Prime example. A woman at a Weight Watcher’s meeting once said, “Getting to your goal weight is going to require accepting that cheese is a CONDIMENT, not a FOOD.”
Then I killed her. Then I ate her. “ARE YOU A CONDIMENT???” I screamed at her corpse, in my belly.
Okay, actually I just seethed and vowed that for me, cheese would always, always be not JUST a food, but one of the most beautiful foods. A PRINCESS among dirty-serf Foods. A FOOD ANGEL.
I have NEVER accepted cheese as a condiment, and I have never actually seen my goal weight, either.
Perhaps these things are related.
It’s irrational for me to still revile her, and yet, if she were to come and say it to my face again, my inner everything would scream, CONDIMENT MY CAT’S HAIRY BUTTOCK! And I would have to work not to smack her.
Another one happened yesterday when a fellow Yoga-Dork on the twitter said they had heard this great QUOTE. A perfectly nice bendy person, just trying to share a what they felt was a LIFE CHANGING quote from a Wise Person. The quote was this:
Yoga is not for self-improvement. Yoga is for self-acceptance.
My immediate response was to find Wise Person who originally said it, and then slap them. But then I got worried that GHANDI said it. I am pretty sure you can go to hell for wanting to slap Ghandi, even briefly. SO now I just want to slap the Tweeter who passed it on.
Then I thought, BUT IF I WERE TO LEARN TO ACCEPT MYSELF, WOULDN’T THAT BE A HUGE IMPROVEMENT?
Which is just a backdoor into what I truly want, which is to make yoga into a competitive sport, and then WIN it.
I KNOW wanting to win yoga is inherently losing at Yoga.
I am working on it. Breathejustbreathejustbreathe. I spent the first part of class yesterday—a GREAT class—and I missed a third of it because I had to take the time to murder all that brain-stuff where I want to look around and compare and compile a nice list of all the ways I do not belong, do not deserve, can not, will not, shouldn’t, can’t.
I am tired of being in my forties, and I am not even halfway done. My forties make me introspective. My forties keep sending my gaze to my navel, and you KNOW I hate growing as a person. I want to be in my fifties, in the hope THAT is the decade of APATHY and NOT GIVING CRAPS.
Is it? If not 50s then WHEN is the NOT GIVING CRAPS time of life? Or was that my twenties and I MISSED IT because I was so busy worrying?