monument

I'm thinking that when, WHEN, mind you, I grow down out of my size 22's I'm gonna nail them to the wall in the room where I work out at our house. Not all of them - just one, like a skin of some animal I've hunted down and killed. Hmm - interesting imagery - (I find I discover things about myself by writing and seeing what comes out of my fingers) - I am, I suppose, hunting down that 250 pound animal. "Kill" may seem extreme, given that it is ME I'm talking about - but as I'm sure you know, death is not restricted to physical death. The thing is, though, death is often if not always followed by some kind of grief - what will I grieve about that woman, that 250 pounder? and maybe whatever it is that I grieve, that will tell me why I stayed in that body for so dang long. Perhaps more on that will come when I've written it to myself privately.

Meanwhile - each size I grow down from then will be tacked on top of the prior, making a cascade down the wall of smaller and smaller jeans, to remind me of how it happens (slowly, one pants size at a time) AND how I got out of it (slowly, one pants size at a time!).

I'm pondering pictures today, taking them, that is. Maybe tomorrow.

Oh - 248 today. Not 250. ; )