Oh, man, is my closet a bad scene right now. I got a few things on clearance at Asos and they came in the mail yesterday. Their sizes generally run fairly big, but it was hard to estimate, and I think one thing is going to have to go back. There's another I'd ideally have preferred a 16 in, but it wasn't available and I liked the skirt enough to try the 18, and that works fine. It's not form-fitting or anything, and it's a tiny touch too long, but it also doesn't emphasize the saggy-lower-belly situation, which is a mercy. Nothing that thrilled me, and I felt grumpy about that, because that's the whole problem with my closet right now. I open it, and there's nothing I'm really excited to put on, nothing that makes me feel polished or put-together or well-dressed. There's a Kiyonna maxi dress in my laundry bag that I'm excited to put on, but I think that might be the only thing in my whole closet right now, which is...a shitty ratio. I don't know, there are a few things in the laundry, I guess, so I should do the damn laundry already, but then there's the task of going through it when it gets back and facing each item of clothing that I like and felt good in and spent time finding and money buying and good nights in that's now too big. It's unexpectedly wrenching to watch my wardrobe bite the dust. I'm mad about it, and sad about it. And even the stuff that does fit doesn't fit well. Nothing fits well right now. Except that Kiyonna dress. Okay, laundry goes out tomorrow so I can have it back. (But it needs hemming.)
I just want clothes that fit me that make me look like I want to look; is that so much to ask? Yesterday I left the house in a too-springy pink dress that had been too small last summer and I put a cardigan over it and thought it would probably be fine because that's always been a strategy that's worked for me but both the cardigan and the dress were too big, drooping at the neckline and hanging too far away from my body, making me look sloppy and shapeless and also bigger. I was in a high dudgeon by the time I got home, hence the tear through the wardrobe so I don't have to stare my frustration in the face every morning. But that just means there's less in my drawers and closet. I can't productively try stuff on at straight-size stores yet, but I'm bumping up against the bottoms of plus ranges (which is in and of itself irritating because given my arms and also my sagging belly, the proportions of a plus garment really do work better for me). Old Navy is really the only option going for me to try on stuff that fits me, and every now and again I hit with something there (I had an incredible sweater dress from there for which I paid about $8 and which lasted me like the better part of a decade) but mostly it's enh. The quality's not great, and a lot of their stuff feels a little juvenile. I've filled carts and abandoned them from Gap, H&M, and Eloquii—internet shopping is extra tricky right now because of size guessing and predicting. Who knows what size I am at any given moment, or how long it will take me to become some other size? It's so frustrating. I'm so used to understanding my body, to knowing it minutely, to dressing it capably and strategically, and now I can't because it's changing, but still somehow despite the destabilizingness of the speed of that change it also feels frustratingly slow? Like, I look in the mirror and I still see pretty much what I've always seen, and it distresses me? Except my arms, which are worse than they have ever been, and that distresses me even more?
It's been a day.
I am comfort-talking myself, reminding myself to just keep putting in the days. I have been putting in the days. Aside from not logging last Saturday (when I ate and drank out all day, although quite moderately), the last two weeks have been solid and consistent. My numbers (calories and protein grams) are right where I want them, and I'm hitting my water and vitamins. I ran up the stairs of my fourth-floor walk-up after taking the trash down today, and I was excited to see how far I could get before getting winded and having to slow down (the third floor—I was slowing on the last half-flight). I'm stalled up a few pounds from the low I was seeing a few days ago, though, and because I weigh myself too frequently or because I'm impatient these stalls always feel aaaaagonizing. And how can I be up anyway, when I'm barely hitting a thousand calories on a high day? (Water balance. I know this. That doesn't make it any more fun.)
So I'm anxious and antsy and impatient and irritated and bummed out and grumpy and sad and confused and frustrated.
At the same time, I'm taking care of myself. I reorganized and cleaned my entire kitchen over the course of this week, and it's already working better for me. It's a pleasure to be in there right now, and I've been finding excuses to wander in there and admire the relative order into which I've wrangled my tiny and low-storage kitchen, and that means that my fridge is in impeccable order and I have eaten really well lately. Pleasurably and productively. The big FreshDirect coupons have helped, but it's also just that I like cooking and I like organizing my own life. I don't do the thing that we are now calling "meal prep," because I like having feeding myself as a part of my day and hate microwaving things (and also don't own a microwave) but I do batch-cooking and I do strategize for the week. In my refrigerator right now, I have batches of salmon salad (ready to eat—it's poached salmon with cornichons and yogurt dressing), poached chicken (combine with whatever for an easy meal), delicious chicken broth, a slow-cooked Italian-American red sauce, and a basic yogurt dressing (0% Fage, dijon mustard, apple cider vinegar, season with your preferred profile). All those things mean I'm never far from a satisfying home-cooked meal. I'm enjoying my time in the kitchen. When I was crossing the street this evening, headed for the deli for rubbing alcohol and toilet paper and thinking of all the fairly junky food I have bought at that deli over the years I've lived in my apartment and reminding myself no, not a Diet Coke, no, not a bag of sour cream and onion Utz chips, nope, sorry, I was thinking to myself, yes, I could eat basically like this for the rest of my life, why not? I mean, I hope I end up with a little more caloric leeway, but I'm doing fine here.
Did I mention it's been a day?
It's been a day.
But tomorrow will be another one.