Lost USPS Package: A Study In Impotent Rage

I am so mad.

Madder than mad.

I'm awash with anger. I'm seething with every fiber of my being. I'm so mad, I feel it in my toenails. I can barely breathe. I feel it in my hair follicles. Everything keeps turning red and I'm blind with the fury. My hands are shaking. I want to cry. I want to breathe fire. I want to turn myself around and around and become a rage tornado and tear through town. I want to hurl stones. I'm the kind of mad that turns your stomach and makes you weak, the kind where your ears ring and your mouth tastes like pennies. I'm trying to calm down but the whole world is red right now. I'm so furious I'm dizzy and hot and tingly. I can't concentrate. I can't speak. I am nothing but fire and fury. I'm getting heartburn. My head is pounding. My pulse is racing. Everything is blurry. I can't get a hold of myself.

The story is dumb and familiar to anyone who has dealt with lost postal packages. To make a long story short ("Too late!" Wow, two Clue references in one post!), the post office has my shit and I'm not getting it back.

**If you're interested in the full version: the post office was supposed to deliver two packages on Friday. One required a signature and the other didn't. They left two notices, one for each package, that I could sign and request redelivery. I checked the online tracking, though, and saw that one of the packages was marked as "Delivered" at 2:30pm and the other was marked as "Delivery Attempted." I called the post office and he said that both packages were right there--he walked to the shelf and looked at them to confirm. He didn't know why the carrier marked it as delivered, and he had no idea why the package that didn't require a signature wasn't delivered, but he said to sign the forms and the packages would be delivered on Saturday. I signed both 3849 forms, wrote to leave the packages on the porch, and put the forms in the mailbox with the flag up. On Saturday, I came home to find NO packages AND NO forms. The carrier took both 3849 forms AND failed to leave my packages. So I called the post office again and tried to explain what happened to help locate my package. Tara, who answered, cut me off and said, "Well, it was marked as delivered. SORRY. You can call back Monday." Listen, I worked in call centers for years and I know enough to be nice on the phone. I know the people on the other end are trying to help but are limited in what they can do. THIS BITCH Tara just did not give a FLYING FUCK. Like, not a SINGLE fuck was given. Why do people like this even have jobs? I tried to be polite and ask if there was anyone else I could talk to and bitch said NOPE. I asked if she could just look at the shelf to see if my package was there, as it had been the day before, and bitch said NOPE. I asked if she had an employee number so I could call her manager on Monday and bitch said NOPE. So I went off. I told her that her stupid ass is the reason the USPS is failing. She hung up on me, naturally. So I called back. She let it ring for a few minutes, then picked it up and pushed a button for a few minutes (the same trick I used to use when mean people were calling in to me). I knew she could hear me so I went off on a tirade that would make a sailor blush. She hung up. I called again and shouted at her while she pushed buttons. And again. And again. I don't think I'll be able to use the terms "flaming cunt rag" or "ignorant fucking twat" for a long time without thinking of Tara.**

But of course calling them didn't DO anything. Except maybe get me on Tara's personal "lets fuck up her mail" list. That's the problem with getting mad at the post office: you can't do SHIT about it. I can just be mad. Like, that's literally all I can do. I can seethe, and I can file a report for list mail (which I did, but the complaint didn't go through because the package was marked as Delivered, even though the manager confirmed Friday night that it was sitting right there in front of him...jesus). I can only be mad. So I AM being mad. Really mad. I am nothing but skin and hair and impotent rage. I don't want it to ruin my night or my weekend, but what else can I DO? I can't fight back, I can't threaten them (you know, federal laws and all). I can't march down there and snatch my shit off the shelf myself. I can only seethe.

I know lost packages are a SUPER INCREDIBLY MINOR thing to get all worked up about. It's not even the packages I'm so fucking pissed off about--I'm more pissed off at being so helpless. I'm completely at the mercy of this fucking idiot Tara who clearly doesn't give a shit about anything, and my mail carrier, who is obviously a fucking moron. I'm just so, so mad that there's nothing I can do about any of it. I hate being this mad, and I really hate not being able to soothe myself.

Before Weight Watchers, I would deal with this situation in one of two ways: I would either gorge myself on food, or get blind fucking drunk. Both of those things would set me back on my Points now, though, and it's just not worth it. I'm not going to let this one shitty fucking thing set me back a week or two or three at weigh-in. I won't.

