I left my apartment yesterday feeling just fine, returned to it after a full workday on campus feeling self-conscious about the way my sweater fit me, and woke up this morning in a state of absolute certainty that it is only a matter of time until I'm fifty pounds heavier again. Leaving my kitchen with my iced coffee, the word WEIGHT jumped out at me disorientingly until I realized it was from the baby announcement on my little magnet board and I wasn't just hallucinating. I am feeling a little bit sorry for myself. I don't know where all these feelings come from.
But it's not my job to know where they come from. It's my job to ride them out. They're feelings. I have them, they're a thing, and kind of a big thing at that, but they're not predictions. My feelings are not Cassandra. I do not know the future. I do not even know the present: the fact that I feel "fatter" yesterday evening than I did yesterday morning does not correlate to a change in size. It just correlates to a change in mood, or to a reaction to something else that I'm shifting onto my body. What I do know is that I am having some feelings. I will have them for awhile while I drink my coffee, read about baseball for a few minutes, and then I will try to put them aside when I get down to work for the day. They don't change what I know to be best for myself (what is best for myself includes breakfast).