Filled Up

Last night the unthinkable happened.

I was served a plate of a Persian stew I’d ordered and thought: Wow, that is an enormous amount of food. So far, so what, right?

And then I thought: I can’t possibly eat all that.

Not: I shouldn’t eat all that (although I thought that too), but There is no freakin’ way my stomach will hold all of that.

I divided the plate in half – and ate ¾ of the half. And didn’t think about it any more.

* * *

It’s been 39 days since I’ve binged – what I think is the longest I’ve gone this calendar year, and just may be the longest I’ve gone in a year, full stop. When I went to see my binge-eating therapist yesterday, he commented on how much more hopeful I looked. And that’s exactly how I feel.

In Spain on Monday I rode a horse through the Andalucian countryside at sunset -- an absolutely gorgeous two-hour paseo on a white Portuguese horse called Companera. Due to circumstances beyond our control, we didn't end up getting a booking until the last minute, at just after 8 p.m., and had no time to eat dinner. It was 10:30 pm before my friend and I were at a restaurant looking at menus.

"I thought I'd be starving by now," I said.

"You were filled up with what you were doing," she answered.

Weight today: 11 stone 5 (159 lbs).

* * *

What? What’s that you say? You say today is Saturday? (Why is it that I still remember Shel Silverstein poems I read 20 years ago?)

Let’s try this again. What’s that you say? You say you want to hear about Bachelor No. 2?

Hmmm, that doesn’t rhyme so well. I’m sure I could turn that into some sort of tortured metaphor for how he fits into my life, but, erm, I won’t.

Let’s just say there is still some unfinished business there. After some crazy-girl behavior on my part in Venice – and it was, undeniably, crazy girl behavior, no matter how much I blame his crazy boy behavior for it – I thought things would be game over.

Nope. In fact, he turned into Superpossessive Boy while I was away in Spain for 10 days (where I was until yesterday), saying my lack of contact was making him paranoid. Um, hello. Welcome to my world, I felt like saying. But didn’t.

I am picking my way through this slowly. I’m angry – and at the same time, I can find humor in my situation. I think both of these are good things.

I know I’ve been quite vague about what’s going on, and that’s partly been because I’ve been traveling (Venice, Miami, Malaga, Carratraca, Arcos, Seville), partly because it seems to change more times in a day than either San Francisco’s or London’s weather, and partly because I’ve been very busy. Some day I’ll get this all on paper (but I'm afraid it isn't going to be today -- and probably not tomorrow, either.)