Speaking of diets..

<Miranda can fit into her “skinny jeans.”>
Charlotte: How’d you do it?
Miranda: Well, I got pregnant, became a single mother, and stopped having any time to eat.
Samantha: Oh, that’s a diet I won’t be trying.

“It’s possible..
ANYTHING’s possible.”
- “It’s Possible”, Seussical

I just need to take a moment here.

It’s not going to mean much to any of you, but it’s a small personal victory for me.

I have pictures up all over my cube from 2002-2004.  And in all of them, I am huge.  HUGE.  Nasty huge.  Angry at myself now for letting that happen huge.  Weight has always been an issue for me.

When I ordered my cast shirt for Seussical, I hesitated.  I typically order a large, because then I can comfortably wear it.  I had lost enough weight from 2004 - now that I could confidently order a size large.  XLs were now hanging on me.

But I thought, “Hell.  I’ll take a chance.  I’ll order a medium.”

And then I missed a week of rehearsals.  And when I came back, they were all out of mediums.  All gone.  As if I never had ordered one.  “But,” the parent in charge of t-shirts said, “I have some adult smalls.”

I laughed at her, then pointed to my boobs.  Surely I didn’t have to spell it out for this woman.

“Oh, please,” she said, in that voice that means I can’t call you fat to your face.  “Just try one on.  If it doesn’t work, we’ll think of something else.”  I reluctantly took the small with me into the restroom, took off my XL Chi O shirt I had been rehearsing in, and sighed.  I HATE trying on clothes.  Nothing ever fits, and it always makes me feel so fa..

It fit. 

I checked the tag, because surely this wasn’t a small.

It was.  And it fit. 

You won’t see me on America’s Next Top Model or anything soon, but it was just one of those things that made me think, “Hm.  Maybe I am doing the right thing.”

Oh, and I also thought, “Maybe I need to walk some more hills.”

 “Now I’m bored and I’m cranky and tired
sitting day after day.
Who knew so much work was required?
I’d much rather play.
I need a vacation,
I’m due for some rest..”
“How Lucky You Are (Reprise)”, Seusiscal 

I wrote a very long post.  It wasn’t anything important, just basically summing up how my weekend went and how succesfully we moved in.  It talked about my theory about how growing up as one of Debbie’s kids makes you not value your life and do stupid things, like perch on hydrolic nests 9 feet in the air.  It talked about how ama(y)zing our costumes are.  It talked about how our set is going to get me to a size 8 in no time.  It talked about how this will be a very cool palette for Daniel to light.  And some other random stuff in there. 

But this is the part that I want to repeat:

Friday night SUCKED for me.  I’m always nervous, come move-in week, but this show carried the added bonus of a “special rehearsal” on Friday night that basically tore me down to nothing.  When Bryan made it back home, I was reeling.  I decided to shake it off, but that was easier said than done; I was constantly running blocking, lines, and choreography in my head in my determination to show up Saturday a new bird.  And always, that nagging question itched me behind the ears, “What if I’m really NOT that good?”

Bryan snuggled up behind me in bed and began reminiscing how we met.  “You were just amazing on stage,” he kept saying.  It was a shitty show, though, with very few high points, so I really don’t ever take that as a compliment.  “And I remember during Christmas Carol,” he said, “I’d be up in the booth, and I could only watch the show when you were on stage.  I kept bugging the lighting guy about it.  Even if you were just a caroler, even if you were merely walking across the stage in a town scene, you were all I could see.  You have this amazing presence to you.  You were the only watchable part of that show.”

And it all hit home: I just need to be that girl. 

So every time I hit stage and every time I feel a light on me, that’s all I think about.  “Just be the girl that Bryan fell in love with.  And that’s enough.”

I love you.  Bunches.