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Wednesday, 13 March 2013

AOB, you have no idea

I'm supposed to meet with a professor for a job I'm not too excited about (I don't want to get a job because cousin S knew someone who knew someone, not to mention I've no idea if it involves anything I don't want to do for money). I received a very ambiguous e-mail regarding a meeting date and asked for AOB's opinion on what to do (what I planned to do in the first place, which is to say: show up for all dates until he can see me). Once a "normal" conversation started, AOB casually mentioned he's been drinking a lot more water since he stayed with us and thanked me. He thanked me for starting a good, healthy habit in him.

I should probably write something down I hadn't written down because it's a little embarrassing. For context. Since I joined a gym with aunt A I got a little crazy and obsessive about getting in shape (which in my case means toning muscles, reducing the appearance of cellulite, and losing some volume around my waist, bum and thighs). To this purpose, I started a tiny log where every week I'd measure myself (even though I had to resort to a tiny ruler, an online ruler and a computer cord, which should be evidence enough of the craziness if you didn't trust me a while ago). I'd keep a record of my weight, the circumference around my arms, legs, waist and hips in small note-size bits of paper. I used to keep these stashed with my underwear and for reasons I no longer remember I moved them to my copy of Let's Pretend This Never Happened. Along with these logs, I also started keeping track of how many calories I consumed in a day, compared them to some number a booklet told me I should be having, kept track of how often I had salad meals and added up the calories I had leftover. I kept this religiously in an excel file for at least a month, I think. I fear, but it may be an irrational fear, AOB might have seen this file once when I left it open in my computer with a number of other things. I'm sure AOB saw the tiny note papers with the measurements when I gave him my book.

I was embarrassed of being embarrassed and it was enough reason to stop myself. I now allow myself some chips every once in a while and even a soft drink other than fake lemonade. I wish I wasn't too embarrassed to tell AOB about the whole thing, but I really do thank him.

Now, I am no authority on the subject but I'd like to dabble with body image issues. Here's how my reasoning goes... Ridicule is a very effective punishment. Fear of ridicule will make bad drivers behave, will make a politician think twice about stealing and will keep at least a few people from trying meth. Well, I propose a method of dealing with insecurity through ridicule, à la reductio ad absurdum. If your obsession with body image is embarrassing, you just might give it up for fear of knowing how ridiculous it would be to worry.

Granted, of course there may be people who obsess following an exceedingly strict method for health reasons. I suppose my advice only applies if you are otherwise healthy enough and sane enough to admit it. 

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