Yum Yum post

New post up over at Yum Yum Cooking Club. Ratatouille for when you have a LOT of time on your hands. Like, two hours, we're talking here. It was worth it, though.

Have a great weekend, everyone.

I Should Just Go To Dragon*Con And Have Done With It

So, because I am a broken record, I need to point out that I was FREAKED about getting on the scale post-BlogHer (and therefore post-Routine Breaking). Before leaving for BlogHer I hit a low point, which was frightening because it was exhilarating. I was sure, absolutely sure, that not only would I go back above the low point after this weekend, but that I'd somehow have gained a physically impossible amount of weight. I got on the scale this morning, after giving my weight about two days to settle any water retention issues from the extra alcohol and salt of a girls' weekend. I was above the low point; I was NOT a physically impossible amount above it. I was right back where I'd been during the two weeks prior to BlogHer, before the low point. Which basically means: surprise, surprise, no net change in my weight, and I just spent days of energy thinking about WEIGHT again when I could have been thinking about, I don't know, fairies or Iran or Alexander Skarsgård or something. This is actually one of the reasons I've been throwing myself into addictive fantasy novel series. They're so engrossing that I cease thinking about anything else, including weight or food. It's an incredible respite. If you're at all inclined toward vampires, weres, fairies, or the like, I can't say enough about them as a good distraction tool.

"Opinions are made to be changed - or how is truth to be got at?"

Each time I've had some kind of relapse it always started with the same pledge: this time I can do it "right," this time I can strike just the right balance and things won't get out of control. That idea is a huge lie, one I and countless other eating disordered people tell, and we tell it again and again with flourish and conviction worthy of true bards, or perhaps politicians.

Eating disorder symptoms have one common denominator, and that is isolation. You can't be involved in an eating disorder and fully engaged in a social life at the same time. Instead of staying out to dinner until everyone else is done, you have to make up some excuse to run back to the dorm room to get to the bathroom. Instead of going to the BBQ spot with your girlfriends, you absolutely have to finish something at work (but it has nothing to do with the fact that you're sick of people telling you to eat something other than a salad with no cheese, no dressing). Instead of going on a trip, you need to stay home and stay in your routine because if you change up your routine, you're not sure you can get back into said routine of exactly such-and-such foods for exactly such-and-such meal (because you are of course weak-willed and a bad person), and god forbid you eat different foods than normal on your trip, because that might mean you come back into town one or two pounds heavier, with the hollows of your hips not quite so hollow, or your clavicle just a bit more padded than it was last week (thus coming back a bad person). I opted to engage in life this weekend, and not in my eating disorder. I started kicking myself for that the second I stepped off the plane in Chicago, and I really haven't stopped since.

When I booked myself into BlogHer in the winter, I was doing pretty darn well. I wasn't restricting, and while my mental acrobatic math never stops, I was eating pretty much what I wanted when I was hungry for it, and stopping when I was satiated. I wasn't purging. I wasn't skipping meals. I weighed more than I had in eight years, but my weight was stable, apparently happy with itself, and well within the healthy range. Then came 2009: YHGTBFKM, and I remembered that an easy way to deal with stress is to have a Luna bar instead of a real lunch, and to have some steamed spinach and 2 oz. of lean protein for dinner instead of whatever I really wanted. I lost weight - while remaining within an acceptable range according to those dastardly height/weight charts - and pared down my list of acceptable foods and practices. "This time," I decided, "I'm going to get it right. I'm being 'healthy,' that's all it is." And I knew exactly what I was really doing. I knew exactly where it could lead. As I watched the number drop on the scale and as a detached part of my brain took notes on a clinical clipboard and wondered if she shouldn't just go ahead and become a psychologist and at least make money off all this observation, most of me devolved into thoughts of, "How on earth did I even live with myself five pounds ago?!" And, "As soon as I get to __ pounds I'll feel great. That's the perfect weight for managing stress." Of course "__ pounds" is never static. It always edges lower and it always becomes more crucial and more central to an ersatz contentment. Anything above __ pounds always becomes more ghastly and terrifying.

