Wednesday, December 11, 2013

A BeansTalk Confessional

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

Hold-on, little one, my arm
is bigger than you are around.
I’m middle-aged, but technically, only if I live to be 100. 

I don’t mind that I’m AARP eligible, and go through life unnoticed. However, I am now achingly overweight for my frame. I mean that literally. I’m not obese, but too heavy to not be achy. Sometimes, when I’m waking down a street, I catch a glimpse of my reflection and I honestly have no idea who that stout person is — before I face reality, I walk my short, fat legs away quickly, thighs uncomfortably rubbing against each other.

I once had a roommate and then-friend, an aspiring actress (now a “director;” but moreover, married a frequently working character actor) who was constantly looking in the mirror: rear-view mirrors, side-mirrors, the wall-mirror above the chair-rail in restaurants. She couldn’t walk by one without checking how she looked and fluffing her bangs. At the time, I didn’t really understand why. She was universally considered beautiful. Now I think she just liked to look at herself. It was satisfying. 

Unfortunately, I am at that point in my life where looking in the mirror results in the completely opposite emotion. I am loathe to look at myself. I do allow fleeting glances in the full-length mirror, because I so do not want to be the person whispered about as, “Didn’t she look int the mirror before she left?” I guess that means I do care about my looks. But not enough to really do anything about it. 

The bottom line is I’m (occasionally grudgingly) accepting of my age. What I am not accepting of is my weight; I am alternately embarrassed and appalled by it. I hate always looking for an XL. I know this has become a genuine issue for me, because 1. I actually dreamt about it and 2. I’m writing this silly piece. I really feel like nothing looks good on me. I strive to be not-noticed, unnoticed, invisible, blended in.

So, you say, “Go on a diet,” which sounds good when I’m low in myself and lamenting my beer (even-though-I-don’t-drink-it) belly, but it’s been so hard to actually do something about it. I’m self aware enough to know that I do have a very lazy streak and I indulge it, perhaps too much. 

I have the proverbial good intentions, but don’t act on them. When I was very young, I took a picture of by legs and butt in leggings and put the photo up on the fridge (yes, I would kill to look like that now), and it still didn’t stop me from opening up that fridge. 

I realize it’s going to be all about psyching myself up for it. I have to be in the right frame of mind, I need that first week push. I have to figure out how to suppress my love of eating (and yes, sweets). When I do, I’ll let you know. 

In the meantime, here’s looking at you kid, and certainly not at me.