Weepy Week or What?!

I have watched a mammoth number of films this week. Let me see...Chicago, 10 Things I Hate About You, Memoirs of a Geisha, Angus, Thongs and Perfect Snogging, Water For Elephants (at the cinema), No Strings Attached, oh and off the record, the penultimate finale of Grey's Anatomy, all of which I have fogged up and cried in. Some may suggest PMS. I beg to differ. I believe that is a couple of weeks off. Unless I am pregnant. Like Christina. While this is anatomically impossible, one can still speculate.

I don't know what has brought on this emotionality (wow, thought the spell checker would come up but hey, it's a word!) but gosh, I'm one weepy chick. Another possible hypothesis is my abstinence from junk, which has not be defiled, and of which I'm extremely proud. It was Oli's birthday/pre-drinks at ours last night. There was pizza, cake, Movenpick ice-cream (hello lover!), and I didn't touch a thing. I did have to resort to my loop hole of emergency, come-to-the-rescue Allen's lollies, but the other stuff was left out in the cold.

In a strange, unexpected way, I feel relieved. I no longer have to worry about feeling fat, miserable or disappointed in myself. Of course, there are other non-food related reasons to feel miserable, fat and disappointed (having to work a double shift, being unable to find clothes that look good, (no matter how skinny you are, sometimes clothes just look crap; I do believe they have a mind of their own), feeling sad about Nonna and Nonno being gone, having to do homework instead of watch movies etc), but for such a long time, these feelings have all been food related, and to simply feel things without all that extra baggage (mind the pun), is just, well, was going to say wonderful, but it's not really 'full of wonder,' so instead, perhaps, it's pretty much a new way to be human (thank you Switchfoot).

Sometimes I feel invisible. This is actually an improvement. I used to often feel not only invisible, but deeply embarrassed to be myself. As if the way I presented was in fact completely unacceptable. So I stayed home a lot. I'd watch films and live vicariously through them. So when Heath Ledger sang "You're Just Too Good To Be True" or whatever the song title be, it was to me, and I was that girl on the football field witnessing the most romantic serenade since the "Say Anything" stereo-on-top-of-head-outside-bedroom-window gesture. However, slowly slowly, like a snake shedding its old, no longer required skin, a happiness began to boil and bubble up inside of me. Maybe it's this water that frequently comes squirting out of my eyes, mourning for days of old that have been wasted due to insecurity and shame.

Watching 'old faithful' at the minute. Oh, my apologies, Sex and the City, series five. Bar Grey's Anatomy, it would have to be my favourite show. Some people just don't seem to understand this phenomena. One of them happens to be Mother dearest (cue sheltered and strict upbringing). For me, this show, and the girlfriends that became my own, was my salvation during my time in the lonely city of Sydney. Make no mistake, I loved my adventure in the Harbour City; it was an experience that I will be forever grateful for. However, at many-a-time during my brief dwelling up there it became unbearably lonesome, and as I have previously described, I integrated my life into theirs, and we had a fabulous time together. I still like to pull it out of the DVD cabinet sometimes and visit with my old girlfriends, reminiscing about times gone by, the people who have left, the loves that have been lost, and the struggles that seem eternal but slowly pass away.

Goodnight. (But not goodbye).