In Sickness and in Health...

Today was our first anniversary.

We spent it downing hot tea, Mucinex, orange juice, slices of our wedding cake, vick's decongestant, and yet more tea and juice. In that order, if my drug-addled brain can remember correctly.

C. started sniffling on Friday, insisted he was fine, took some medicine, and in typical fashion, was hacking and barking and was bundled up in a quilt by Saturday morning. By saturday evening, I was sniffly and chilly, and thus the Great Medication Ingestion began.

I don't mind being sick. In fact, it's one of the few times I enjoy my body. Aches and pains never really bothered me much besides the physical discomfort. I like that my body can heal, and while it does, I enjoy the side effects: loss of appetite (I wish I felt this aversion to food all the time!) and sanctioned lethargy (nobody tells a sick person not to take a nap).

So...I'm still light-headed from the medicine, but I wont' be taking any more tonight. Know why? So I can encourage this cold to hang around for a bit. I could use a head start on the weight loss that will begin this week. (A car payment and the ensuing poverty ensures that I will no longer have money to toss on stuff like shoes and makeup. I've no idea what to do with myself or how to cope with the idea of no new clothes, as spoiled as it sounds.)

Yon Cassius has a lean and hungry look...

How easy it is to forget that being on the SS Private corporation is no easy trip. Keeping one's head and profile low doesn't seem to get me as far as I'd like.

Like just yesterday, yours truly was scolded for all the favorites she had in her folder (an amateur move, I'll admit) and "Bouncing Round the Internet" after I came up with some spyware on my computer. The good news is that nothing was lost; the bad news is that now I'm on high alert (i mean really, like what am I going to take home when I have to pack up my ish and leave, because they like to fire folks around here) and heard a page for a conference call for what could mean curtains for moi: my boss, accounting, and aforementioned IT guy.

Now the good news is that I have it on good authority that Everybody Uses The Internet For Fun(and not everybody for just blogs and fashion forums and online shopping, like I do) . and I solved (in the midst of the two IT guys) a serious problem for one of my bosses when they couldn't. But we all know that as one of the chocolate chips, I'm going to be easier to melt than the dough.

I got caught slippin', getting comfortable, thinking I'm one of them. Truth is, I must remember that just because I'm not with the Boss from Hell anymore doesn't mean I can ease up. The work still gets done, don't get me wrong -- but when it comes down to who can play and who can't, even when I do have downtime -- I'm just gonna have to find extra stuff to do. Busywork, filing... hell, Dusting (works for one of my bosses!). Just look busy and have a ready answer when Absentee Boss #1 comes around asking what I'm working on. Because he can play online all day and not have a worry. Hell, he can even try to pad his expense reports. But I'd better have some damn proof (thank you Mapquest!) if I'm going to submit a $9.00 mileage report.

So now I'm waiting for the call. Straightforward boss is gone for the day, so if she's going to have to give me the axe, she'll either call or I'll get it Monday. Big Boss won't do it himself; he's too busy and doesn't like dealing with women that way.

The favorites are gone, and I'm back to remembering my Game Face TM .

I just wish it wasn't so easy to forget.

The soul of this man is in his clothes...

So C. is in the wedding we're going to in Charlotte this weekend.

I've nothing to wear.

See, lots of people -- okay, men -- misunderstand that phrase. They point at a full closet and say "But you have a closet full of clothes!", and are befuddled by the eye-rolling and disgusted sighing that invariably ensues.

The correct translation is "I've nothing to wear that makes me feel pretty/worthy/special/thin (see also: pretty)/powerful/sexy." Clothes can evoke feelings in women -- much like perfume. You're feeling cold, you wear something cuddly. You want to feel powerful and 'together', you wear a suit. You want to feel carefree, you wear something flowy and cotton or silk. Simple.

But for me, I wear my clothes like armor. They hide, protect, and conceal. Their comfort is more often secondary to their appearance -- i.e. does it make me look more pretty and less fat? And if it at least accomplishes one of those things, does it make up for any deficits by at least being so fabulous that people will notice the pattern or style or even apparent cost before noticing my gut or my second chin?

I find it interesting that men never have these problems. Clothes are purely functional and comfortable for them, never either/or. My husband has been wearing the same horrific fleece pullover since I've known him, despite it's sacklike shape and odd spots,to the exclusion of perfectly nice and newer pullovers, because it is comfortable. And he doesn't care what his friends are wearing if they all go to the sports bar together.

Meanwhile, I must go through an entire precognative hypothetical guess as to what everyone I'm going with will be wearing, and thus measure the appropriateness and comparative attractiveness of myself in any possible outfit, if said outfit has been worn our previous two meetings, and if all partsof possible outfit are clean and have been ironed. Then and only then am i prepared to venture out of the house, and into company. And this is just with friends, mind. My wardrobe psychosis only veers even more into stupidity when strangers are involved, who will judge me based on my clothing and pronounce me unfit to live/exist.

I realize this is not only ridiculous but vain. It doesn't keep me from tossing clothes all over the place and bawling about the state of my closet.

I wonder if other women do this, or if I'm the only one?

Whenas in Silks my Juila goes...

I wonder if dressing badly can lead to depression.

No, really.

It's going on two weeks now that I've just felt completely disgusting in everything I own (except maybe the bed), and my outfits have reflected that accordingly. I'm sure that is in no small part connected to my weight gain, because, well, things aren't fitting as well. The silk kimono I searched high and low for (thanks, Target in Augusta!) doesn't look nearly as cute on me as it does on the little chick on stylediary. The trousers I bought last year are a smidge too snug.

And God Help Me, my tits are back. Gone are the pert C cups I had immediately post surgery. I won't post the size here, because frankly, it's depressing and I hate them.

Again.