From my other journal, dated August 12, 2002

Larry and I had the best time yesterday! At the art museum we saw an exhibit of Egyptian art (I can't believe how good our timing was - I love all things Egyptian), and a photography exhibit by one of Larry's favorite photographers. It was so wonderful to have that time alone with him doing something we really wanted to do.

We started teasing each other because something had caught my eye and I was pointing to a painting, which caused Larry to push my hand away, thinking I was going to touch it. I told him:

"Okay that's it. I'm going to pick one out for a good licking before we leave here. You watch."

We saw some little black metal sculptures of people and I waited until I knew he was looking then acted like I was going to lean over and swallow one. He laughed hysterically so of course, me being about as silly as your average little kid, I was completely encouraged. Every time I caught him looking I acted as if I was going to touch my tongue to a painting. I got really close once but he pulled me away.

"The art people are going to say bad things about you if you don't stop."

That put me into hysterics. I was laughing so hard I could barely walk.

I think one of the guards was becoming wary of me. When I went into the next room no one was there but when I turned back around there was a guard in the doorway watching me suspiciously. I was tempted to act like I was going to lick something but we'd have definitely gotten tossed out then.

In case any of you ever visit the museums in DC, you need to know that most of them aren't allowing standard backpacks. If it's like a small purse they'll let you in with it, otherwise, take a regular bag or hip (fanny) pack. I had to leave my backpack at the bag check area. It made me feel so weird and so NAKED to have to walk around without it.

We went to Tyson's Corner after that and shopped, picking up some cool stuff at L.L. Bean. I think I'm the only gothic chick in existence who actually loves shopping there. I think it stems from my love of backpacks, which I collect. I have over thirty now and my cache is always expanding. This time I was after a hip pack though. I needed one anyway so I'd have something to use when I go to the movies. They don't let poeple into movie theaters nowadays with their packs. Something about terrorism.

Anybody who tries to detonate a bomb at a moviehouse in Frederick Maryland is either a very bored terrorist or a really, really dumb one.

But I digress...

I injected some insulin right before we went into the mall, which after all of the exercise I had yesterday, kicked in like mad at L.L. Bean, so we scarfed at the California Pizza Kitchen. We also stopped at Sutter Home for pastries before going home.

The only bad thing about yesterday was that we left the CPK too late to hit the Starbuck's on our way out of the mall. I was really looking forward to a grande Mocha Frappuccino too.

Denied!

Fuck fuckety fuck fuck fuck!!

* grumble grumble *

Ah well...better luck next time.

Zoe had been screaming to beat the band when we left but by the time we got home she was all settled down and feeling better. She hadn't seen my dad in about two weeks so she was a little intimidated. It's as if she can't remember more than two weeks into the past.

I managed to get an appointment for Trent to see the pediatric ENT and get a referral from our doctor all in about ten minutes with no aggravation. I love these people. They're not only good doctros, they're excellent people too, and all of their effort is very much appreciated. Now we don't have to wait until September to see the ENT. I know the drugs they gave Trent in the hospital were good for him. He gained weight, his functions were normal and he had only minimal apnea, but they seem to have affected his hearing. At least, I hope that's all they did. We still aren't 100% on that, but thanks to our wonderful pediatrician we don't have to wait too much longer to find out.

John is getting quite the movie collection going. Last night we watched Scary Movie 2, he's got most of the Jay & Silent Bob movies and a Cheech & Chong is on the way from Amazon. I swear that boy gets more like me every day, except he has a better attitude than I had when I was his age. He's going to Ozzfest this Thursday. It doesn't seem as if he's old enough to be going to Ozzfest. It doesn't feel as if I had him 14 years ago. It passes by so fast, their growing up does. It sounds cliche' but it's so true.

That reminds me; I need to take him out to see Master of Disguise this Wednesday. His dad wants to take him to West Va. this weekend (starting Friday), and on Sunday he won't be back until late. Besides, I don't have a babysitter because Larry's going to play golf with Mr. Friend (see my dream journal for stuff about Mr. Friend). So it has to be Wednesday because tomorrow John's got his therapy appointment.

