talk about the worst drive ever. I drove from Winchester to to Westchester, and the weather was just horrendous. Not with rain, but with some seriously insane wind! It knocked my car all over the road and I felt like the puck in a fierce game of air hockey. So I didn't drive, so much as wrestle, my car up I-81. I'm exhausted.
Tomorrow I have three viewings set up. One in Woodside, Queens, another in the East Village, and the last in Park Slope, Brooklyn. I'm hoping I don't meet up with any unfortunate surprises. Like, someone opens up their door and I'm staring down the barrel of a shotgun or something. I'm feeling uneasy about all of this, but it's an uneasiness I recognize. Kind of like how I felt before I left for college, and knew I had to room with some stranger. But this time, I do get to pick which stranger I live with.
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I've turned a new leaf in how I perceive and feel about my body. I think it's starting to stem from all the yoga I've been doing. There's something so incredibly calming about the connection between the mind and the body and the heart - about syncing them and finding, even for a moment, a glimpse of understanding about the self. It's helping me realize there are things much more important than being the skinniest girl I know.
The other morning I weighed 118 pounds and I fit into the pair of jeans I keep around to see if "one day, I could fit into these." (I mean, I had to do some serious wriggling to get into them, but it happened.) And I looked in the mirror, and tried to feel as though I had accomplished something - and it was an entirely empty victory. Losing weight is an activity that has always elicited a feeling of great pride within me, and now, I don't feel anything for it. I'm glad, because my clothes will finally fit better, but I don't feel those twinges of joy and elation that stemmed from all the emotions wrapped up in my warped body perception. As in, maybe I'm not as sick as I used to be.
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