Call of the Uterus

I am lying in bed while my uterus protests its existence. It is that time of the month, and no babies are being made; my ovaries are not pleased.

Anyway, tolerating my organs' inner turmoil got me thinking, our bodies are pretty bomb diggity. While we go about our days, tackling dirty diapers, footballs, office files, whatever it is we do, our bodies operate without asking for direction or even a thank you. At any given moment if you were to stop what you were doing and think, "What is physically going on inside of me right now?" I'm sure you could come up with an inexhaustible list.

There's a plethora of articles on body image, so I won't go there, but I implore everyone to stop waging war against the beautiful vessel that holds your powerful, intangible spirit. Everything your body does, it does to protect you. Excessive weight gain/loss, exhaustion, maladies are simply by-products of your body trying to save you from stress. When we focus on our unwanted condition - "I need to lose weight!!!!!" - what do we tell our bodies? "This is stressing me out!" and your body dutifully responds by tinkering with your metabolism, expending unnecessary energy, taxing your systems - all to prepare you for battle against your imaginary demons.

I used to be overweight. Not by a lot, but enough to take a hit to my self-esteem. I deprived myself of "bad" foods, I exercised diligently, I fought and fought against the fat, the fatigue, the absence of vitality. And nothing happened. I didn't lose weight, I was tired all the time, and the disappointment hacked away at my feelings of inadequacy even more. So I gave up. I ate healthy when I felt like it. Other times, I ate junk to the point of sickness because I felt like it. I irregularly got off my butt to do yoga and dance, because they were the only activities I enjoyed.
Guess what happened? I lost all the weight. I got my energy back. My acne subsided.

As soon as I LISTENED to my body and ACCEPTED the extra lumps, my body heaved a sigh of relief and worked at its optimum.

I'm not saying I have the figure of a supermodel or that my complexion is porcelain doll-esque. I just don't care anymore, because I love my body for whatever it is right now. It keeps me alive, for God's sake.

So throw your scale out the window, your "cheat day" schedule out of your mind, and your diet books into a raging bonfire. Bless every morsel of food that enters your mouth, even those chili cheese fries. Your body lets you do what you love, connect with the people you love, and it also unconditionally takes care of you. Let it be. And go live your life.

P.S. If you do enjoy fitness, body-building, specialized nutrition, etc., that is great!! You do yo thang. I'm not preaching otherwise. As long as it brings you JOY. You could be living off earthworms for all I care.

So Much Cringing

Every time I look at my past writing, I am taken aback by how hormonal and angst-y I was. Which is okay, because I was (still am?) a hormonal, angst-y person, like many people at that age.

I almost always read over my past work and think, "Pssht, my writing is much more SUPERIOR now," as if it was once a warty toad that has blossomed into a wartless toad (horrible analogies live here). However, five years from now, will I look back on this post and think, "Dear God, please forgive me for being a loser?"

I think it's important for me to embrace my overemotional, melodramatic past self because it obviously shaped me into who I am today. I should also relax about how I am now. Self-judgement is a very strong force, and I choose to just accept what I am, what I write, and how I behave. Some days I am the epitome of grace and class, other times I have boogers hanging out my nose and wear the same clothes repeatedly until I cannot stand the stench of my own odour. It is what it is, people.

P.S. To my future husband: I will be considerate of your nostrils and aim to smell like a fresh petunia once we meet.
P.P.S. To my friends who are disgusted I would not extend them the same courtesy: I don't have such friends.

Complimentary Compliments

I am the type of person who very openly likes to appreciate people. This is usually well-received, except sometimes younger members of the opposite sex (I speak of you, teenage/young adult boys) think that any mention of their nice shoes/good looks/talent is my way of flagging them as fresh meat, targets for my powers of seduction.

To be honest, that is a perfectly reasonable assumption. Flirting very much involves flattery. However, I wish for the male species to know that even if you do register in my psyche as a hot tamale, all compliments come from a place of platonic admiration, as my ability to flirt is that of a potato.

I very recently told someone I found him handsome and I think it made our acquaintanceship/budding friendship spiral dramatically into the awkward-avoidance zone. I am sorry, handsome acquaintance! I didn't mean to come onto you like a rabbit in heat! I just wanted you to know you are well-made!

I know I could easily just bite my tongue and express my appreciation later, when the relationship is more developed. Or I could precede the compliment with a warning: "I promise I'm not trying to hit on you, but..."

I find that really lame, though. If you give someone a compliment, how they react to it should be none of your concern - if they think you are nutso or desperate for sexual healing, then that is their interpretation and has nothing to do with your delivery.
For me, everything that comes out of my mouth is meant to be taken at face value, because most times I say it without any undercurrent of a deeper meaning. Perhaps when others start dissecting my words to find the hidden message, misunderstanding ensues.

Also. Since when did "conversating" become a word? It's CONVERSING, people.

End

Hello, Stranger

Oh hai, world.

I was told by a most kind and beautiful soul today that I am such a good writer, I should leave all other pursuit of work with wild abandon and focus on my talent. And I replied with, "Yes, I am quite good at writing. I am indeed." And then I thought about how I spend my days fretting over my less-than-ideal grasp of biological science (a.k.a. my university major) instead of celebrating this seemingly God-given gift. And then I thought about this blog and how I leave it to shrivel and die without love and attention, like many a holiday fruitcake. And then I realized I use conjunctions to start new sentences. And then --

So (doh!) I figured, why not hone my amateur skills on this blog by writing about whatever drivel spews out of my mind. Let me tell you, my gray cells register "above average" on the randomness scale. If randomness was measured by skyscraper privileges, I would have a penthouse suite in the stratosphere.

Enjoy.