Disturb The Universe

1.  Does watching Murder, She Wrote make me a writer?

2.  Does thinking, not doing, about measuring my window to put up new curtains make me a Real Simple reader?

My next door neighbors have a beautiful kitchen floor.  I can see it when I look out my second floor bedroom window.  One night, before Christmas, standing there watching my neighbors wrapping presents, oh wait, look closer…the four of them are sitting around their kitchen table making GINGERBREAD houses.  

I realized I needed to put clothes on, the naked neighbor lady dripping wet from her shower, toweling off her hair needed to put on clothes or at the least, hang curtains. 

They are the people who set their table and put salt and pepper shakers on the table, every night.  As I hung my mattress cover, (that will have to serve as curtains for the time being) over my window, I heard a collective sigh of relief that they wouldn’t have to look at naked neighbor lady.  

4.  The New Year is so funny.  I tried to write down resolutions, or things that I want to be better at this year.  Lose 5-10 pounds?  But, I lost 20 pounds this year.  Without trying, anxiety and stress will do that to you.  A co-worker tried to ask me if I had an eating disorder the other day and I almost burst into tears.  

“Do you have a problem…with……..food?…Are you..overdoing it?

The woman stared closely at my face, studying my face so closely I was insecure about my large pores and my bloodshot eyes. She was looking at my face, scrutinizing it, watching where my eyes went.  Watching my hand clutch my collar bone, the way I always do when I’m nervous, rubbing the red spots that appear across my chest.

No, I haven’t showered today.  I just ate french fries for lunch.  With ranch.  I’m trying to be healthier.  I try to eat healthy.  I am fine.  I like to run and I do yoga.  Sometimes. Sometimes, I eat three bags of full size potato chips that I keep hidden in my bottom desk drawer.

As I spit out answers, I realize I sound like a classic eating disorder , stammering out weird excuses.  I love ice cream.  Me? No.  It’s just, I’m tired. God, I’m fine! ME! I LOVE FOOD.

 I’m busy. A writing class last semester almost made me have a nervous breakdown.  I haven’t showered.  I couldn’t sleep last night.  I hurt my neck this week.  

5.  The last few months were trying, but aren’t they always.  I calculated that I was “working” (real job vs. grad school vs. actual time spent in the classroom) an average of 70 hours a week.  I know some people can do this easy breezy.  Not me.  I found myself being pulled like a strange tension rod, almost ready to snap most days, on the verge of…not standing up again? Not knowing my name anymore.  Losing my mind? Myself? Nervous knots sat in my stomach at all hours and I would wake up exhausted, eyes bloodshot, angry, tense, tired, sad, forgetting to eat.

So that’s it lady, there’s my eating disorder.  It’s only in the past few days (not even weeks, months, I’m saying days) that I started to sit still long enough again to take deep breaths.  But we’re all battling our eating disorder/anxiety problem/weight issues/anger management/neuroses/fears every single day so, lady, I don’t need you to ask me if I’m okay.  And as she flippantly walked away, unconvinced that I wasn’t sick, needing help, anorexic, whatever the fuck she was projecting on me, I tried to puff my cheeks out and stand up a little bit taller.