outer-jessie's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- bullied by progesterone I almost, almost got on here on Friday night, after a long walk around Cambridge, to give you guys a taste of what I'm like in a good mood. (: I ended up not, for some reason, but I probably should have. Such a dour picture of myself I paint in here. I had decided to meander after work on Friday, because I knew my weekend would be brief, and because I had to get across town to the pharmacy, and because I had noplace else to be. So I wandered down Cambridge's Broadway and darted into a few really cool shops on my way, tramped through drifts of crunchy leaves, and skedaddled down small streets I'd never seen before. The weather was nice and everything was pretty; I had no obligations left in the day and there were two hours till sundown. Bliss! I framed pictures of the scenery in my mind and tried to feel the history of this place and watched a lady pull to the curb to yell "punk" at a group of kids because they had the audacity to almost be hit by her in a crosswalk. I picked up my prescription and ambled through Harvard Square, not very willing to face the crowds but perfectly happy to head down another street I'd yet to explore. Well as it turns out, I was wrong about that. Because there was the gorgeous church I'd tried to go into one time, and here was the crepe shop I'd been looking for lo these many months. Don't mind if I do, said I, and I proceeded to cover myself with chocolate ganache from a non-too-tidy consumption of a delicious but over-priced crepe. (and I accidentally poured some coffee into my Earl Grey thinking I was at the milk dispenser, but that's another story) (and I got chocolate on my apartment application because I failed to notice the gloop on my writing hand, but that is an altogether other OTHER story) And then I got home and thought about how fat I am because of the birth control and cried, then did some freestyle jazzercize and ate a banana and felt better. Still though, the magical feeling I'd been hoping to portray from the afternoon was pretty well shot by that time. Really. I'm not uncomfortably big. You couldn't even say I was fat (I could, but that's not the point). I'm not unhappy with my body, but there's this: this is not what I'm SUPPOSED to weigh. I exercise, I eat healthfully, I'm not stressed out, I know my limits. Yes, I do have the occasional crepe or plate of fried catfish (although having them both on the same day was a mistake), and I do basically sit in a chair for eight hours a day, but this is essentially what I weighed two years ago in Arizona when I was scurrying up and down the hills three times a day. This excess flab comes from the pill. True, it comes with an extra bra size, but I could pass on that if I had a waist. I wore size small everything when I started college; the following year, it was all size large. (sigh) The thing is, I like the pill. I like not worrying about being pregnant, I like not fussing with condoms and spermidical ooze, I like feeling safe, I like being in control. I like the extra bra size. I like the regular cycles. But I hate ingesting hormones. Hate the flab. Hate the mood swings, the tension, the PMS, the pain, the feeling that I'm TRAPPED on this PILL and there's NOTHING I CAN DO ABOUT IT IF I DON'T WANT KIDS. You know what's great? The new birth control patch. Yeah, like I'd trust contraception to a sticker. Ok. See? Sometimes mood swings are fun! This is why I can't do entries from home either. 11:01 a.m. - 2002-11-18 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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