update

I haven’t done anything with this here blog in quite some time. So let’s just do a general recap on what’s going on for all of the people who aren’t reading this. First, I passed up the 6 month mark. I’m actually at 7 months now, but that 6 month dealio was supposed to be pretty big. I guess I have this little fantasy in my head that there’s a bunch of people cheering me on. I gues if I wanted cheerleaders I should have joined AA. Truth is, it’s hard being a sober Wisconsonite. I’m not saying we’re a state of alcoholics, I’m just wondering if I threw a rock??? Anyhow, sobriety threatens people’s addictions and that creates distance. So it can be lonely. I’ve always kind of been a loner, so I can deal with that. Loneliness aside, I’m really enjoying experiencing my “firsts”. Really quite simple things, like planting my garden without a hangover. Going camping without having to pack a bars worth of liquor to make the trip complete. My kids start summer break here in a week….one whole summer playing and swimming and running and jumping and camping and fireworks and festivals…totally sober. And I say that without an ounce of dread. I’m absolutely overwhelmed with gratitude for this new chance at life and I am beyond excited at what lay ahead. And I have more exciting news filled with tons of that feel good gratitude! Jamie just got a new job!!! Phew…for those who know our story, our luck in employment hasn’t been so hot for quite some time. And it was really taking its toll on Jamie’s self esteem. He’s NOT a shit worker….the proof is in his credentials. He got Best Recruit in the army…a nationally recognized honor given to ONE recruit a year. It was him. He started the plumbing apprenticeship, got Apprentice of the Year (again…out of hundreds of apprentices, he was picked). Truly he is not stupid or a slack ass. But a shitty economy coupled with some shitty employers…you do the math. Anyhow, his last job was just so dehumanizing. They would continually try to withhold pay for worked hours. They were underbidding every job when they clearly were not in a position to be able to cover the costs for underbid jobs. He was only getting 20 hours a week at the end. Inhumane treatment…demeaning. It wasn’t so much mismanaged as unmanaged. Jamie was coming home so stressed and so angry. Trapped between hating his job but having to support his family. He came home on a Friday at 10am…defeated. My stress hits the roof because the bills are piling and the paychecks were just getting smaller and smaller. And I was just, “We HAVE to find a new job. NOW.” Which probably wasn’t the nicest thing for a wife to say…he was already feeling guilty and hating life. But I just knew it had to change. It HAD to change. I didn’t care if it got worse, because we were going under…at least if we did something we had a chance. I mean we are talking stress to the max, bills piling up, talking bankruptcy, panic attacks, so much anger from work…and it all came home. He didn’t want it to, but he couldn’t help it. And then, as if by magic, my old high school friends husband sent me a message. “Got a lead on a job if Jamie’s interested.” This was on a Friday. By Saturday the employer knew Jamie was interested. By Monday he had an interview. 2 hours later, he had a job offer. And 48 hours later, he was working there. And he’s HAPPY. And he LOVES it!! And the work day flies! And he gets paid well! And he always at least has 40 hours! And he gets paid holidays! (We NEVER had paid holidays!) And he gets THREE FRICKIN WEEKS PAID VACAY!!! And insurance and retirement. And profit sharing!! And did I mention he’s HAPPY!?!? In his first pay period (which mind you, was 20 hours short because he started midweek), we were able to pay our bills AND start to see the account go UP! Almost instantly my panic attacks stopped. The stress is lifted. The week is pleasant. The weekends, restful. When Sunday comes, he’s okay that tomorrow he goes to work. He feels appreciated. He IS appreciated. And he’s confident again…he’s back to knowing he’s a good worker and a good person. . His old employer took the opportunity to fuck us out of our weeks paid vacation. We never had a written agreement; however, it was agreed that after 1 year employment we would get 1 week paid vacation. They preemptively warned him of their intent to fuck us by stating, “Well, I know that’s what we said, it’s just there’s nothing in writing…Well, I’ll see what I can do.” Well, of course it wasn’t on our last check. I wanted to fight it. I wanted to report them to the state. I wanted them to pay for being such heinous unethical assholes. Sure, there is nothing in writing, but the last thing a shady company wants is the state thumbing through their books. BUT…Jamie had a point. Each time we held onto that shit job, we held onto that negativity. And it was true….when I chased that money, our anxiety came back…my panic attacks came back. The tension got high, the anger got high, the fights started. It wasn’t worth it. Jamie said, “Look….I would have paid them that $1000 to get out of that job. I’m considering it that…the cost to get on the train out of Shitsville.” So we left it in the past. And now there is the big hole inside of us all where this anger and misery and depression was. Sometimes it’s like we’ve been there for so long we almost want to revisit it. It’s getting weird to think that maybe things will be good? To make plans. To have family vacations. To just be content. To not have that stress?? I don’t know. It’s still there…that residual feeling. But it’s slowely dissipating. I’m ready for GOOD!! I mean through all of this shit I’ve been blessed a million ways…I’ve been so distracted and so tense and so overwhelmed with this constant worry that I haven’t been able to enjoy them. I’m really looking forward to enjoying all of my many blessings. And for the last bit of news. Very sad news. Jamie’s sister was diagnosed with breast cancer. All of the scans aren’t back yet, but the information that we do have makes my heart sink. Ailsa is special needs. She has limited cognitive abilities. She probably has a developmental age of 6 or so…there are certain aspects where in development is beyond that, but overall…I’d say 6. So nobody knows how long the lump was there, only that she was scared to tell anyone. She knows what cancer is, and she was scared. So she just kept quiet until it grew to such a size that it was actually causing an abrasion on the skin around it from rubbing. It is in the armpit region (lymph node worry). And at this point, they feel it’s too big to operate on. They want to try to shrink it and then operate. Again, we’re still waiting for the results of the bone tests, full MRI, all blood work. We should have more information in a week. But of the information I do have coupled with my gut feeling, is that more bad news will follow. I talked with her yesterday for a good hour. She is most worried about loosing her hair. But I think everyone has managed to make her excited about trying out different wigs, and I even talked about trying to make her some funky scarves with matching skirts. (I’m a shite seamstress, but I’ll give it a whirl!!) I don’t think anyone explained to her that chemo will also make her feel sick. She seems to be under the impression that she will see the doctor next Thursday and then she’ll be fine. I didn’t think it my position to tell her differently since I’m not there to walk her through it. But I DO hope that people are being honest with her as much as they can. I think she has a right to understand what she’s able to understand. I’m also hoping that there’s support groups for her there. I don’t know what they all have…I did some google searches, but all support services I’m pulling up are connected with the NHS plan as part of their cancer treatment program. I hope it’s more than a nurse hotline, ya know? I hope they have something for special needs adults? The things that most apply to her mental age are specifically for kids under 18. I am trying to find something that includes special needs adults in their programming with no luck. And I’d like to see Ailsa get some experiences she’s been denied. I mean regardless of your health, we ALL need to live!! But she’s had the same boyfriend now for as long as Jamie and I have been married (11 years!). They are pretty much identical in their needs, and are perfect together!! She hasn’t been allowed to get married. She spends ½ the week at his apartment. Do you know what it would mean for that girl to plan her wedding!?!?! I mean with very little money, it could be her dream come true!!! I’d love to see her marry the love of her life. To wear a beautiful big gown!! To have a huge bouquet of flowers! We could make that dream come true for her for not a lot of money AT ALL! I just want her to LIVE. She’s been in this house just existing…not job, no routine. Just sitting in the house watching TV all day every day. I just want more for her. Well, I think I’ve covered the biggies for now. Lots of thanks to the big guy for many blessings, and many prayers for Ailsa…for healing, for strength and for LIFE!

