmental disabilities and just could not believe (and still can't!) that (subject) had Asperger's. In my opinion, there's just no way he had Asperger's, and that's what sparked my research and thus, found your paper. I attend the University of British Columbia (UBC) in Canada and have recently been accepted into the Master's of Counseling Psychology program and will start in the new year.

Wow -- I'm internationally renowned!

I think it's highly unlikely that (subject) actually had Asperger's. I think he was a socially awkward child and adult, but I don't think Asperger's had anything to do with it. What kind of research did you do to find my paper? Congrats on getting into the master's program!

I wonder if it was a Google search. That would be so cool!
Copyright (c) "Ayelet Survivor"

Guitar Heroine

A friend of mine who loves electronic gadgets and computer games got "Guitar Hero" for his X-Box. I went over tonight to play, and it turns out I'm not half bad.

This friend and I sorta dated, awhile back. Never went anywhere, never did more than kiss. But I always thought he'd be willing if I was. Last July I went over to his place to hang out and ended up sleeping with him... very unsatisfactorily, for both of us.

"I guess I'm just not that attracted to you, Ayelet," he said. Ouch.

But we're still friends, and when I found out he had "Guitar Hero" I was dying to try it (I loved the South Park episode based on it). So tonight I went over. I played a mean "You Really Got Me Now," he taught me a few Scrabulous tricks (that's Scrabble on Facebook), and offered me a backrub. One thing led to another, and we had sex -- again, quite unsatisfactorily.

But this time I don't think it was my fault, because I found the antidepressant Zoloft in his bathroom. SSRIs are notorious for causing "sexual side effects," including anorgasmia.
Copyright (c) "Ayelet Survivor"

Thursday, November 22, 2007

Progress

I was pleased to see this cartoon in my inbox today, a day of family rejoicing, if you have one.




I know exactly how Dilbert feels. I've written seven of the 10 pages I have to write for one paper, and it only took me one box of Entenmann's devil food crumb doughnuts. Just three pages to go, then on to the second paper, which, since it's a series of nine specific questions, won't take me overly long.
Copyright (c) "Ayelet Survivor"

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

I crack me up

"Being single sucks," I said to my friend Boaz, "and being single during the holidays sucks extra donkey balls."

I don't know where I get it. That's probably the funniest thing a frum girl has ever said.
Copyright (c) "Ayelet Survivor"

My last working Thanksgiving

"Why aren't you coming, Aunt Ayelet?"

"I have soooooooooooooo much homework to do, Malka."

I'm hoping this will be the last Thanksgiving I skip. I've got two major papers due next week, and of course I haven't started either of them. I could plead an overall heavy workload, which is partly true -- the reading I have to finish each weekend is staggering -- but the reality is that I work much better under pressure. If it's only a 10-page paper, I can knock it out in less than a day.

I probably could have spared the time to go to Jerusha's for Shabbat, but she'll be visiting our cousins in another city. I still can't see spending an entire flight with her, since I doubt they'd give me a parachute if I just had to get away from her.
Copyright (c) "Ayelet Survivor"

Sunday, November 18, 2007

Green is the color of love

I bet what Meshugener really wants is a green card.
Copyright (c) "Ayelet Survivor"

Saturday, November 17, 2007

Either that crazy, or that desperate

I can't remember how I met him on that online dating site. Can't remember who messaged whom. But I ended up having coffee with him, months ago, and now apparently he wants to marry me. This wouldn't necessarily be so terrible, but he's 13 years younger than I am, and he's Israeli. Either of those would give me pause; both are kind of a one-two punch.

Meshugener: Hi Ayelet

Ayelet: hi

M: i miss u u know

A: u hardly know me

M: haha

A: u need friends ur own age

M: i have... yet i like u

A: oy

M: hows 'the website' goin?

A: not really doing anything for me

M: no??

A: no, still single as ever

M: well im still here

A: well I can't marry u!
I'll be an old maid

M: well we can talk on phone if u like

A: for what?
look, you need to hang out with your friends, I don't have anything for you

M: okok y mad?

