Geneva

Just arrived in Geneva, Switzerland this afternoon after five days in Paris.
The water is so clear here, it astounds me. Here I was, looking down into a lake that borders a good sized, modern city and I could see the stones that line the lake floor. I watched a swan eat agley off a submerged rock today - body afloat and feathers bristling in the wind as the long, white neck rippled the water above it.

It is marvelous.

Younger and Shorter

I had drinks last night with a theater friend, who I will not disclose my age to. I don't really tell anyone in the theater community my age because I feel like they need to know that I'm their stage manager, not that I'm their young stage manager.
We were talking about my age (one of his favorite topics) and I mentioned that a Stinky Cheese cast member had guessed I was 21, which bothered me.
"Why?" He asked. "Most people want to look younger than they are."
"Well, for a lot of reasons. [Insert irrelevant conversation bits here until...] But still: I don't look 21, do I?"
He considers me for a moment and says, "This will sound weird, but you do look younger than you did in the fall. And shorter."
I raise my eyebrows at him.
"Maybe it's because you were my stage manager and telling me what to do, that you seemed taller and older? .... Or because when we talked I was usually sitting down [at his piano] and you were standing up?.... Also, you've worn your hair up the last couple times I've seen you and you didn't do that then."
I know that this is, in no way, the actual reason why I look shorter and younger, but I lamely offer: "Yeah, I couldn't wear it up then. I've been growing it out."
Satisfied, he smiles and says, "That must be it," before moving on to another topic.

The reason why I look younger and shorter to him is because I have lost 30lbs since he first met me; I knew that was the reason as soon as he brought it up. While he spoke, I thought about telling him. I decided I should and then opened my mouth to do so and ended up just taking a sip of whiskey instead.
I am working on telling people. I've had serious conversations about weight loss and food and shame with two friends now, and I made a look-at-me-I'm-super-casual-about-this remark about it in front of two male friends last night, who I assumed already knew from their girlfriends, though Ive never talked to either of them about it specifically. I'm trying to 'fake it till you make' with this, acting like its not a scary thing until it is no longer a scary thing.
But I couldn't tell Chris. Maybe it's because I like him so much and we're just starting out on this whole friendship thing. Maybe it's because I'm ridiculously attracted to him. Maybe it's because he's a guy and I have a harder time opening up to men. Who knows? The point is: I let him believe that I now look younger and shorter than I did in the fall because my hair is longer, which feels pretty stupid right about now.

The bright side of all this is that people are beginning to notice. The downside is that, as they notice, I should probably be honest with them about what they are seeing.

Conversations With Mother

"It's just so crazy!"
"No, it's not."
"No, what I mean is -"
"I know what you mean, it's not crazy."
"It is though."
"You're attractive. He noticed."
"But still, I just - I mean - I don't know, it's just so crazy."
"No, it's not."
"But, mom, -"
"Olivia."

This, my friends, is tacticians would call an Impasse.

Sneaky Secrets

Surprises are ridiculously fun to pull off, even if you're only involved peripherally. Even if it involves waking up at 5:00a on your day off.

In other news: FRIEND VISITING YAY FRIEND YAY.

Dinosaur Morning

I've got a mug of licorice tea in my hand, a sink full of dishes I desperately do not want to do and a half hour before I need to leave for work.
My tea mug is a birthday present - it has three dinosaurs on it, roaming around the jungle. When you pour the hot water in, the jungle evaporates and dinosaurs shrink to their bones, on display in a fancy museum. I love this mug, but the order of the transformation bothers me a bit. I want the mug to start in the cold, sad museum and then blossom into the ancient scene. That way the metaphor would be about imagination, or remembrance, or things not being as they seem. It would have a little magic to it. Instead, the mug follows the path of time and strips it all away. It makes me feel like the metaphor is more sinister, and I am always feel a little sad to pour my hot water in.
But mugs aren't metaphors and the dinosaurs have been dead for a long time, so I should probably just do my dishes.

50

Here it is.

When I woke up this morning, I was fifty-one pounds lighter. Not from yesterday or the day before, but from July 31st, 2012.
I had a summer full wonderful people, and memories, and experiences - and I do not want to make anyone who shared the 2012 summer with me think that was not true. But last summer was pretty miserable for me as well. I did my best to hide it, which is my general modus operendi when it comes to anything unpleasant. I cried frequently and without much provocation, which my roommates saw and probably didn't fully understand. I reacted badly to perceived comments, became more sensitive and touchy. I started to carry this herbal panic-lessening tincture called "rescue remedy" in my purse, just in case the tears threatened to overwhelm while I was in public or at work. I spent a lot of time crying in the aisles of grocery stores, because strangers were safe to cry in front of. At the end of July, I decided that I'd rather do something difficult and scary than wallow in my twin pools of self-loathing and self-pity.
I started small, with journaling and dieting. Then I started to see a therapist, to work on some of the capital b Bigger issues. In October I became involved with a man who, for all of his flaws, really made me feel that he believed I was beautiful. Now I'm here: seven months later, fifty-one pounds lighter, and a bit of a different person already. I'm working on keeping my head held high, on taking compliments well, on believing that when people tell me nice things about me, they mean them. A good friend of mine quoted The Perks of Being a Wall Flower to me when she said, "We accept the love we think we deserve." I'm working on thinking I deserve more.
That is part of what this blog post is about. Up until now, my "process" (I don't like that term but I hate "diet" and cannot think of anything better right now...) has been, essentially, secret. Secret is too active a word. What I mean is, I didn't tell anyone. I didn't keep it from anyone either, but I purposely never brought it up. But I promised myself that I'd try to be better about accepting who I am and what being who I am entails. (Is anyone actually following at this point? I'm afraid I'm being very unclear.) The nexus of it all is this: "Hello, World! Here is something I am really uncomfortable with! Something I feel a lot of shame about! Something that it scares me to hear mentioned! Here it is, on the internet and on my blog, with pictures attached! And those pictures are of me! There is nothing scarier to me than hitting that publish button at the top of this page but hit that button I will because I am trying to be proud of myself and not ashamed!"
Okay, now I'm a little light headed.

Pictures taken in July, May, and June 2012

Photos taken in March, February and January 2013

I am posting these pictures so that you, whomever you may be, who is reading this, can see what I've been up to. But mostly I'm posting these pictures for me. Because nine days out of ten, I look in the mirror and see nothing different. I know it's happened, I know it's happening, I know things are changing, but I can't see them. So please, read, look, draw from it what you will, but also know: this is really, honestly, 100% only about me.

On: Surroundings (Stinky Cheese Man Tech - Day Three)

By the end of the day, I couldn't handle mine anymore. I locked all the doors, packed up my things slowly and ended up driving to Fire on the Mountain on the east side. I was the girl, sitting by herself, having sweet potato fries and no beer on a Friday night. I was the girl, sitting by herself, reading the second Hunger Games book, on a Friday night.
Full days at the theater sometimes makes you want no more theater.