I miss the blog. Oh, and I miss you too, P. Even before I realized (with a roll of the stomach) that's it's NaBloPoMo, I thought that I should try to post one time every day. To sort it all out or to figure out if there's anything I can make with a keyboard that means anything other than "LOOK AT ME! I CAN'T SHUT UP ABOUT MYSELF!"
I had a dinner with friends on Saturday that, though mostly pleasant, was maybe 2 and a half hours too long. I was sitting with a beautiful plate of scallops and butternut squash ravioli in front of me and suddenly, I realized that I was sitting at a table that were it my dissertation would be titled "Eating Dysfunction: the Deconstruction of Diet Pills and Plastic Surgery." My pals exchanged stories about the diet pills and or prescribed uppers they're misusing for weight loss. Also, plastic surgery. Also, how can we push our food around our plates for an hour and appear to have eaten?
Not the way I'd like to enjoy a meal with friends. I felt so sad. I'm 33 and now, more than ever, I'm in the middle of a highly appealing eating disorder culture. I don't want it, I don't want to feel like I need it, but it's there. I got all kinds of tips about how to fake ADD or order Phen-fen from a company in India via a special club that sounds more than a little illegal.
Who are we? I made it through my teens and twenties and now, when everyone's supposed to be finally, happily settling into their own skin, I feel a little like a self-righteous idiot for not partaking of the short-cuts that are all around me.
I ordered diet pills yesterday.