A photo I took of Delia.
We're back home from our Portland trip and 500 photos richer. Well, 498. And of course we'll delete many of those, too. Not very productive in terms of shooting, but what we DID shoot was great. Besides, we were really there for Delia's doctor appointment and also spent a nice evening visiting with our friends, Torn and Toni of KatVixen.com
. I realize you all read me telling you how much I like to avoid people and socializing and all of that jazz, so you probably never conceive of how much I actually *do* like people and talking with them, and how hard it is for me to call it a night once conversation is rolling. I think I deprive myself so much of social stimulation that I become parched for it, which creates a vicious circle because I pretty much know I'll want to overdo it when we meet up with people and then need a week of hermit mode to recover my wits There is often a part of me that *almost* whines to friends, "I wish you/we didn't have to go" at the overdue end of a visit. A lot of my issues with socializing/needing a lot of alone time are less to do with preference and more to do with the way my brain is wired and that I just wind up blowing fuses trying to process the extra stimuli.
So. A small (or literally a large) reason why we didn't shoot more photos is that I didn't recognize in time how overweight I am and that an outfit I packed, THE outfit, the one I was all sexed up to wear and use in a teacher role play, could barely be buttoned/couldn't be zipped. I love it way too much to wear it incorrectly so it put me in a bit of a foul temper. It was slightly more depressing than our Halloween shoot debacle where I actually SPLIT THE SEAMS of the pirate dress I ordered. That was sort of funny and I wish we'd have gotten the splitting on tape. Oh well.
My conflicting feelings/thoughts regarding my level of physical fitness:
*I think I look and feel fine -- nay, almost exactly how I've always WANTED to look -- for a normal thirty-four year old
*but not a thirty-four year old who sells images of her body and needs to be versatile.
*I don't fucking WANT to eat less or exercise more. I just don't WANT to! Okay, I do want to but there are about 567 things on my list of things I WANT TO DO ****WAY MORE**** than exercise. I'd rather be fucking blogging, right? I'd rather be masturbating I'd rather be eating donuts while Delia gets ready for me to take pictures of HER. I would just rather be sitting on my goddamned ass using my motherfucking BRAIN, okay?
*but okay, I *do* want to look good in that outfit, darlings. I *do*. It's just too perfect. There are SO MANY perfect little outfits. I pretend not to care, but oh, I *do* care, because I want to look so cute and fit in polka dot blouses and dresses with darts.
None of this matters in any real way and it sickens me to even think about it for a moment, let alone go ON and ON about it, torturing myself and others with this fucking weight loss drivel. What a senseless waste of time. But. I think some of my dramatic feelings right now about my body are connected to bigger things than my bigger body. Like admiring some of the work my more cerebral cohorts do and feeling resentful that I don't have time to do more of what they're doing. That I'm bogged down by my visually body-oriented work that begs me to tend to it in such time-consuming ways. That my body right now is my most valuable natural resource and I'm trashing it (I would say that Delia's body is my most valuable resource, but that would open up a whole other can of worms about possession and pimping and shit). That I want my work to focus more on *other* people's bodies and less on my own. That I want it to fucking WORK PROPERLY but suspect I'm rounding the bend where I can't take it for granted at all and it wants me to know that. I'm full of suspicious lumps, I can't seem to get pregnant, and I'm having a hard time disguising my comical bulges.
I don't like to complain about it or sound pessimistic. It's important to me to say that I don't FEEL as bad as I sound. But I *do* need to process these feelings. And remind myself that the reason I do the work I do is because a) I like it/feel driven to, and b) it is part of a plan that *does* allow me to do *all* of the kinds of work I want to do. Some of it right now/all of the time, and more of it eventually. And all of it really whenever I want if at any time I want to drop any of it that I'm sick of. And that's the big reminder, that I can do whatever I want. I don't WANT to stop doing anything I do right now OR I WOULD. I just really crave to do MORE of the millions of things I want to do. Making choices pains me because sometimes choosing to do one thing means choosing NOT to do other things I really really DO want to do (refer to above: socializing).
Sorry if that is all incoherent and vague. It makes sense to me, though. FYI: comments reassuring me about my weight or arguing about it will not be published; it's not the real issue here: the real issue is what I want to concentrate on more than my body. Love to chat about it more, but again, this is more of a reflective post for myself than an informative or conversational post for others; once I post this I want to be dumped of it and move on.
I don't know if I can describe how satisfying it is to look at these photos we've shot, the ones that are beautiful. Since it's difficult to describe without being redundant or obnoxious, you wind up reading more angst about dumb things like body image than daily thanksgiving about important things like how splendid I feel about what we make. I feel wrong even taking that much credit for just being lucky enough to have a camera, a moderately good eye and an appreciation for the beauty of certain things that never get old no matter how many times you duplicate them: black nylons against a blonde wood floor. Red patent leather. My girlfriend's ass. Her willingness to get on the floor for me. The way the pictures I capture can keep getting better regardless of how fat I eventually may get or whether or not I can bear children or whether or not I ever lose a breast to cancer. I will still always know and deeply appreciate a billion and one things that are beautiful and exquisite and erotic and are not too hard for me to point out and celebrate. That I WANT to point out and celebrate.
Labels: beauty standards, body parts, friends, goals, health, PHOTOS, relationships, sex work, thanksgiving, webwhore insights