I am quite the slave to numbers: I like to record and interpret data. Maybe this is why I ended up majoring in engineering in college. It’s certainly as good a reason as any to start doing something. I don’t have any grand dreams of changing lives as we know it. I just like to get my assignments, do the work, and get a result (which may or not be the one we set out to prove, but it is a hard result nonetheless).
Engineering is quite definitive. I can figure out the best ways to make something, calculate all the risks involved in the different methods, and collect and interpret test data. It’s very cut and dried, but maybe that’s why it lacks some kind of soul.
Am I a soul-less type then since I find engineering to be quite enjoyable, discrete, and safe? Perhaps.
My penchant for data collection spills over into many other aspects of me life. I think I mentioned yesterday that I like to write down everything that I eat. I keep a rather detailed log of everything. It’s only in the past year or so that I started to slack off and not record everything, but for the most part, I write down what I ate and approximately what time it was.
Yes, it may seem ridiculous, but it is a useful tool that helps me keep a check on my weight. While I’m sure that I could probably get away with maintaining my weight without keeping a detailed journal, I have gotten into the habit and now it’s a bit too late to stop. I am also a bit afraid that if I do stop, then I will magically blow back up over the course of a few months.
I like my size. It is a good size. (The shape isn’t too bad either, but could always use some refining.)
Sometimes when I’m bored at home, I will put on one of our movies and let it play in the background while I’m doing something else. I recently watched Aronofsky’s Requiem for a Dream, one of my favourite films. I love the music, the characters, the way it was shot. It also reminds me how far my life is from such suffering, which of course makes me feel a little safer in my little cushioned world.
And yes, I can admit that I do live in a cushy little world.
I’ve always been a tiny bit obsessed with weight and appearance (of course, while completely ignoring my fatness of years past). Since managing to wrestle my way into the "normal" BMI range, I have noticed that I am more obsessed and self-critical than ever. Sometimes I inspect myself, watching the bones and tendons under my skin. I will poke at the fleshier bits of myself and watch those areas carefully as my weight changes.
Requiem has a cast of beautiful (and quite svelte) drug-addicts. They definitely captivate me in terms of the gorgeous thinness. You can see it in their protruding browbones, the hollowness of their cheeks, the thin chords of collarbones stretching from side to side. It’s so unhealthy looking, but so appealing and beautiful. It’s the glamorous side of drug-addiction, before they start looking really strung-out and shaggy (well Ellen Burstyn does get quite strung-out looking).
So yes, now I wish to see the hollow in my cheeks, but I wonder if this is what I should be doing in the first place. When I first lost the weight, my random goal was to see that one bone on the outside protrude from my wrist.
(By the way, this bone is called the pisiform.)
For some reason, this was what I considered beautiful. To see that bone, delicately poking out of the side of someone’s wrist was beauty to me. Of course, this bone now sticks out on my wrist. I admire it from time to time and I think about how my wrist used to look, thick and fleshy.
I much prefer this bonier version of myself, and it seems that just about everyone who knows me also prefers it. Well, I’m technically not any bonier than I used to be, since I have the same amount of bones as before. But yes, I am quite visibly bonier compared to the chunkier version of me.
But of course it is not enough.
(Will it ever be enough?)
I’m on a quest to keep pushing myself, to find the limit, and then go a little further. I always have to toe the line like that.