Cents and sensibility

In "Sense and Sensibility," Elinor tells Marianne that whatever Mr. Willoughby's current actions are, she should know that his attentions to her were honorable, and that she did love him. "But not enough," replies Marianne. "Not enough."

I recite this scene (for I never remember passages) whenever someone who has shown interest in me decides not to pursue it to the next level. In my 20's this recitation was done with melancholy grandeur, but these days it's more just a shrug of the shoulders, filled with slight irritation instead of desperation.

Today I get to be the one who is interested, but not enough. When "A" finally wrote me a week ago, with a one-liner asking me how I was doing, I decided not to reply. "If he's really interested," I thought to myself, "he'll write again." Well, he's written again ("Is everything okay? No replies?") and I realize the more time elapses from our first date the more I don't want a second one. Sure, if he had followed through with the wine tasting that I had to reschedule before its first go-round to do my summer cold, I would have hopped in the car the next week and made a day of it. But I can say with pretty clear certainty that the only reason he's writing now is because I didn't write back the first time, and that's not enough reason to keep up a correspondence.

Now, usually when I have a dating decision to make, such as whether to reply to a long overdue email, I think about all the "rules" I've read, realize I should play hard to get, and then end up contacting him within 24 hours anyway. But this time, thanks to How to Make Every Man Want You, I realized that I don't want a guy who is so flaky, because I'm awesome just the way I am and I deserve more than that. Way to go Marie Forleo for finally breaking through this thick skull and giving me desirability due to increased self worth and not due to attempts at relational trickery.

One major way the book helped me, which I mentioned in my previous post, is to live like things are just as they are supposed to be right now. That means no waiting for some future date where my life will be perfect because I will finally have lost those 5, 10, 15 pounds, gotten my health back, moved into my own apartment, and started my dream job. Sure, she says, you should always strive for what you want, but don't forget to live in the moment and cherish your life as it currently is. This is empowering advice for me, as I just applied for food stamps, will find out next week if I qualify for state disability (outlook: promising), and will probably have to take one more semester to finish my Master's. (That's a total of three semesters for two classes.)

Part of me is freaking out at being so limited in my ability to rise above my current station. At one point in my family's history we had money. My mom and I did not, and as any "true American" I was set on getting back to my middle class roots, to have a (small) place of my own and furnish it myself with things bought from a JC Penneys catalog. I was looking forward to getting a lime green VW Beetle and living in the city, or at least living above a Safeway and being able to go downstairs to buy my own groceries. While I'm not letting go of this dream (especially the living above Safeway part), I've realized that I have to live my life as if things will never change, while continuing to push each day for my own small mark on the world. I might be facing poverty like the Dashwoods, but they pressed on, kept their irresistability, and created lives for themselves.

The look of fibromyalgia

I used to be rail thin, thanks to good genes and a sensitive stomach that didn't digest much. This, in conjunction with my big boobs and perfectly shaped butt, gave me quite the ideal body. Of course I took it for granted and envied the girls with a little bit of meat on their bones. As they say, we always want what we don't have. I wore bulky clothing to hide my breasts because they felt too big in comparison to the rest of my body, and I didn't wear my first bikini until I was about 29.

Now I take five medications and have gone from 97 pounds to 145. As an apple I carry most of my weight in my stomach, and it has been quite the transition to learn how to love, accept, and clothe my new body. I finally understand why women are so obsessed about weight and why they count calories and put themselves down. I now understand dressing to hide your flaws instead of to hide your sexuality. Now I wear low cut shirts in order to accentuate my breasts instead of pretending they aren't there, in order to draw attention up to my face and away from my protruding stomach.

The Catch-22 about fibromyalgia is that your illness makes you take medications which make you gain weight, but it also prevents you from being able to exercise to get the weight off. I did Jillian Michaels' "30-Day Shred" until it gave me a new repetitive strain injury in my shoulders. I did a walking DVD twice until it put me in a flareup that lasted for a couple of days. There is a direct correlation between exercise and flareups which contradicts my inherent drive to be active. Instead I regulate myself to Tai Chi, an exercise bike, and walking (not in place), but only when I feel 100% which in the winter is not often.

I abhor the thought of taking off my clothes and having a love interest see my round belly. I may have learned how to dress my body, but what about when the clothes come off? Every woman's fear is looking like her mother, and when my fibromyalgia hit my body grew to look like my mother's middle aged one, only now she exercises enough to keep the weight off so that even she and my grandmother are thinner than I am.

On Monday my roommate and I start diets to lose weight after one party and before another. Luckily my new abode has an exercise room attached to the complex, complete with an exercise bike and a treadmill, two of the exercise machines I can actually use, and which have helped me lose weight in the past. My ideal goal is 130, my attainable goal is 135, and my realistic goal is 140. I will diet in part because of body image but to a larger degree because I like being aware of what is going into that body. Ironically ever since I have gained weight I am much healthier in my eating choices. Now an entire bag of cookies has consequences where it once did not. On Sunday I will wear a killer (stomach hiding) dress to a hopefully killer event, and in two months I will wear a festive 80s outfit hopefully a few pounds lighter.

I want to end this post with an positive spin but in all honesty, I can't. I'm human, I want the body of Salma Hayak, and I want to look good naked. If I can't look good naked, I want the body health to be able to do something about it without flareups telling me I can't. So, what do I do? I don't have all the answers, or even in this case just one answer. Just that I hope my next boyfriend can rub my Buddha belly and feel like the luckiest man alive.