So how's a girl supposed to deal?

I went so long, like so many fat girls, eating my feelings. If something made me sad, or mad, or stressed, or even happy, I would eat. If I had a bad day, I'd go get a Blizzard from Dairy Queen. If I was celebrating a promotion or a birthday, I'd go to a fondue restaurant and eat for four hours. If I was pissed off at someone, I'd go eat a Snickers bar and wash it down with some chocolate milk.

And when I didn't fill myself with food, I filled myself with alcohol. Vodka, rum, Mad Dog, it didn't matter. I have been open about my problems with alcohol. After my heart surgeries and now Weight Watchers, alcohol just isn't a very big part of my life. I can count on two hands the number of times I got really drunk in 2013, and even then I was counting my drinks so I could record the Points afterward.

So no food, no alcohol...I already took my prescribed Xanax and it didn't help. How do normal people cope?

It feels very strange to, at the age of 31, just now begin finding suitable coping mechanisms to deal with unpleasant situations. The escapism of my youth isn't cutting it. The college years coping was even worse--I can't very well go blow a few lines of coke now, or take some mushrooms and wander through the woods, or eat peyote and spend a few hours walking a labyrinth. I mean, I guess I could, but I should probably find some methods that don't involve illegal drugs. Besides, did I mention that I'm 31? If I went to hit up some of the bridge kids for ketamine or ecstasy now, they'd probably think I was a narc instead of just some loser looking to score drugs because she had a bad day.

I can't just start chugging Smirnoff or Boone's Farm--do you know how many Points are in a bottle of Hot Damn?! I can't start a Power Hour and get wasted...not if I plan to eat anything this week.

So I tried yoga. I started my Pilates dvd. I'm breathing deeply, drinking herbal stress-relieving tea, listening to The Dark Side Of The Moon on vinyl, smoking a joint (hey, I can't give up EVERYTHING, people, DON'T JUDGE ME!), thinking of things to be grateful for, hoping the rage subsides.

And really, really, really fucking hoping that my packages get here some day.

If they don't, I don't know what I'll do. Probably combust. I'll just be gone in a flash of light and smoke. My head will explode and my faulty heart will collapse on itself.

Xanax isn't helping. Pilates isn't helping. Chamomile and lavender isn't helping.

Seriously, please tell me: how do I cope without food or alcohol? How do normal people deal with shit? I have no fucking clue right now. It's not in my nature to just bend over and take it up the ass. If I want to continue getting my mail, though, I better get used to it.

Up & Down Like A Yoyo

I've been really frustrated with my weight for the past few weeks. No, I've been really frustrated with myself.

Ever since my birthday a little over a month ago, my weight has been fluctuating up and down like crazy. Sure, there are other factors at play: I drank a lot because it was my birthday, I was horribly constipated for the first time ever and though I was going to die, I pretty much stopped drinking water, I had my anniversary dinner and ate until I thought I was going to pass out, I tried to be a good boss by bringing sugar-laced green vodka and Puckers mixed with Sprite and served in sugar-encrusted shot glasses for St. Patrick's Day, I entered a Peep diorama contest (and won! yay!) which also meant the demise and consumption of untold number of Peeps, my girlfriend has been stocking up on Cadbury Creme Eggs like a squirrel storing nuts for the winter and won't tell me "no" when I ask for one...etc etc etc. So, yeah, I guess there may be some factors going on this month. BUT I still stuck to the Plan...

So why, on last Wednesday's weigh in, did I gain 1.4 pounds? I'm back up to 250.2 pounds, for a total loss of 53.8 from my 304 starting weight. Not bad, but not exactly on track. If I were losing 2 pounds per week, 10 pounds per month, I'd be down 75 pounds right now. I'm not even close! Gaining weight last week really pissed me off.

I told myself, "Well, that's okay, I ate a lot at my anniversary dinner and I haven't been drinking water and blah blah blah" but THEN I looked at my Weight Watchers weight tracker and grasped something that had escaped me in the past few weeks of bouncing back and forth over the 250 pound mark. I realize that in the one month since my birthday, I have GAINED a pound.

That doesn't sound terrible, given the list of excuses above. But I stayed on Plan! I recorded every bite! I counted the Points and carefully measured and weighed every thing I put in my mouth! So how could I have gained?

