switching out the closet

My clothes are blending. It's strange. I used to have a clear, definitive line between winter and summer clothes; fall and spring being relatively indeterminate seasons of weather and not overtly possessive or finicky do not need their own set of clothes. My winter clothes were always my favorite despite the fact that I despise the cold. Long, loose shirts that nicely hide any unseemly bulges over slacks that ensure I do not have to shave my legs an inordinate amount. Summer clothes, on the other hand, are horrifying for someone not suffering from acute anorexia or obsessive compulsive exercise-ism. Short shorts with too tight tank tops. Now prior to the blending, I wasn't quite as disgusted by summer clothes. See, the melding of my summer and winter clothes into more of a progression of body coverage rather than the once clear differentiation occurred simultaneously with my slide into a not-even-close-to-size-6 body.

And today I stared at my clothes - over half of which do not fit anymore - and wondered if I would ever again slip into anything (currently it's more like stuffing than slipping). Sleeveless shirts merely highlight the non-definition in too big arms. "Regular" tops are merely items designed to focus attention on a waist that is expanding outward to be parallel to hips and shoulders. Shorts are just completely out of the question. And that bathing suit I moved from bottom left hand drawer to third closet shelf should just be burned.

For the next hour I attempted to turn moving clothes from one place to another into a workout. Clearly, I was suffering under the misconception that one hour of mild activity would help me fit into those clothes I was transporting. Ridiculous. Once the clothes were happy in their new homes, I went to the computer to attempt to discover how much weight I would have to lose to be "healthy." Apparently I only have to cut off one leg, half my stomach, and three quarters of my arm.

My ideal body weight, according to one source, would be 115 pounds. Laughable. I haven't been 115 since I was in grade school (no exaggeration). Oddly enough, this made me feel better. Standards of body weight and body shape are so outside the scope of reality - at least my reality - that attempting to fit into the current ideal would be an exercise in futility. Not to say I couldn't stand to lose weight, about 30 pounds of weight actually, 20 if I'm being realistic.

But are those 20 pounds worth the frustration, anxiety, and feelings of complete inadequacy that plague me? Why does switching out my closet cause such depression?

5'4" 160 pounds size 12 pants large shirts 7 shoe size if you are interested, i bike, hike, rock climb, skydive, white water raft, dance, rollerblade, i read, watch television, go to the movies, and yep, I eat. And I like it.

I love the varying tastes of food; I enjoy the feeling of real ice cream on my tongue - fuck yogurt, it's ice cream without the kick. I like pizza, thick crust, lots of cheese, and every now and again I want to eat it with sausage, bacon, pepperoni, and garlic. Coca-Cola is heaven, and not that diet crap that leaves a taste like an unfinished basement floor in your mouth.

I'm going to eat s'mores while not wearing shorts this summer. That way I can wipe my marshmallowy hands on my jeans. But will I ever be able to eat s'mores and not feel guilty?