Yes, Carly, I do think this song is about me

That last post was meant to be from the heart, but truthfully, I'm feeling like a bit of a fraud. Oh sure, I'm much happier than I was then, much more mature and roll-with-the-punches, but that vanity thing still plagues me. And while I don't want to throw myself a pity party here, were I to be really honest with you, I would tell you that I am in no way happy with the physical part of myself right now.

I had my annual checkup the other day. They weighed me. I weighed exactly the same as I have for the last five years. But I know my body is different. I notice that my stomach, which used to be pretty flat, is now wider, lower. My hips, of which were on the small side my whole life, have suddenly grown into average, turning my body into a true hourglass that does nothing but remind me that, CRAP!, time really is running out. My butt, from the side, resembles a small shelf, from which I might have wanted to hang myself had I woken up to this body that day back in 2003.

No, these aren't the results of all the Snickers I ate last week, or even from my lack of a trainer. I'm guessing part of it is age, part is all the driving I do whereas I used to walk, and another part is that the diet pills I was taking for the last seven years have suddenly gone off the market. Yes, you read that right. It was nothing major, just the best kept diet secret ever: Sudafed. Legal effedrine. Now only available without the effedrine. Because the secret got out. So I've been cold turkey for two months and actually quite thankful that they finally took it off the shelves because I don't know that I ever would have stopped, otherwise.

And maybe that's the difference. If they took it off the market three years ago, I might have just found something else. Now, I'm like, eh, bummer, but you know, my health really is more important. (Wow, that sounds mature, even for me.) Three years ago, I couldn't see myself much past the exterior at all. I defined myself so much by my looks. I still do, obviously, to an extent, but, well, maybe the difference is that I'm just tired of trying so hard.

I caught my reflection in a store window today, and saw a woman looking back at me. It's not the person I think of as myself, not the sexpot avatar blinking back at me on my Yahoo email account. It was a woman dressed in my clothes with my hairstyle and, while I recognized her, I immediately turned and looked away.

So maybe I am struggling a bit with this aging thing. But struggling is the wrong word. I think it's more like growing pains.