Three years ago, when I was fat, every day felt like a "fat day," as almost all females have.
Then, when I started to lose weight, every day became a "thin day" -- even I, with prejudiced eyes, could see such a difference, that for a couple of years, I never felt fat.
Then I readjusted to myself, and last fall started having them again. Fat days. And I did not like those days.
Because the mirror told me, and the fit of my clothes, that there was no reason to feel "fat" -- I was not much different on a "fat" day than on an "okay" day. But my brain wasn't buying it.
So I started working on myself. And I remembered a tactic I had back in the real fat days: the matter of perspective.
When I was feeling particularly voluminous, I'd think about the universe. All the big unimaginable hugeness of it. The vastness of our galaxy, the distance to the stars, the idea of infinity. When I think about it really hard, I feel a little unbalanced, as if I'm trying to understand a concept that humans are not meant to understand. Yet we try.
And the moment I felt precariously on the verge of either 1) understanding or 2) insanity, I'd come back to earth--I'd think about myself. And how big I was--or wasn't. And I'd find myself feeling very, very small. I didn't feel like Horton. I felt like the Who.
For awhile, anyway.
How about you? How big you feelin'?