A: I'm not mad, I just don't think we have anything to offer each other

M: ppl make a living out of talking u know
so it helps

A: I don't get paid for talking
and u can't afford to pay me

M: haha i can pay

A: I couldn't take money from u

M: a ring is ok?

A says: ?
an engagement ring is a promise for the future
u can't buy me that ring!

M: y not?

A: because ur 13 yrs younger than I am!

M: we'll marry in alaska far away from eyes

A: what?
eventually we'd come back to NYC and ur family would flip out
unless ur not planning to tell them

M: Alaska means no one
run away..like

A: I'm in the middle of grad school

M: oh....no grad in alaska??

A: I'm working here, I have an internship

M: but god were talking life here...

A: well, life is relevant
I don't have time to play around

M: im not

A: there is no way we can get married

M: will=way

A: u r CRAZY

M: destany is crazyer

A: u have PLENTY of time to find a nice girl ur own age

M: im not doing this for u but for ME

A: ?

M: I WANT

A: if u want to have sex, u can find girls for that too, just not on the website

M: y be like that?

A: what do u want?
haven't u contacted any young women on the website lately?

M: i'm not on there at all

A: y'd u give up on it?

M: i couldn't find someone like u

A: omg of course u could, u could find a girl just as nice and MUCH cuter

M: i tried

A: u haven't been trying long enough

M: its a pitty u dont want me

A: I AM 13 YEARS OLDER THAN U
and u don't even know me

M: im not gonna beg u know

A: what do u call this?

M: begging

A: how long have u been looking? a few years? give it time
y r u so hung up on me?
ur probably just tryin to get me to sleep with u

M: y u say that??

A: becuz u don't know me well enuf to be this crazy about me

M: ill sleep with my wife only

A: good for u

M: yes
u'll be happy to have a young man at ur side no??

A: oy vey
I'll be 40 in less than 5 years
u can't be serious
we only met once!!!!

M: we shall meet again

A: u r craaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaazy

M: what if i am...

A: I don't wanna marry a crazy guy
I'm crazy enough

M: but u know im not crazy
it just a mettafor...
A think how good it can be

A: how good would it be?

M: ill let u sleep on it & tell me what u think ok

A: I can't believe ur serious

M: me either

A: ur too young to be desperate

M: im so not...i just found what i wanted all along

A: u don't know I'm what u want
what brought this on tonight? did u have a dream about me or something?

M: actually i dream alot of u

A: after one coffee date??

M: its like i found the glass shoe

A: ur out of ur MIND kid

M: think abt it ok
let me know

A: okay, I'll think about it

M: u wont...

A: honestly, I promise I will

M: u cant know what hashem plans

A: true

M: ill hear from u soon?

A: I don't even remember what u do
how do I know u can afford me? ;)

M: ahaha A let me ask u does it really matter how much money i got??

M: not right now, if we had kids it would

A: I think u need to be a little more settled before u get married

M: y do u think im not??

A: last I heard ur boss wasn't payin u

M: ahaha since than alot of water past in the yarden

A: ok
take me out to dinner to prove it

M: oh ill be glad to prove i get paid quite well..

A: u r the craziest kid I ever met

M: dont think im kidding ok

A: how can u not be kidding?

M: thats y i was telling u to NOT think that

A: oy
so when are we having dinner?

M: u decide its ur night..

A: tomorrow at 7

M: ill check ok if i can tmrrow

A: k
talk to u tomorrow to confirm

M: A ok

A: shalom

M: say salam

A: y?
r u really an Arab?

M: a terrorist

A: oy
killing Jewish girls one at a time

M: one only one

A: eek

M: im too excited so i gotte end

A: okay... too much info
talk to u tomorrow

I can't believe I'm actually considering going out to dinner with him...
Copyright (c) "Ayelet Survivor"

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Slowing down

I hate the time change. I can feel myself slowing down, and everything gets harder. Getting out of bed, reading, concentrating, dealing with people. Forget about cleaning the apartment; it's a mass of papers piled everywhere, dishes in the sink, garbage that needs to be taken out. I'm still functioning in public, but it's getting harder.

