Weird day; lots of thoughts running through my head.
I know that blogging is sometimes like baking cookies for Santa. You put all this effort into something that you know is going to go to waste. Unless some kindly soul takes pity on you. But I do get bothered when I see blogs that have achieved a certain level of popularity get dependent on that popularity. They often lose the earnestness of their voice because they keep trying to stoke the fires of fame by reposting the same thing over and over. Did a post about abortion net me 150 comments last week? Okay, then! Let’s write ANOTHER post about it.
Of course, sometimes you just recycle ideas because at a certain point that’s what’s in your head. Your needle is stuck in a groove of ponderance that you just can’t escape. With me it’s my illness; why is life this way and if it was going to be like this why dod God bother to have the doctors bring me back to life in babyhood? And since they DID bring me back to life shouldn’t I be doing something with that? Like last night I watched The People Vs. George Lucas and George made the point for the billionth time that because he walked away from that car crash in Modesto he was destined to become a monolithic corporate artist. Where’s my Kathfilm?!?
The one thought my mind has let go of in the past five years is my weight. I used to obsess on it. I used to weigh food, count points, count calories, spreadsheet my activity, journal every bite. Then over time I realised that I had turned weight loss into idolatry. It was my stumbling block. I had come to revile God’s creation–my fat self–and feel angry at God. So like every other zealot, I’m very anti-diet mentality. So of course there’s a heartbreaking conversation going on over at Tiny Cat Pants. The title of the post is so fantastic, so succinct a summation of everything that’s medieval about the current anti-fat bias in medicine:
Isn’t that perfect? Doesn’t that just sum it up when you think about it? You earn the privilege of having your belly sliced open in five places and laser-probes stuck into those incisions so the doctor can see well enough to tie off your stomach with a high-tech rubber band. You of course earn this “privilege” by first joining Weight Watchers and failing to lose weight on that program. It’s called Lap Band surgery.
Here is one of the better-known spokespersons for the operation, 8 years after the fact:
Lap Band is like every other weight loss method. You still have to starve yourself, work out all the time and basically make looking like someone other than yourself your full-time job. And your life will be consumed by this task. You will come to loathe your best ally–yourself. All because people who don’t know you have decided in passing that you don’t look right.
Anyway, over in that discussion Vera Ellen came up. She’s the late movie star who was in White Christmas and whose anorexia was so bad that costume designers had to cover her neck and arms to hide the bones. And I know they’re not the same woman, but whenever her name comes up I automatically think of the Pink Floyd song “Vera” and the lyric
Does anybody else in here
feel the way I do?
…and I’m back to wondering about the futility of blogging and life and whimsy all over again.
And on that note, I’m finally giving in to temptation and reading a book I’ve saved all summer.