Something my mom said the other week stuck with me. She was talking about how my grandmother was meeting with a doctor about bariatric surgery, and my mom was depressed because no doctor would consider her for the same surgery given her medical history. I started talking about Weight Watchers and my mom said she would never be able to stick to it because she'd cheat. If she wanted to eat something, she'd pretend like she forgot to write it down, or something similar.

That's when I started to think that maybe I'm doing the same thing. Even though I stay within my Points for the week, I have definitely gone back through and lowered Points on other days when I am running out of Points. Like, if I want a Cadbury Creme Egg, I'll go to yesterday's tracker and say "well, I tore the crust off of that bread so it was really more like 3/4 slice, and part of the ranch dressing dripped onto my plate so that's closer to 1 1/2 tablespoons..." So I cheat. I really tried not to, and I told myself I wasn't, but I cheat. Just like I cheat at Monopoly without intending to.

Once I admitted I was doing it, I tried to be more honest about my measurements. I think that's the TRUE reason I've been having trouble losing this month. I need to stop cheating the system, and be honest with myself. I mean...I'm only cheating myself, and that's no fun. Especially when I'm not even winning.

So Close

Tomorrow is weigh-in. ::Insert dramatic music here::

I don't want to get my hopes up (too late!) but I think I actually lost a couple of pound this week. And a couple of pounds would put me at a 50 pound weight loss! I don't want to get too excited (again, too freakin late) but I MIGHT get my 50 pound token tomorrow to put on my Weight Watchers keyring!

When I checked my bathroom scale, I was at 252.8 pounds. I started at 304 pounds in August. It's been slow going, but I AM still going, which is better than I've ever done in the past.

I wore an off-the-shoulder top to work today and I couldn't stop staring at my clavicle in the mirror. I love being able to see my clavicle. It was buried under inches of fat for way too long. I have a damn fine clavicle if I do say so myself :)

(Oh yeah, and I love saying clavicle. And patella. And xiphoid process. Best-named bones in the body!)

I went overboard on Jell-o shots this weekend and thought I was going to end up gaining weight. From Sunday through today, though, I've been really good about making smart food choices. I even ditched the 100 Calorie Packs for some fat free pudding--one Point lower, and pudding takes me longer to eat than a couple pre-packaged cookies. I've been eating fruits and veggies, drinking plenty of water, and I even made my mashed potatoes with spray butter. I KNOW! I made my girlfriend's full of delicious fatty stick butter, and just used 1/2 tablespoon of real butter in mine. It was still pretty good. Not AS good, but pretty good.

I just want another loss tomorrow. Even if it's just 1/10 pound. I don't want to go back over 260 pounds. I'm so close to losing 50 pounds! I just want to get there. And then get under 250 pounds. And then...well, I'm focusing on tomorrow.

Delicioso!

Mexico was fantastico!

It was a little overcast and rainy, but it was still 77 degrees out--unlike the snow and -15 degree wind chill back home! We were directly on the ocean, with a view over poolside tiki hut bars and the rolling turquoise sea. The combination of cloudy weather and a gorgeous view from the balcony proved a little dangerous--I ordered room service six times in four days.

Whoops!

People were handing us free drinks from the second we got on the plane, on the bus to the resort, in line at check-in, at every meal, and even in line at the airport before the flight home. I told myself that I'd only drink one day to keep myself from going too overboard on sugar and alcohol, but in that one day I managed to drink over 100 Points Plus worth of frozen adult beverages.

Again...whoops :)

I tracked every single thing I ate, but I went over my weekly Weight Watchers points by a pretty remarkable 115 Points. HA!!! I knew it was going to be bad but I wasn't quite prepared for that much ridiculousness.

Still, I did track. And I swam and walked and moved around. And I'm forcing myself to go to weigh in on Wednesday.

I may have been bad, but fuck it--I was on vacation, and I didn't go off the rails completely.

Plus, there's this: my seat belt fit on the airplane. Like, it easily fit. Sure, it was let out as far as it would go, but it fit comfortably. And I wore a bathing suit in front of my coworkers without dying from embarrassment. We took a ton of pictures and I only had to delete a handful--including all the full body photos! I walked up and down bus aisles without having to squeeze my ass between the seats. I sat in folding chairs without fearing I would crush them.

No matter what the scale says on Wednesday, I'm still one happy camper.