On Working Out and Complaining

A bit of a row started on Twitter the other day when I whinged about hating doing cardio, but being glad that my bmi was going down. A number of people reacted very angrily to what I thought was a playful complaint followed by an upbeat "however". So let me respond to the unexpected drama my comments seemed to rouse:

If I am uncomfortable with the weight that I am currently at it is not a crime against feminism, or a sign that I am giving into the skinny-model-ideal bullshit. It simply means that *I* am not pleased with how I look in clothes right now. I have never fit into the fashion model ideal, nor do I aim to. I do not want long, super skinny legs with no hips or butt. I'd rather look like a J. Scott Campbell girl any day. ;)

I ask that people not jump on me for wanting to lose weight. I really do appreciate that some people believe "you're perfect the way you are," but I feel within myself that there is room for improvement. Whether or not you agree with me, I would rather be supported in this decision than attacked. It's not like I'm having random cosmetic surgery here- we're discussing regular exercise and healthy eating. There is nothing negative or harmful about what I'm doing. I am addressing my insecurity and taking steps to improve the way I feel about my body by becoming a healthier, fitter person. Tell me, where the harm is in that...?

I see nothing wrong with admitting that I feel unhappy about the way my body looks when I am taking steps to change it. That should be applauded, not condemned as "giving into insecurity" or "against your feminist ideals". I've gained over 20lbs since moving to London and it's time that comes off so that I can feel confident and healthy.

Additionally, if I choose to work out, it does not in any way reflect upon *you* or your choice to work out (or not). Just because I have exercised for a week doesn't mean I look down upon you if you haven't! There is no holier-than-thou going on here- I am simply trying to get back down to a weight I am happy with.
Something about trying to get healthy makes people assume that I am becoming a health nazi. I'm not. I'm eating nutella on white bread as I type this. NOM NOM NOM.

So please, in future, when I am complaining a little about how much I hate running but like losing the weight, I would ask that people not take it personally. MY choices have nothing to do with them. I am taking healthy steps to change something I don't like about myself and I think that should be applauded.

Thank you!
R.

Sick

Party at my flat last night- TOTAL DISASTER.

Well it was for me at least, as I spent the whole evening throwing up and sobbing into a towel for no real reason.

I've never been drunk enough to throw up or not remember things. And I didn't have too much to drink, either. I guess something just didn't agree with me.

After my VERY caring room mates sat with me and rubbed my back while I threw up the entire contents of my body (I swear, if I vomited up a lung or my spleen I wouldn't be surprised) they managed to put me to bed. I woke at 6am and thought I was at my boyfriend's house for some reason. I turned expecting him to be there to hold me and warm me up, and felt my heart sink into my stomach when I realized where I was.

Got up, had some tea, sat around in the messy party remains in the kitchen eating slices of cheese and toast until I got too cold and crawled into bed again. Walking back into my room, I could survey the damage: apparently my sink decided to start leaking in a serious way, the shelving in my shower decided to fall, and my room was a giant mess of my clothes which I had managed to take off piece by piece over night. Either my entire flat smells slightly of the acidic contents of my stomach, or my nose has been burned by the acid and it's all I can taste and smell.

Everything is a mess and I just want last night to have not happened. I am so embarrassed I don't want to face anyone today. Even though I am not hung over, the whole evening made me feel really vulnerable and lonely.

I Gave Myself a "Stress Concussion"

It's taken a very loud emotional breakdown to show me that there are people who want to be my friend. That doesn't seem terribly logical, but that's the way it went today.

I made myself physically ill from stress today. I was so angry at my project, I couldn't be quiet about it. I was trying to keep it in but my work was awful and I was so stressed and pissed off that I finally announced I was starting over (2 days before the deadline). I couldn't seem to be consoled, I was too mad at myself.

After two hours trying to rethink my project, I noticed I had a headache. I figured it was time for a cup of tea and something with a little sugar in it to keep me going. An hour after that, my headache was so blinding that I couldn't focus my eyes, and every time I moved I started shaking, lost my balance, and felt faint. I tried to let it pass, or to walk it off, but I felt like I could barely move.

I've given myself three concussions in my 23 years of life, and this headache felt very similar to a concussion headache. I gave myself a stress concussion!