It's a good thing I booked tickets to Chicago in early January, or I'd never have gone. If I'd never have gone, I wouldn't be sitting here kicking myself for eating more or less like a "normal" person all weekend. If I weren't sitting here kicking myself for it, that would mean I'd never shaken up the new (and yet old) routine.

In addiction the goal is: if you can't delay it, then interrupt the process at any point you can. Think you really have to have that fix? Delay 15 minutes or an hour or a day and distract yourself with something, seeing if the urge passes. Can't wait? Try to stop when you get your hands on the substance. Got the substance already? Try to stop when you have the line cut, or the tourniquet on your arm, or the pill in your palm. Already taken a hit? Try to step away after the first, or the third. As soon as you can interrupt the addictive ritual, you have a chance to extricate yourself for that moment.

In a way, this weekend couldn't have come at a better time for me, medically. I'm right at the weighty tipping point that I know leads, for me, either to a suspension of the relapse, or a mad pirouette that leaves me light-headed (and -bodied) for months. And I hate that I went and interrupted my ritual, and I detest feel bloated and angry and like a giant disappointment to myself. But I am, of course, in corner of myself with the clipboard and the lab coat, immensely glad of all this familiar discomfort.

BlogHer Photo Roundup

BlogHer '09. So much to say, so little brain power with which to say it. Not that I'd want to spit it out all into one post, anyway. While my brain recovers from a) travel (we had to land in Allentown on the way to Newark to refuel after a looong holding pattern), and b) alcohol (I swear I didn't actually drink that much, but my liver appears to have lost some scarring since I've not been drinking in the last few months), here are some pictures to sum up the weekend situation in Chicago.

First and foremost, it is crucial - crucial - that you know one thing:

Nancy W. Kappes is REAL. And so is her Judy Garland Trail Mix. (It's exactly what it sounds like.)

I'd elaborate, but... well... I don't think I possess the necessary linguistic powers. It's enough to say that I have her business card, you are all jealous, and she IS in fact a paralegal, which strains the brain's powers of perception of reality. There's a weighty ontological essay just waiting to be written about the existence of Nancy W. Kappes, paralegal.

Another important piece of news (for me) is that I finally got to meet Jenny. If you're reading here, odds are that you found me through one of her writings, so I'd say she needs no further explanation. Just Jenny. And she is fabulous.

I got to meet Amalah as well, who's the first blogger I ever started following, before I even started writing here. I stumbled upon her blog while she was barely pregnant with Noah and have been reading ever since. Unlike Jenny, however, I've had no actual communication with Amalah, so she probably thought I was a crazy stalker-type-person. Ezra pretty much seemed to think I was just a boring-type person. Which is fine, because I still got to smell his head.

As mentioned in pre-BlogHer posts, I shared a room with the Goat Mama, who is made of all kinds of Win. Also, she made me eat fried food. (Pictured here: mini beef Wellington)

Surprising no one, the GM and I turned out to be perfect roommates. She "dragged" me to see a Harry Potter exhibit and to see the movie at the Museum of Science and Industry, and I "dragged" her to the Art Institute's visual-orgasm-worthy Impressionist collection. There, we spotted quite a few art-imitates-life-life-imitates-art pieces, among them:

Interrupted Reading, by Corot

(K is more than passably familiar with this face.)

Young Woman at her Toilette, by Morisot

(There was a lot of this this weekend, certainly more than I'm used to.)

And when we saw a Wounded Eurydice (also Corot), we were glad to stop and chat, since Eurydice, much like misery, loves company.

Much more (of more substance) to come.

Pre-BlogHer Non-Freakout Post

I haven't packed yet. Meh. I'll pack later.

If you see me this weekend, just be aware that my social anxiety will either be translating itself into obsession with what/when/where/how much I'm going to eat... or I'll be having so much fun I won't even be thinking about food at all. That's pretty much how it works. You have been warned.

If you're going to be in Chicago and want to meet up, email me at cynical dot nymph at gmail dot com. See ya there!

Update To The Book List That Ate My Bank Account

You guys, seriously.

