Satisfaction.

My apologies for not posting for a short while.  My internet has been a little sketchy, barely letting myself or my roommate connect to it long enough to check a simple email let alone draft and publish a blog post.  Rest assured, we're in the process of researching a new internet provider and our current one will let us disconnect for free since it turns out that we're in a "blind spot".  Who knew?

Things have been going well I guess.  To summarize the last few weeks, I established a good relationship with basic salads and then suddenly -Bam!- the relationship was over.  The last two salads I consumed (the 2nd one was just to make sure of things) made me quite ill just like they did in the past.  

Bummer.  

Anything else?  

Oh, my roommate's parents came to town two weeks ago for a visit and have been staying with us.  They leave tomorrow morning which means I can exercise on the elliptical again.  I have this thing about exercising with people in the house.  Bothers me beyond sensical reason.  I'm OK with my roommate being here, but not anyone else; it's worse than going to a gym.  That being said, I fully disclose that I did not formally exercise over the last two weeks, not even to bike to work (record-setting rain fall = dry drives to work in my trusty muddy Saturn).  I have tried to make the effort to move more while at work by regularly walking the length of the building, walking to coworkers' desks to ask questions, gather info, etc., rather than dialing their extension to talk while remaining in my butt-magnet office chair, and filling my water bottle from the filtered water spigot furthest from my work area.  Last night I also enjoyed about an hour and 20 minutes of rigorous volleyball which will become a regular Tuesday night thing after my Hmong language class is over (that's how you get kids to come learn to read and write their own language; bribery with sports works fantastically).  

While the salads were agreeing with my system, they provided semi-regular fiber that helped keep things, uh... going.  At one point, again, they started making me ill so when that finally subsided, I was so grateful to not be married to the toilet that I didn't realize I wasn't really going much anymore.  A week and a half ago the pain began.  My stomach kept hurting with this sharp-ish ache each day.  Hard to describe and unsure of what it was, I just kept trucking along.  I was following the OPTIFAST program to a T, what could be the issue?  I thought perhaps it was due to the stress of my supervisor being on vacation and having to do both my job and a good portion of his job too.  Monday, two days ago, the pain was intense enough that it interfered with my day significantly.   I soon figured out that I was, pardon me, pretty backed up.  When you gotta go but you can't, it's a gloomy day.  The minute I came home on Monday I stirred up a nice glass of -Gag!- Metamucil and chugged it.  I woke up at 2am and soon after all was right with the world again.  Tuesday morning, another glass of the orange goo.  Tuesday night, another.  This morning, you guessed it, and I just mixed and chugged again before settling down to write this before going to bed.  The Metamucil canister is now a decoration on the counter top in the kitchen so I don't forget to take it.  On the OPTIFAST plan most of what you take in is in the form of a liquid supplement.  My plan allows for 1 OPTIFAST bar a day and 4 shakes per day.  Not a ton to pass each day so I suppose my system likes to stockpile...? (Really, you should be used to this sort of banter by now).   

Lesson learned: Fiber is super super SUPER important.

On a quick (or not so quick) note, I've begun treatment for possible ADHD (non-hyperactivity) through Alaska Premier Health too.  During an appointment a few weeks ago I was randomly asked, "Have you ever been tested for ADHD?"  Never, never, had I ever thought that question would be asked of me.  Come on! I was that overweight, well-behaved, quiet kid who did everything she was told (except keep an organized bedroom) who turned into an overweight, well-behaved, quiet but better at being verbose at times, adult who still does everything she knows she should do (except keep an organized bedroom, handle social situations of 5 or more people without having a break down and running away, be comfortable with taking a pee break once in a while at work and not being so reactive to stressful situations that arise there... and the list goes on).  

I've been reading that ADHD commonly goes undiagnosed in many women and is being found often when their kids have been diagnosed (apparently it can be hereditary) and their lives start proverbially caving in on them quite late in the game.  I understand the feeling and I'm not even married or a mom yet.  Feeling like one's life is caving in is bad; finding a solution is good.  It's not a mental disability or illness, nor is it a chemical deficiency; it's a chemical difference.  I really like how that difference was illustrated a few weeks ago for me: Back in the hunter/gatherer days a woman easily distractible or a day-dreamer may not have gathered berries as quickly or efficiently as her counterparts... but when the bear/wolf/lion came through, she'd be the one who'd notice and save the village.  

I started taking medication yesterday and will not be formally writing about that here.  Rather, I will be adding another tab above and will update that separate page with scanned versions of my hand-written log that I'm keeping regarding my observed changes.  

Today was one of my appointments at Alaska Premier Health.  I'm down a total of 19 lbs and 6 oz!  Believe me, I'm still very much not close to any size that could be categorized as "average" but have reached the beginning of that pivotal point where my coworkers are starting to notice something is slightly different.  Today one of them said, "Joanna, I think you pants are getting a little baggier".  While walking around the office I noticed she was right; they kept moving back and forth around my hips and waist, not quite keeping hold of my ample bum and hips anymore. Who needs a belt? I do! I do!! Me! Me! Me! I need a freakin' belt pronto!!! The odd movement of my jeans grew more annoying with every step I took for the rest of the day but at the same time, I felt an element of satisfaction... enough so that after work I went to good ol' Uncle Freddy's (Fred Meyer) and grabbed 5 different pairs of jeans from the size below what I've been wearing just to see what would happen.  

My hypothesis was that one pair might fit and the rest for sure would be significantly too tight.  That's usually how it goes even when trying on jeans in one's current size; welcome to being female.

Newsflash: ALL 5 PAIRS OF JEANS FIT!!!  Holy socks!  

I took some photos today while trying on jeans, etc. and will now present to you a photo montage!!!

(Now nobody can say I don't post pictures.) 

Everyone dropping a few pounds seems to have one of THESE pictures... ooh la la!

But what about one of THESE? (Don't worry, I tucked in the shirt for modesty reasons; only jeans and shirt showing). Having fun yet?

Here's the butt of a moose outside of my office today...

And here's MY butt in my favorite of the 5 pairs of SMALLER jeans I tried on (pardon the yellow of the dressing room) at Freddy's.

And my butt and left thigh (photo taken in a mirror; my right thigh has a large protruding bump of scar tissue on it from being nearly killed by a drunk driver in 2005 that started out as a massive blood clot/hematoma and will hopefully -finally- be removed this calendar year).  

And the same side, again, where you can also see my lovely lower legs; I am not built with small legs and a more well-endowed bust like many "fluffy" women I know... which makes clothing shopping a royal pain.  So many manufacturers that are cool enough to make larger sizes seem to cater to the figure that's larger on top and smaller on the bottom. Ugh.

Guilty as charged; I bought the jeans.

Just in case anyone was wondering...

And I got a belt too... to hold up my current jeans for just a little longer (the cost of one belt is cheaper than replacing two pairs of jeans).

What? You're shocked that I didn't previously own a belt?  All of this good happy my-tummy-is-feeling-better-and-my-roommate's-parents-are-going-home-and-I-dropped-a-jean-size glee and you're concerned with my belt history?  Sigh.

Well, be that way.  Just think of how many cows lived because I chose not to wear belts for the last almost 26 years.

Until next time, sleep well.