Most days, I’m a very reliable person. Stable and predictable.
But the day after my mom died I found myself in the front seat of my car in a Kohl’s parking lot trying to change my pants.
I went into the store to buy a dress for the wake and with the intent of replacing the current triple XL sweatpants I was currently wearing, so not sure why I parked toward the front.
It was questionable weather the pants would even fit, I refuse to buy anything other than a size 12, but they just looked so small to me. I didn’t have time to try them on and surprise I didn’t strain something. These cropped ankle rolled pants were a liability, should I dare exhale causing a button to become dislodged and speed toward an unsuspecting eyeball.
A month later and it’s not gotten any better since I’ve actually washed them. And it’s not that I’ve gotten any fatter. I’m down a couple pounds due to grief-induced lack of appetite. Another member of The Club said it’s normal.
Today the situation worsened when I decided to casually go for a bike ride. I’ve always admired people that ride bikes without having to change into workout clothes. But, I just realized, they’re not wearing jeans. This is khaki territory.
The jeans went from form fitting to outright constricting. Also, I can’t casually ride a bike. I’m either careening on a downward slope at a precarious speed, subject to accident or injury at the slightest mis-placed twig or higher-than-average sidewalk crack, or standing on the peddles climbing an incline. This was a workout for the pants. I was hoping the denim would start to give a little but it held steadfast.
On the bright side, I’m on track with my weight loss goal for the year. I really didn’t feel well early last week and Tuesday I wanted to stay home because I had the blues along with an upset stomach and a headache. But I was meeting with an admissions adviser after work and didn’t feel like staying home all day to go out later and I didn’t want to re-schedule the appointment. Not feeling that great definitely tempered my enthusiasm for the meeting which is a good thing, because Friday when I was setting it up, I was way overly excited. I was annoyingly happy.
Come Tuesday and I’m contemplating how different my life was only 3 Tuesdays ago. Now I’m sitting in traffic, then I was sitting at the end of a hospital bed while a nurse tried to offer me water or anything else I could think of. I sat on the edge of a reality I still can’t comprehend. Obviously grad school is the next step.
I’m applying for the Master of Social Work program. My bother looks at me like I’m eating a sardine sandwich and liking it. I submitted my resume and personal statement and asked my work for letters of recommendation. I have my UIC transcripts requested and just need to send in the ones from Moraine. And wait.
Which I’m totally good at. Super fine with ambiguity. No biggie.
Oh and yesterday, I gave up all my writing hopes and dreams and stuck to my diet, although it was probably a little carb heavy.
I gave away all my writing books. Because I never read them. I love reading and enjoy writing, but reading about writing is not my thing. But I loved having those books and the idea of them. But if grad school happens, I need to clear away mental clutter. I probably won’t write a best seller, but I’ll go ahead and call myself an American Essayist, haha.
Once again, the glorious moment has arrived where I get to take off these pants for the day. I’ll even put them in the wash. Cause you know, I’m feeling optimistic.