Adult things

This weekend Jamie and I dropped the kids off with the grandparents and met up for dinner at a friends house...who wasn't really a friend (at least at the moment she invited us). She was a co-worker of a friend who was put in contact with me via my neighbor because her boyfriend is also English. I mean chicks who like English dudes stick together, right? Anyhow, it was major anxiety getting ready. It felt like a total adult event...I mean I was bringing the desert. And it was a total old persons desert that I was quite sure we'd all love because we're all old now. Nothing too sweet...old people don't do super sweet well...pretty sure it fucks with our digestion. And it was lemon. Old people LOVE lemons. Anyhow, it was a proper adult event. Conversation with me is always strained...I die a little inside when I try to talk. Someone tried to talk gardening and soil conditions with me. I started mumbling and felt real out of breath. I realize that I sound pitifully dim when I actually talk...whatever, I'm a writer, not a speaker. Then I wondered, "Shit, maybe I just AM stupid?" I pondered that for a bit, but I started getting those lovely panic attack heart attacky feelings. It was the first time in a long time I actually wanted a drink. And people were mixing up chocolatie maritini things, so temptation was fully available. But I stuck with the wanting to die feeling, and rode with it. While I couldn't drink, I COULD eat. So I ate me some serious delicious eats. Corned Beef, Beef Brisket, mashed potatoes, roasted beets, roasted parsnip, braised cabbage, asparagus, brussel sprout, fresh baked bread. I mean she cooked the shit outta some shit. And it was delicious. So some anxiety was released through calorie consumption. This lady is so frickin sweet too. She is this like amazingly talented sewer. And not only does she like know how to sew, she makes frickin CORSETS! And not just like some crappy flappy corsets. There is no fat that can bust through these bad boys. And they are BEAUTIFUL! So she fitted me for a corset, and is going to whip me up one in my favorite color so I have a pretty wench costume to go to the Ren Faire in! I mean wow, does it get any frickin nicer?? Oh yes..yes it does. My friend Jackie, who is a Scentsy consultant, gave me a scentsy warmer and like a billion scents! And now it smells like delicious apple pie in my house instead of dog fart. I love it. I felt spoiled...seriously spoiled. And I both loved that feeling and felt ridiculously uncomfortable with it. "*cough* UMmm...I come bearing organic freshly shat eggs! um, and cake!!" She also has what may indeed be the smallest chihuahua ever. And if it's not the smallest chihuahua it is most definitely the smallest chihuahua with the largest penis. That was seriously the most disturbing thing I've ever seen. If you put those proportions onto a human, it would have been like chest level. It was absolutely monsterous. And I was kinda grossed out when it was laying down on my lap because no matter which way it moved, it's dick was bound to be sprauled across me. I know that sounds crude, but it is what it is. And it was large. Then we shot guns. I don't think that standard protocol for adult gatherings, but we were in the country. And English dudes love to shoot guns. Jamie doesn't get quite so giddy, but he was army so he's not a stranger to guns. But I would say your average English dude gets pretty excited about them. So we shot them. It turns out I'm a pretty good shot, and everyone agreed that when the zombie apolocolypse comes, I'm on their team. And I'm cool with that, so long as someone loads it for me. Then we sat down to play games, and if you think dog dick is crude, you're going to have a coronary. For those who haven't played Cards Against Humanity, you should. Unless you were offended by dog dick...then don't bother. I don't want to spoil it for you in the event you do get the game, but here's the general jist. If you pull the card that says, "Two midgets shitting in a bucket" It's the equivelant of hitting free parking in Monopoly. We played into the wee hours of the night. Laughed until it hurt. And then we drove home. I was keenly aware of how drunk lots of the drivers seemed to be. At 2am, there didn't seem to be many cars that weren't at least somewhat swervy. It made me scared and sad. I wonder how many of those people woke up early in the morning hung over to hell, with that gnawing knowledge that they are sick. And that they can't stop. And that they could have killed themselves or someone else...and they want to live, but they can't stop. I can't hate those people...even with all the destruction they cause. Never in my adult life have I stayed out until past 2am and been sober. Never in my adult life have I woke up from being out since 2am without a hangover. Never before in my life have I gone to a dinner party and brought lemon curd cake. To firsts!!