The Fever Series

by Karen Marie Moning

Darkfever

Bloodfever

Faefever

Dreamfever, forthcoming on August 18th

Final installment of the series will be Shadowfever. Since I was just clued into these books last week and barely have to wait for Dreamfever, I have just NO clue how I'll wait nearly a year (probably) for the final chapter in this saga. The books are not self-contained (can't be read as standalones without being totally lost, I mean), and the mysteries just keep piling up, but in a wholly engrossing and satisfying way. (Writers of LOST, take note.)

Moning writes another series in the same "world," the Highlander series. Where the Fever series is Urban Fantasy, the other is Fantasy Romance, a genre I have no desire to delve into. Except... the romance series takes place before the UF series and apparently has some juicy back story and clues pertaining to a couple of the most fascinating characters I've come across recently (who are denizens of the Fever novels, that is). So I'm feeling torn. I am NOT one for the bodice-rippers, but... yeesh.

I should really, really spend money on something other than Kindle books. I went out yesterday and tried to spend money on clothes, but there was just nothing cute to buy. The sagging economy is not my fault, people. I tried. Maybe I have to start reading the Highlander series. You know. To be patriotic.

Yum.

New post up over at Yum Yum Cooking Club.

Baking, I've decided, is an unparalleled stress reliever, whether or not one ends up actually eating one's creations. Something about taking such sundry raw materials and turning them into Look! Scones! is particularly satisfying.

2009: YHGTBFKM

I'd officially like to christen this year: "2009: You Have Got To Be Fucking Kidding Me."

So far in 2009:YHGTBFKM we've had two really close deaths in the family. My mom has been diagnosed with breast cancer. I've had occasion to visit psych wards multiple times, and not because I'm getting my MSW. My weight has taken its sharpest dip since 2003. Business has atrophied. And now the period of intense stress from around January and February is once again poking its nose up above the water like a nasty, smelly hippo. The cause of the "period of intense stress" is not something I want floating around on the Internet (as opposed to details about eating disorder recovery and relapse, LOL, irony) so I won't ever get into specifics here, but suffice to say: 2009:YHGTBFKM.

And now, bad news of the blogging variety.

A friend of mine, who is also a blogger, recently deleted her entire blog. This blogger (let's just call her "ND") is a single mother and a public interest lawyer, and a few weeks ago she was forced to take her blog down suddenly. She wasn't allowed to say goodbye to her readers or offer any explanation as to why she deleted her blog, and I know that she feels really awful about this. Please don't mention the name of her blog in any of the comments to this post, but if you wish to say goodbye to her, she is most likely reading and would love to hear from you. I followed her blog from the first post onward, laughing nearly every time she wrote anything, but also learning a lot about the realities of law and motherhood. She is quite possibly the most driven person I've ever "met" when it comes to both of those arenas, and the removal of her blog is going to be a big, big loss for the blogosphere, not just because of the humor and insight in the blog, but because she really had a lot to teach any fellow lawyers and parents. I feel lucky to call her one of my "imaginary friends," (that's all of y'all, too), but I wish I could still call her a fellow blogger.

And, since she's reading this, she should know that if she doesn't take that trip toward the end of this month, I am thoroughly capable of upholding my promise to track her down and smack her. Hard. Just sayin'.

Books

Since I'm actually going to BlogHer this year, you'd think I'd be blogging my fingertips off prior to the conference. However, I seem to be stuck at around once-a-week or less, don't I Part of this is because I don't have much to say. I try to keep this blog at least tangentially related to my subjective experience with eating disorders and recovery, and women's issues, including family and marriage adjustments. Obviously I get off topic easily and often, but lately I've not had much energy to channel words about those very broad topics.

That, and I can't seem to put down my Kindle.

Genre fiction: easy to read, often written in series or at least duologies, and addictive.

Charlaine Harris

Southern Vampire Mysteries

Harper Connelly

Lily Bard

Patricia Briggs

Mercy Thompson

Alpha & Omega

Sianim

Raven

Jeaniene Frost

Night Huntress

C.C. Finlay

Traitor to the Crown series

As far as I'm concerned, this is all HBO's fault, since if it weren't for True Blood I'd never had discovered Sookie Stackhouse. Anywho, none of these books or series is exactly like reading James Joyce, but they're quite addictive, engaging, and quite a lot of fun.