During my mid-semester oral evaluation (relax, it's not as dirty as it sounds) my wonderful supervisor, Melanie, praised me for many things I'm doing well -- assessment and active listening were two of the highlights -- and identified a few areas of growth. One was to spend a little less time in the staff room in the back and more time hanging out in front with the clients.

And today I couldn't do it. I knew I had to co-lead a group, which I had to do some reading for, and I was working on a process recording... but after I was done, I didn't go hang out with the clients. I stayed in the back, reading a book on cognitive therapy for schizophrenia.

The program director asked me if I had some free time to help one of the clients sign up for an email account, which I was able to do without pissing off the client, who is known to be touchy at times. And when we were finished, I was able to co-lead the group -- apparently to the great relief of the program director, who was having a rough day. It's ironic, because today's topic was negative symptoms, one of which is social withdrawal.

Days like this, I feel more like the clients than the other workers. I worry that I'm going to get more impaired, more limited in what I can do. And I know what I need to do -- I need to exercise. It's the surest cure for what ails me. It's just so hard to get myself to do it. I keep telling myself I'm going to hop out of bed at 7 a.m., dance for 10 minutes to youtube videos, and then hop into the shower.

I don't know if that will happen tomorrow. These days, I don't hop much. I slump, I shuffle, I drag.
Copyright (c) "Ayelet Survivor"

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

I succumbed

I bought some cake yesterday, I was craving it so ferociously. Not even very good cake. But it wasn't an entire Entenmann's cake with frosting, and I did not finish it.

Yet.
Copyright (c) "Ayelet Survivor"

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Sick, and, tired,,,

Not emotionally -- physically. I've got some kind of bug, sort of a sore throat meets extra gravity. I feel like I weigh even more than I usually feel like I weigh. I was able to stay home this morning to finish a paper and rest a little, but resting doesn't seem to be giving me much more of a boost. Later today I have to drag my ass into school and attend the one class where I'm really learning something useful, substance abuse treatment.

I know I haven't written much lately. Mainly that's because things are going incredibly well at my internship, where I'm being given wonderful challenges, opportunities, and choices. I love Melanie, her psychoanalytic approach is growing on me, and I really like everyone else at the agency. But my clients didn't ask to be featured on this blog, so even though they say and do incredibly cute and funny things -- kind of like my nieces and nephews -- I can't post about them. It's just not fair to them.

Also, I have to write two process recordings each week. Process recordings are written records of interactions with clients. They force you to focus on your work and the effects it has on the client. They're a big pain in the ass to do, because you're supposed to try to write verbatim accounts of the encounter and that's really difficult with more verbose clients, but they're very useful in terms of recognizing what's going on with your work. So some of my need to process things in writing is being met elsewhere.

And my dating life is beyond depressing. Guys I meet on dating websites ask for my phone number and then never call. Why do they ask??? Guys I contact under one screenname turn out to be guys I already decided I didn't want to date, and now I'm stuck communicating with them again because, after all, I did contact them. Feh. Old guys bother me to change my standards and consider dating them. Creepy. It's really annoying and dreadfully tedious, so I haven't bothered to write about it.
Copyright (c) "Ayelet Survivor"

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

"Wow -- you've lost so much weight!"

Sadly, those words were not applied to me. It's what I said to my friend Joan as we were waiting for the wellness/complimentary therapy student group's latest event to commence. She looks fabulous. I always thought she was gorgeous, but now she's spectacular.

Joan is a co-founder of the group. She had invited this week's speaker, an expert on yoga treatment of anxiety disorders. "Ayelet, will you introduce him?" she asked me, twiddling her hair. "I'm not in the mood to do it."

Now, as a good clinician, I had to recognize that by letting her sidestep this anxiety-provoking but minor action, I would just be reinforcing (i.e., encouraging) her avoidance behaviors -- and thereby reinforcing her depression. Which is exactly what I told the skinny bitch.

It's nice when you can expend a little aggression and legitimately label it as therapeutic for the other person.
Copyright (c) "Ayelet Survivor"

What fresh hell is this?

