On my last trip to the library, I picked up a few books. When my oldest daughter saw my selections,she was a bit surprised. The books were: Fat Girl (a memoir), The Fat Girl (an old YA book from the 80s) and a fiction novel titled Beautiful Bodies.

I have tried to read Beautiful Bodies, and I am not liking it. It is supposed to be about six friends having a dinner party and talking, but the first few chapters are each of the characters time before arriving at the party, and it is boring. Very boring. I don’t think I’m going to read anymore. This is progress. I used to keep reading books that didn’t appeal to me.

I haven’t read the YA book yet (or tried), but I did read the memoir Fat Girl by Judith Moore. This is a  book that I have thought about buying more than once, but I didn’t because it is a tiny book and expensive by comparison.

It is also a depressing book. I didn’t learn anything interesting or different about fat issues. There was a lot of self-loathing, and I forced myself to finish it. One review called the book “breathtaking,” but I didn’t get that at all.

One book that I did like recently, and I liked it because it offered a new perspective as well as lots of good stuff about weight — Life in the Fat Lane by Cherie Bennett. It is a YA book. It really makes you think, I think. Or at least it did me.

And that’s my review. I am going to avoid weight-related reading for a bit. Next on my reading list: Peace Like a River by Leif Enger.

or more evidence that I have actually lost weight….

I have lost between 35 to 40 pounds, and I have about 60 pounds that I still want to lose, but I am already noticing the impact my weight loss has had. As I mentioned earlier this week, my clothes are looser and sometimes too loose.

But I think the thing I noticed the most is that I am no longer invisible.

When I weigh a certain amount, I become invisible to most of the male species on the planet. As I go about my day, males look through me or around me but not at me. I don’t mind this since I tend not to notice them either no matter what they weigh. I’m just not looking.

But since I’ve dropped 40 pounds and managed to keep my D-cup breasts, I am no longer invisible. I am getting second glances from men I pass. More often than not, I will also get a smile, a wave, a hello, or some other line. I tend to still not be looking, and I end up startled as a stranger says something to me as I’m lost in thought, or I notice the person I am not really looking at is smiling at me and saying hello. I panic momentarily wondering if I know this person, but I usually don’t. This has happened more to me in the last month than it has in the last two years.

And I wonder is it because I feel better about myself and it shows, or is it because I am invisible when I weigh over a certain amount, and I am no longer invisible. I’m not sure. I just know it is happening now, and it wasn’t then.

It has finally warmed up in northern Michigan and in response I have pulled out my shorts, capris, and various summer clothes. And just like the last two years, I did not fit into the clothes that I pulled out.

But this year, it was because the clothes I pulled out were too big.

I pulled on one pair of shorts that I wore a lot last year, and I knew I would no longer be able to wear them. The room at the waist was more than five inches. Even a belt wouldn’t help.

I also added new holes in my belt because it needed it again.

Although I hate shopping, I find that Iam a lot less resentful when I am buying new clothes because my old ones are too big. Woohoo!

My arms are sore and my shoulders ache. My entire upper body is sore. I spent about three hours raking bark and sawdust from our yard today.

We burn wood at our home, and we bought 10 pulp wood cords a little over a year ago. It arrives as logs in a very high pile. We are now down to less than a third. We’ve been burning it throughout the winter, and it made a mess in our side yard. This is one of the warmest days, and so we brought more wood into the garage, and I began cleaning up the yard. It is a huge process and even after several hours of work, it isn’t close to being done.

It feels good though, but it probably won’t tomorrow. I even have a blister on my thumb from holding the rake.

When I was very young, my dad was a chain smoker, and he drank alcohol daily. I learned to play pool at the age of 8 in the Moose Lodge while my dad drank and smoked at the bar, and my mom watched over me at a nearby table. I knew enough to ask the barmaid or the red-painted quarters to put in the jukebox.

When I was a young teenager, my dad gave up smoking and drinking. He did this by going cold turkey. It worked. I remember he made a bet with my brother-in-law, and my brother-in-law wasn’t able to successfully quit smoking, but my dad did.

He was able to control his addictions to alcohol and nicotine by severing them. I don’t know if the phantom foot of his addictions ever itched, but I do know he never scratched.

After years of being alcohol-free, a doctor suggested to my dad that a shot of whiskey a day would be good for his heart. My dad responded that he had never been able to drink just one.

But you can’t go cold turkey with food.

My dad enjoyed good food. He savored the flavors. He would eat things I would never even consider like frog legs. We would drive for miles to eat in a restaurant in Luzurne that had an all-you-can-eat froglegs buffet on Friday nights. My dad would object when I would order a hamburger and fries. “Get something you don’t eat at home,” he would tell me. I would order the salad bar, and I would delight in the wide range of choices.

The salad bar wasn’t what my dad meant.

When we lived in Florida, we’d sit in a restaurant on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean, and my parents would eat fresh seafood. I would refuse to try the shrimp. I ordered a cheeseburger and fries. I was feeling a little adventurous.

Today, I read several poems that talked about cooking. One, in particular, sounded almost pornographic as the author described pouring the oil in the pan and searing the whatever it was she was searing. What is searing anyway? The description of the eating became even more vivid with flavors bursting.

And I realize I am missing something. I do not talk about or think about food this way. It is not a sensual experience for me.

I have a friend who can get very animated and offer detail after detail as she describes how she cooks something. I cannot comprehend her culinary comments.

I eat because I’m hungry, or people around me or eating. If left on my own, I would forget to eat. I do not enjoy cooking. I enjoy socializing more than eating when I dine out. Eating is something I have to do.

When I do get a hankering for something, it is usually pretty tame. The other night I wanted something to drink with a bit of a kick. I was upset we were out of orange juice because it would have been perfect. Just a plain glass of orange juice.

When I cook, I rarely add spices. I never add salt to my food. If I use ketchup to eat my fries, the fries weren’t that very good to begin with. I prefer my hot dogs plain.

So if I am not obsessed with food, and my taste buds are fairly bland, how did I end up overweight to begin with?