What a busy week!

Happy and busy beats the hell out of bummed and bored any day. I wish it could always be this way.

~~~~

Later on:

I was feeling pretty good for most of the day. Then this evening I was watching a show about, of all people, Hugh Hefner and started to feel really depressed. I switched it on out of curiosity and got really pulled into it.

He is a fascinating man, and one of the few who is right up front about who he is and what he expects when he's seeing a woman. Or five, which is apparently the case more often than not. The thing is, he comes across as a very nice, very cool, very personable guy. Somebody that's easy to love. I also like that his millions weren't built on other people's pain. His girls aren't tormented or forced into posing and they aren't pumped full of drugs. Everyone seems like a family and has a good time making lots of money from Hef's magazine, which as far as I'm concerned is an art form.

I feel the same way about Playgirl (which I do prefer to Playboy - who doesn't??). It's tastefully done, pretty pictures of very pretty people. Nobody has needle tracks or looks drunk. They're all healthy and it shows up in their work.

The depressing part is this:

My life will never be like that.

Don't get me wrong, I'm happy in my marriage, I love my babies and all is well. But it would be really nice to play all of the time and look like one of those girls. I started an exercise regimen this morning but no matter how much I work out I will never be like them. My skin will never tan and my belly will always bear the scars of one appendectomy and three pregnancies. I will never be tall or perfect or 92 pounds ever again. And I'll never again be 21 years old.

So that's what's bothering me. I look like shit and seeing people who don't was a rather painful reminder of that. I'm not a hog or anything, one thing my mother and husband are always telling me is that I tend to see myself as being way larger than I am. This is probably true. I am hard on myself, because I remember when I was 17 and my belly was flat and I weighed less than my fourteen year old son does now. I worked out for two hours a day, three if I didn't have to go into work early. I had cheekbones. My ribs were visible. My muscles were tight.

Now everything is...well, not like that. I want that body back so desperately. I want to feel comfortable in my own skin and not feel as if people are thinking God - I'm glad I don't look like her when I go out. I want to buy clothes. Most of the time I don't because I don't want to stock up on fat clothes on the off chance that I might someday wake up in a normal sized body and not need them.

I keep starting exercise rourines then not being able to follow through because the babies need so much attention. It sounds like an excuse and I'm disgusted by that, but it's true. Trent is able to get out of his highchair and playpen, so I either have to wait until he takes a nap or wait until Larry gets home. The former doesn't happen easily (or all of the time), and Larry and I are both too tired after a full day to make the latter work.

This morning I only got to exercise because I got up before the kids. I'm going to have to start making that a habit if I'm going to make any progress.

I'm not as worried about my health being threatened by my diabetes any more. I'm concerned about feeling better in my skin and trying to have some of that comfort and confidence I used to have when I was a teenager. I'm concerned about keeping up with my babies, who are both little vibrating bundles of kinetic energy. I'm concerned about being attractive for Larry, who is a fantastic, beautiful man and deserves a wife who looks as good as he does.

Besides, everyone knows that if you get too fat men leave. They lose interest and go off in search of a teenage girl who looks like she can still shop in the children's section.

I don't think Larry's like that, but I need to look nice for him, so he knows I give a damn about him and about our marriage. Right now I look like I've gotten too comfortable or given up. Sometimes I feel as if I have. I feel like I have so far to go I'll never get there. I'll certainly never look like a Playmate or a SI swimsuit model.

I feel as if the situation is hopeless because no matter how hard I work I'll never see any results.

I'm not articulating this well. I keep trying to write it out in a way that makes sense to me and the right words don't come.

I wonder if this has anything to do with the dreams I've been having about Larry either leaving me or trading me off to someone else?

That would make sense.

Even my subconscious thinks I suck.

It isn't wrong.

I'm getting back on the treadmill right now in case I can't do it when I wake up tomorrow.

G'night.