I love Dorothy Parker, who authored the title of this post. She was a writer who struggled with depression and couldn't get enough sex. Asked by her editor why she was late with a story she was supposed to have written over the weekend, she replied, "Because I was too fucking busy and vice versa." Reminds me of someone I know.

Anyway -- my fresh hell is a new form of insomnia. I'm not used to having trouble falling asleep. Staying asleep, sure, but I always used to fall asleep quickly. Maybe it's the time change.

I was cheered to read that being fat isn't as bad for your health as previously believed.
Copyright (c) "Ayelet Survivor"

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

An easy assignment

For my clinical practice class, I had to watch three cognitive therapy videos and then do similar homework myself for two weeks. I had to choose an issue and a homework method, decide when and how often I'd do it, and record the results. I decided to keep a thought record about my weight issues, writing it up twice a week during my 40-minute subway ride to my internship.

It's easy because I know how to do cognitive therapy homework -- I learned from the best. Hard, though, because I have to confront my negative feelings about my weight and dispute them. (I'm not sure if they expect us to dispute our irrational thoughts or just record them, but I'll get more out of this if I dispute them.)

And opportunities arise organically. Sunday before last I went to a really lousy singles event. It was supposed to have structured socializing activities, but we ended up just going around in a circle saying what we liked most about autumn. I didn't feel up to chatting up any of the men, none of whom were particularly appealing -- one ugly chap I'd dated once, who subsequently blew me off; the recently divorced friend of G.I. Josh, who'd never seen me fat; and other sundry undesirables. I was overdressed and self-conscious. At the earliest opportunity, I sneaked out.

A thought record has columns for the date, your behavior, your emotions, and your thoughts. I added a column for disputes.

Emotions: anger, anxiety, self-conscious, hopeless, envious

Thoughts: I look ridiculous, I'm so overdressed, everyone must think I'm desperate, trying too hard

I know these guys, none of them are interested

I look so fat

I'll never meet anyone

Other girls are thin

No one wants me

Waste of time and money

Disputes: So I look overdressed. Who cares? I'm more conscious of it than anyone else. And if they think I'm desperate -- again, who cares? It's not like I really want to go out with any of them anyway.

I'm not the biggest girl here, and I know at least 5 men who find me attractive.

So it's a waste of some time and $10. Not a calamity.

I might meet someone, I might now -- no way to know for sure. Have to keep trying.

One down... then this morning I got stuck in a skirt.

Behavior: Tried on a skirt that used to be loose on me, now it's skintight and looks terrible

Emotions: upset, angry, demoralized, hopeless, embarrassed

Thoughts: I'm so fat. I can dress to hide it, but this proves that I've gained so much weight.

I'll never be pretty again

I'm old and ugly

Who do I think I'm kidding

I'll never lose the weight

I'll never get married

Disputes:...

No disputes seemed sufficient to counter the irrational thoughts. I know what I'm supposed to say -- it's just not always easy to believe it. Fortunately, I have another week to finish this assignment.

Two random things I think I should mention:

1. I'm having trouble getting up in the morning. While I prefer waking to my alarm clock over waking up at 3 a.m. for no reason, I'm very, very logy and slow. I don't know if this is a symptom, a reaction to the time change, or general loginess and inertia due to lack of exercise.

2. I'm craving frosting. Last week the program director at my internship rewarded the hard-working social workers for surpassing their Medicaid billing target with a box of soft sugar cookies with thick, soft, sweet icing. I had a few, and ever since then I've had a wicked yearning for frosting. Today I took a very slow client to the bank and the check-cashing store so she could change her PIN and pay some bills. It took about two hours, long past noon, and I was dying of hunger. I left her as soon as humanly possible and rushed into a grocery store. It was very hard not to buy a box of Entenmann's. I made do with Quaker granola bars, which are really more like crispy, sticky rice cookies. I had 6 of them.

Honestly, tonight I can't decide which longing aches more: the need to get laid or the need to cram my mouth full of cake and frosting. Actually, they both suck.
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Thursday, November 01, 2007

Too bad he's married

Boaz: "You... are... not... fat... Gd... dammit."
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