Should I brag about my progresses in Pilates classes and weight loss? Sounds boring. Just one line maybe. I love my trainer, she’s beautiful, smart, with a sense of humor, four stray dogs and two cats. You know how people develop emotional transfer for their therapist? Same here. I am so grateful for what she achieved… well, actually I achieved in such a brief time, that I truly love her. I can actually see in the mirror from one week to the next how my body morphs back into a human one, instead of the blob I became.
Wait, just another story, not exactly workout related, so not so boring. After one session, I was in the locker room with a lady. Just the two of us undressing back to back rather prude, when I noticed her dress, and I screamed like a hysterical groupie. It was a Moschino piece from a few collections back, that I loved. The lady froze, with her back against the wall, probably praying that I’m not some serial killer of a sort. I started explaining my sound until she was breathing regularly again.
But moving on… During summer we had a free lance designer helping us. We were warned not to try bonding, talking or even staying too close to her. She was supposed to be Satan in a tiny frame with a doll face. Long story short, she made an exception, she likes me. She likes my writing too. And she comes to me with this promising speech that started with: “OMG, your writing is sooo good, you HAVE TO WRITE A BOOK.”
I answered rather flustered: “I don’t think I have anything interesting to say… anyway, not for an entire book.”
“Oh but your writing is so amazing, yet you’re an online copywriter. I mean… all you do all day is write ‘click here’. How can this fulfill you?!”
I tried to object feebly that this is NOT the only thing I do, but I caved.
In other news, I’m not getting out of character with a Joop story. I was away on a teambuilding for the weekend. Joop was so happy to see me on Sunday afternoon that she behaved like a loyal dog, licking my face and jumping around. Well, she’s the feline version of a Saint Bernard, so no surprise here.
The surprise was yesterday, when I started to climb up the stairs coming back from work. From the first floor, I could hear her voice yodeling. At first, I couldn’t believe my ears. She can actually identify my steps on the stairs. Only ALF was able to do that. So, overwhelmed with emotion, I started screaming in the building, to be heard through the door on the 3rd floor: “YESSS, MY LOVE, MOMMY’S COMING, BE PATIENT!!!”
So I started regular massages and my feet are back together with my shoes.
I try to be more careful with what I eat. I had more salad last week than I had for the last two years. And I HATE salads.
Wearing high heels, especially my Casadeis makes me so happy already, but there’s still a lot of steep long way to go, as in losing a lot of weight and fitting in my wardrobe. No, not in the actual wardrobe as in furniture, but my wide range of clothing.
From Monday I am starting my Pilates classes. I begged for a very tolerant instructor. I had my eye on a blonde, graceful smiling sunny lady, but she’s free next week.
So they put me in someone else’s class instead. She seems a cross between a drill sergeant and an keen bulldog. We shall see whether she is as scary as she looks. I don’t want to burst in tears from my first session.
On the other hand I have experience with tough instructors. A few years ago, I subscribed to an Aqua gym class. For Christ sake, that woman was a Nazi. Shouting and scaring the shit out of me, I was panting desperately and swallowing gallons of water.
By the end of the training, I was her favorite student, best buddies and an example for the others. Let’s see if I can pull that again!
A few months ago, while I was with my best friend on Easter holiday, she told me in a worried voice: “I don’t know why you gave up on yourself”.
I pondered for a long time on that phrase. I realised that I became a mixture of self-loathing, narcissism, procrastination, over all exhaustion…
And I hit rock bottom. I was feeling physically ill, my feet and legs were swollen like balloons, my precious shoes didn’t fit anymore.
Surprisingly, this was the tipping point. Breaking off with my shoes was unacceptable.
So it stops here. I started swimming and having regular massages. I already feel better and willing to fight my demons.
I need to like myself again. The battle began.
This is a truly bitchy post. So stop reading right now and move on to another blog.
I have very strong opinions about people who reproduce only because “it’s time”, peer pressure, archaic family model, to strengthen the bond with their partner (newsflash: studies show that a new born is the most common reason couples grow apart or break), to pass the financial crisis by being in maternity leave so they have a safe income and cannot be fired etc.
Unfortunately, most people reproduce for these reasons and we are way too many on this planet already.
In the meantime, I have the highest respect for the people that decide to adopt an animal and treat HIM or HER like a member of the family, an offspring.
Because they understand from the beginning they are in for grief.
First, they are babies. They ruin things, they pee and poop everywhere, they chew shoes, they cry when left alone, they cry when they are hungry or just demanding for attention.
Fast, too fast, they become adults. They understand wrong for right, they become the loyal companion, the best friend, support in time of sorrow, partner in time of joy. They comfort you, the cuddle next to you, they lick you, love you with their huge hearts and generally offer you more than you can ever offer them.
And they grow old. They become grumpy, sick, they need help, assistance, treatment, time. Suddenly, they are your dear grandparents.
And way too soon you have to let go. You’re helpless, no matter what. So helpless that you’re angry. No matter how much you prepare for this moment, it hurts excruciatingly. It’s your baby. If you’re lucky, you spent a decade or two with this loving angel. Sometimes unfairly less.
Now this is what I call brave. To see your children die and your heart ripped out of your chest.
When the fuck did we lose our femininity?
When the fuck did women become men with more or less boobs, marching like soldiers, with fit, toned, non-sexual bodies?
I see girls on the street. They look good, beautiful features, long silky hair, great bods. Yet… no appeal, no sensuality.
I blame it on the Americans and the WWII, when women started building weapons and when their husbands returned from war, they refused to quit jobs and return to the kitchen.
I don’t blame the suffragettes, they were a joke.
I also blame men for becoming weak and helpless, basically because their mothers raised them poorly. They grew up believing they deserve everything. They keep looking for overprotective mothers in their lives, so they stay helpless babies.
So women grew balls. Their wasp waists thickened, their shoulders broadened to carry feeble men and spoiled children.
Oh, I don’t encourage vulgarity, but femininity. That fragile creature, with a kitten purring voice that swings her hips, plays with a lock of her hair, smiles sweetly, rocks an evening gown and walks gracefully in high heels.
Please, women, reclaim your right to be sex kittens!