So I looked in the mirror yesterday and for the very first time did a double take. I looked thinner. Yeah, I realize the rest of you have noticed, at least from my face, but I hadn’t. We have a tendency to focus on the bad, and as my face has gotten thinner it all seems to drop to my pouchy chin.
But I looked in the mirror and I could see a noticeable difference in my torso. Plus, I found a pair of black jeans in the back of my drawer that had been too tight and put them on and they were loose.
Also, my tummy has been an issue. It never used to be droopy until I had my hysterectomy, when they cut through all the muscles, and since then it’s been saggy and annoying and hanging over the incision scar, getting itchy etc. (I know, TMI). Well, it doesn’t any more. I can lie in bed and feel it and it’s really smaller. Yippee!
Of course, I went 450 calories over yesterday, simply by not paying attention. I keep thinking I can go by instinct but I’m not there yet. Still trying to figure my way through it all. I want to keep losing, not stall out again. I liked what I saw yesterday. I’m greedy, I want more. More skinny, that is.
One good thing: I haven’t had any of the nausea/stomach stuff that was plaguing me a couple of weeks ago. Knock wood.
The plan for today: do research. write a little. go swimming. watch what I eat. And sing.
The song for yesterday? “Pack up your sorrows” by Richard and Mimi Farina. We had a rocky start to the day yesterday, heading toward frustration, depression and anger. (Give you two guesses what/who set it off). So “Pack up your sorrows” seemed like an excellent thought. Not sure what I’ll go with today. It seems ridiculous that my fingertips would hurt after one song on a nylon string guitar, but they did. Not sure I could have done a second. But they’ll toughen up in time, and then I can sing more.
And for you guys who say you can’t sing. I bet you can. It’s like kids. You ask five year old how many of them can draw and they all raise their hands. Five years later you ask the same question and only a small group of them raise their hands.
Cars are great places to sing. Just bellow along at the top of your lungs. I remember my sister insisted she couldn’t sing, but she could. It was just that I was good at it, and her stronger talents lay elsewhere. But hey, we can sing, and we should.
Crusie says she can’t sing — wrong.
Years ago she and Eileen Dreyer and I did a skit at RWA, which called for us to sing “You Don’t Own Me.” While rehearsing Crusie, who didn’t know me that well at that point, kept saying to Eileen (who will sing at the drop of a hat and loves performing) “you’re the singer, Krissie and I can’t sing.” It was default for her, and I had to practically beat her about the head and shoulders, verbally, to realize I didn’t put myself in the same boat.
(However, I really, truly, honestly can’t draw. Trust me. I can prove it to you.)
Eileen is a great singer — she loves it, she does it as often as she can and she’s kept her voice in good shape. But I can still sing — two years private voice training, years of singing and playing guitar. And Crusie can sing — she loves music and has a good sense of pitch. (FWIW Lani’s got a really nice voice too).
Singing is a gift the Fates/Hp/God gave us (and by HP I don’t mean Harry Potter or Hewlett Packard, I mean one’s Higher Power) to make up for all the crap we have to go through.