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I�m wondering if my registering with theknot.com is the source of the 22 emails I�ve received today telling me I can �increase (my) bust size at least one cup size instantly!� What�just �cause I�m getting married, I suddenly need bigger breasts? I don�t understand.
Not that the reality of the wedding date hasn�t created a set of big self-image questions for me. Or, not created, maybe, but at least brought to the forefront. My body has really changed shape in a lot of ways over the past couple years. I know I�ve mentioned this in here before. I�m not overweight. I�m just out of shape. Mostly. I look in the mirror every once in a while when I�m getting dressed in the morning and wonder where those extra pieces of me that have bulged out around the elastic in my bra and underpants and that wiggle on my upper arms came from. I see stomach where there didn�t used to be stomach at all. I don�t see the space that used to exist between my thighs. None of these things make me happy. Then I get dressed, and my clothes fit differently than they used to. Not so much so that I don�t wear them any more. Maybe even not enough that anyone but me notices the difference. But it�s there.
The people around me scoff at my. �You have nothing to worry about,� they say. Usually, I reiterate that they�ve never seen me naked. Because naked, I look awfully different than I do fully clothed.
And now, the Boyfriend and I have set a wedding date, fourteen months from tomorrow. And on that day, I�m going to be wearing a dress that will, no doubt, leave my arms exposed (it�s August, and it�s a barn. I can�t imagine sleeves will be a good idea) and other parts of me somewhat, shall we say, highlighted. And there will be 250 people there, all looking at me. I�m the bride. There isn�t a whole lot I can do to avoid that.
My head is now at war with itself. One side, the side that has seen me naked and doesn�t like it, is saying, �Start NOW, Jennifer. Get yourself in shape! Rediscover that space between your thighs!� This is the part that heard my mother say last month, �Geez, Jennifer, you don�t want to be a flabby bride!� The other side of me is saying, �Relax, Jennifer, you look fine!� and picking up another cookie. Or two. Or twelve (hey, they were Pepperidge Farm Ginger Men�they�re very small!).
I don�t want to become one of those obsessive weight women, the ones who step on the scale as they begin every day and consider every crumb of food before it hits their tongues. Of course, I also don�t want anyone to look at me on my wedding day and think, �Hey, she isn�t as skinny as I thought she was!�
Who am I kidding? I don�t have nearly enough discipline or self control to become one of those obsessive weight women.
I wish I had someone to walk with. While Erica still lived with me, we would walk some mornings before either of us went to work. Before Melissa died, we were pond-walking buddies. But I need someone else to rely on me in order to follow through.
In other news, Sean (my favorite I.S. guy) offered to walk me through getting the iMac up and running. This is good. At least, it�s good in theory. We haven�t succeeded yet.
Last night was Childhood Sexual Assault Night at BARCC. I�m not sure I�ve processed the information enough to comment on it yet.
When I first got to Gordon as a 17-year-old freshman, I had a roommate, R. R and I were about the same height and the same build (back before I had these mysterious bulges around my clothes), with the same color hair. We joked that the student life office had made us roommates because we looked so much alike from the back.
Somewhere during the first week of school, R told me that she had been physically and sexually assaulted on several occasions by this guy named Matt, who she believed was still after her. She lived in constant fear of Matt, going so far as to sleep with a knife under her pillow, �just in case� she needed to protect herself. As you could imagine, this freaked me out considerably. I became afraid Matt would come in and mistake me for her. This added to my already screwed-up arrival (the Lorne incident happened the night before R and I met).
R also asked me not to tell her mom, when she called, if R was out with her dad. Her parents had divorced several years before, she said, and they didn�t get along well at all. R said her mom resented the time she spent with her dad, so she just didn�t mention it. On several occasions, I found myself in the uncomfortable position of lying to this woman I�d never met about her daughter�s whereabouts. R and her dad seemed pretty close.
As time went on, and I started to realize that the Matt story had lots of holes in it, other things started coming to light. Finally, I learned that there was a restraining order against her father, and that he wasn�t supposed to see or contact R at all. Her parents were divorced because her dad had been sexually abusing her for years. All the things she said had been done by Matt had actually been done by her father.
I couldn�t help but think about R all night last night. I have no idea what happened to her. I was drowning then myself, and was in no shape to help anyone else. Neither of us returned to Gordon for a second year.
I often wonder, though, if she was ever able to reconcile the real truth with what her head had presented to her as fact. The human brain is a fascinating thing.
Have a good weekend, all. I�m going to go home and take a nap. Then I get to clean my room and head to my mom�s for a weekend of graduation parties (my boss�s daughter) and bridal teas (my cousin Diana). Hopefully, I�ll get to see Carla in there somewhere, too.
By Monday, perhaps I�ll be in a better mood.
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