While I was sitting at my sewing machine trying to work, a lot of people came over to try and help me come up with ways to make my garment work. I got a lot of hugs, and a lot of encouragement. I couldn't really appreciate it as much as I should have, but I did notice how people came out of the woodwork to check on me, and that helped me feel less alone in my moody little world.

At 7pm, I felt so awful I could barely stand up, so I slowly packed up my bag and told my tutor that I had to go home because I felt faint. I slowly walked to the tube station, keeping my eyes focused on where I was putting my feet, trying to not get jostled by the crowds, because I thought I might fall over. Thankfully I got a seat on the tube, and I stared at the floor until I got to my stop. I carefully, purposefully walked home, trying to will myself not to pass out.

By the time I arrived home, I was a mess. I tripped on the stairs twice. I dropped my new phone because I couldn't balance while looking at a screen. I tried to cook myself something to eat so I would stop shaking, and had to hold onto the counter to not feel like the world was spinning.

It's times like this when I wish I was home, and I could call a friend or a room mate to help me. But I managed on my own, and made myself some hot oatmeal. I crawled into bed and spooned the food into my mouth ungracefully.

And that's when I got a text from one of the girls in my class. She said,
"hi, I hope you're okay. I was a little worried about you when I left. But you know if you want to get in early tomorrow, we can have coffee and look at your dress and work out wot to do."

I texted her back and thanked her and apologized for taking my stress out on her in class. I said that I would love to meet early tomorrow for some brainstorming and that I would buy the coffee.

She wrote back,
"Ok. I just don't like seeing you like that, especially when you've produced something so interesting and beautiful. Have faith in yourself. See you tomorrow for design boot camp, hehe!"

I also texted a "thank you for being so kind to me, and I am sorry that I was so emotional in class this evening" sort of text to the couple of people who helped me when I began to fall apart this evening. And they all wrote back that they totally understood, that they hope I feel better, and that I could call them if I needed anything.

Of course people say that without meaning it a lot, but I know that at least two of them do mean it. And I appreciate it so much it's hard to say.

By 8pm I was almost asleep. My head was pounding and I was just trying to breathe deeply in my dark room and let it pass. I must have fallen asleep because I woke at 11pm, thirsty, but much better.

I'm going to crawl back into bed now and try to sleep the rest of this stress headache off. But I feel a little calmer, even though I wasted an evening that I should have been working on the project, because I know that even when I am moody and stressed and at my wit's end, there are people who are willing to give me a hug.


(Oh, here's a photo of the fabric treatment I did for this project. We had to use white cotton and white felt ONLY, and so I have been working with the white felt, wetting it, stretching it, creating a lacy pattern of holes before hand gathering sections of it to give it some body and texture. There will be a collar and sleeves and some craziness at the bottom too, this is just a photo of the fabric pinned up on the dress form to give me some ideas.)

Alright, now I'm going to crawl back into bed.

I Hope Nostalgia Makes This All Seem Better

I really truly hope that a year from now, I will be able to look back on this quarter and sum up the horrible experience in a few sentences that sound nonchalant and wise. Maybe something like, "during my first quarter I failed every project. My ideas were laughed at by my tutors, and any teeny tiny shred of confidence I had in my ability to design and communicate visually was shattered. Wow, I sure learned a lot, darn skippy. Those were good times." And then I could nod sagely, pat a first quarter student on the head, and go back to work.

Yeah, I hope hindsight makes this all seem like a good ol' learning experience. Yup.

The Fun Begins....

It all began when I received my sewing machine in the mail. After finding that a few things arrived broken in a previous box, I decided that it would be wise to take a break from my homework and unpack the machine to make sure it was in working condition. Worst. Decision. Ever.

I find an adapter for the US plug and attempt to turn the sewing machine on. POW! All the electricity in my room goes out. Normally I would just go find the fuse box and flip a switch, but our switches are behind locked doors, so I had to find someone who had a key.

The Senior Resident on call was a very sweet girl named Lauren. We opened every single locked door in the flat , and after we had no luck finding my room's fuse box, I suddenly had a thought. Remember that "potentially problematic door" I posted a photo of? I asked her if the fuse box for my room might be outside in the fire escape area. Turns out I was right... But this suggestion of mine kicked off a series of discoveries that led to an interesting night for the whole flat.