Invisible

Seeking to strip our identity so that we may find ourselves. Searching for the sparkle of the heavens refleting in the glassiness of every eye. Our being clearly eternal and ageless. Yet still I fear the creases of our flesh that deepen with the broadness of a smile. Uncertain of my abilities to touch the invisible.

The Call

I can hear the beat of my soul Coming into my being. The booms reverberate through my spirit. My whole being moving with my ancient sound. Instinctive. Wild. Majestic. Naked, adorned only by my divine. Embelished in holiness. Dancing wildly to the call.

Lenten Resolutions

It's Lent. A time of sacrafice. A time of inward reflection and transformation. A time of preparing for a new life in Christ. To me, Lent is the most poignant time in our Christian calendar. It's just so rich in spiritual symbolism. From the somber reminder of earthy ashes on our forehead, the bare altar, the anointing oils and the heaviness that precedes that joyous Easter morning. It holds what I am seeking...meaning. So very rich in meaning. Somehow, this amazingly powerful time has been reduced to nothing more than a time restricted resolution. 40 days. And I don't know...maybe I'll stop buying Starbucks on my way to work or something. I had a good laugh at my children's Lenten resolutions. Molly said, "I'm giving up squash for Lent" She can't stand squash. Or Callum, "I'm giving up being sick for Lent!!" I can roll with that, buddy!! But really, our resolutions aren't much more substantial. I'll give up chocolate. I'm giving up my frappachino in the morning. I mean we will always fall so incredibly short in our sacrafice compared to God's sacrafice. But couldn't we get a LITTLE closer?? This is deep stuff! Can't we move beyond our coffees and chocolates and squash? Christ taught us a lot about transformation. Our powerful Lord and Savior. Our living God...he was scared of it. In fact, he prayed that if it didn't have to happen, that it wouldn't! But it did, and so it did. And when it happened, the pain was nearly unbearable. The Son of God cried out. He doubted!! "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" And then he surrendered to God's will, and it was done. "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit." And there was the death of one life. There was weeping and emptiness and sorrow. And one morning, out of the darkness came light. And a new life, a better life...a life that nobody thought was possible was born. Wow, doesn't not having chocolate or passing on your morning mocha seem flat now?? That we try to symbolize the ultimate human sacrafice...the most GLORIOUS transformation with something as inane as passing on the Snickers bars for 40 days. Let me tell you something, we are MEANT to be radically transformed by God. That is his gift to us. And I believe that with all my heart and soul. With every ounce of my being. I've experienced it!! And I never want to stop experiencing it. When God transforms you, it IS terrifying. And I doubt and scramble for any other paths but his. And I've felt pain so immense that it brings me to the ground...I've cried to God with a heart so filled with pain that it's inhuman nature scared me. And then I relented...and let myself die to his will. Only to have NEW life breathed into me, a new life crafted by him...perfect beyond my expectations of what perfection could be. That's the type of transformation God wants to give to us. A transformation so great that it embodies the very essence of God. In my time with God, one word kept coming into the forefront of my mind. "Excess". I don't know exactly where I'm supposed to go with this, but I KNOW I'm supposed to go with it. So my 40 days preceeding Easter is going to be spent meditating on "excess" . Writing about "excess" Contemplating "excess" And praying about "excess." And I'll be sharing it here on this blog. So keep checking back. Unless God things irk you...then you might want to steer clear of my blog for a few weeks. But honestly, I've got a pretty good feelings this stuff isn't going to be exclusive just to the religious, so you might want to stay tuned. I've got a feeling it's gonna be good stuff. Peace.