When Lauren tried to unlock the "potentially problematic" fire door we realized that the lock had been broken, and that the door has been open to the outside world this whole time. All my jokes about setting up a lounge area in the room off of the fire escape? They weren't funny any more because we found that our unlocked fire door had left our flat open to anyone in our building. Adding to the sudden feeling of discomfort was compounded by the fact that it seemed a lot of other people knew they could get up here and took advantage of it.

When Lauren and I (followed by my flat mates, many of whom were awakened by the noise) went out into the hallway to flip my fuse switch, we found that someone decided that our indoor fire escape was a good place to do some spray paint artwork. The ghost of spray painted 11x17 papers in various colors littered the carpeting. Our mystery artist even left a can of red paint and their latest creation drying on the floor in front of my fuse box.

We turned the corner and found that someone had been smoking on our steps, and left us a little mess to clean. (Last week, many of us commented that our hallway smelled of smoke. Now we know why.)

It was midnight by now, and this whole situation would have looked very funny if it weren't for one problem. All this "vandalism" was done outside out top floor flat, so it of course would appear that WE did it. The fine for something like this is a few hundred quid, minimum.

But the only problem we could deal with at midnight was my lack of electricity. Now that we'd found my fuse box, we flipped the switch. Nothing happened. We did it again, and waited. Still nothing. Phone calls were made, drama ensued, but when the overhead light popped back on in my room, there was great rejoicing in the camp! Everyone shuffled back to their rooms, I thanked Lauren profusely, offered to buy her a bottle of wine for her trouble, and settled down to complete my homework.

Before she left Lauren promised to talk to the building owners on our behalf regarding the mess and mysterious broken lock (and hopefully get it fixed so we aren't giving everyone free access to our flat).

All was well it seemed. That is until I found that despite my overhead light working, all my electrical sockets were still completely dead.

I called Lauren again, very apologetically, and we began searching for the mystery switch that would turn my power sockets back on. The noise of Lauren and I talking alerted all the room mates that something was up, and soon they were all awake and gawking at the cigarettes and spray paint.

My room mates were understandably of freaked out about the unlocked fire door, and tempers were rising about the mess. But none of this was as pressing a concern to me as the fact that nothing seemed to be turning my power sockets back on. With everyone's permission, Lauren and I shut off the main power to the whole flat. Sitting in the dark hallway, lit only by emergency lighting, what could you do but laugh at the situation? "Wow, you broke the flat the first day of school," someone said to me. Heh, whoops.

It was 12:30 or so, and I was getting a little punchy. I was finding that my concern about not having power was slowly being outweighed by concerns about the fines that we would have to fight when the building managers found out about the mess our mystery friends had made.

All the girls seemed to be getting progressively more upset about the spray paint on the floor. The lovely piece of artwork that our mysterious artistic friend had left to dry seemed to be egging them on. I think a few of the girls were feeling very exposed and victimized, what with the door to our flat unlocked and broken. So I decided to do something that would make us all feel in control again, and redirect our collective anger back to the place where it should have been. I grabbed a dark marker....



... and let them know that we were somewhat annoyed.



I really hope the artist comes upstairs looking for their paint cans and art piece soon.

I guess my punchiness had rubbed off on everyone because as soon as I emerged from my room with a pen announcing my intentions, my flat mates grabbed their cameras to record me being what was later termed "the flat's guard bitch" and "the mean one" and "the girl who starts shit". (It was suggested that they get me a "guard dog on duty" sign for my door. "Why not just put a nice big welcome mat outside our unlocked fire escape door?" I had said. "What, so you can beat up anyone who comes through?" they'd giggled.)

We never did get my power turned back on. I am writing to you now on battery power while the wine buzz wears off. At 1:00am we ended the evening with a lot of shrugging, and a "who needs wine and cookies?!" comment that brought about, well, wine and cookies.

So maybe I started some shit with the people below us. But you know what? Fuck them. I am pissed that their actions might cause a very expensive fight with the building owners. I am completely prepared to follow this through, too. If the people downstairs want to fuck with us, the flat's "guard bitch on duty" is happy to confront them. In fact, I suppose I already have. And the whole mess will be reported by a Senior Resident who was there to witness the situation and who took photos of the whole thing. Let the fun begin...

If all goes well, an electrician will show up tomorrow around 8am to fix my room's power. And maybe the door to our flat will be locked before anyone can try to retaliate for my little note. (Hm, maybe I should have considered that before I wrote on their artwork, hm?)


...you know, I never did get this homework done....