Pain Won

Last night addiction claimed a life. I'm sure it claimed many lives that day, but today it claimed the life of family. Of a young man who struggled the entirity of his short life. Whether addiction was the cause of his death or the consequence of a mental health issue which he self medicated, we don't know yet. And we may never know. And in the end, it doesn't matter. Someone's baby boy died last night. Some mother had her worst nightmare become her reality last night. Some teenage kid found his step brother dead on the floor. The end nobody wanted but everyone feared, it happened. Last night pain won.

Up in Flames

As far back as I can remember, I've hated my body.  No really...I don't think I remember a point in time in which I didn't have negative associations with my body. I've always felt fat (which now I am, but there was a point in time that I totally wasn't, but still felt fat). I've always felt ashamed. And some things never change...but then again, some things do when you least expect it, right? 
My earliest memory of negative associations with my body were at a stupid young age. Perhaps 3 or 4?  Pretty much the very age at which you begin to remember things.  And at that point I had already been lovingly nicknamed by my parents as "Lard Bucket" Awwww, right?  TO this day, they don't see anything wrong with that...actually, I can't say I know for certain whether they still feel that way today.  I haven't had that discussion with them probably 10 years or so, and I don't intend to revisit that debate. But last I heard, which was probably around 2002ish, they still thought calling their daughter Lard Bucket was nothing but a term of endearment and had absolutely zero influence to her body image. It was in fact MY fault that I was miserable in my own skin.  Now my mom may not always be right, but I'll give her this much.  This time was at least half right.

 My next memory was probably around 9 or so??  I had been playing flag football for several years, and was quite enjoying it.  Sure, there weren't many girls on the league, but I was good at it.  Most
importantly, I felt liked. And my parents would come and watch my games.  My dad seemed exceptionally proud that his girl was able to plow through a line of boys. And while he probably should have been proud for different reasons, whatever.  I took the adda'girls where I could. Well,as luck would have it, my mom spotted breasts growing on me, and I was quickly yanked from the team. It was now deemed inappropriate. I was told one day when I was older, I would understand (I don't). But I couldn't play with the boys anymore. Fuck boobs. 

Well, those boobs continued to grow. And my mom was fixated on what was happening to me physically.  Not like creepy fixated. But she was very weirded out by it...very nervous.  At some point in time she had convinced herself that my breast growth was not normal.  I heard her telling my aunt (a nurse) "She looks like one of those National Geographic people!"  Reading this now, I laugh a little.  I mean what does that even fucking MEAN?!?!  But back then I was close enough to the insanity to know exactly what she meant.  She meant my boobs were weird. They weren't normal. They weren't pretty.  So she made me lift my shirt to show my aunt (DING!! trauma!) Who suggested that my mom ask the doctor.

So my mom scheduled an appointment with the pediatrician to discuss these ugly abnormal National
Geographic like boobs.  It was bad enough having to show my tits to my aunt, but lifting them up to a
strange man?  I don't know if this really happened, or if this is just what I PERCEIVED happened (I'm hoping it's the latter). But he glanced, looked horrified (at least that's how I remember it) and then muttered something about how it just means I'll be able to breastfeed a bunch of kids...which I actually did end up doing, but it had absolutely nothing to do with the National Geographic nature of my boobs...just the fact that they were boobs.  Silly doctor.

Perhaps a year after the boobs destroyed my life, fatness krept in.  Our household wasn't exactly the healthiest. I mean we weren't fast food junkies or anything, but we did have unlimited and unmonitored access to soda and candy bars. And that worked just fine for my brother who ended up with nothing but a bunch of cavities from gorging himself.  I on the other hand did not have his skinny minny build.  Perhaps I had started emotionally eating at this stage?? I don't recall.  I remember really enjoying candy bars!! And I remember I'd save my allowance so I could buy a huge candybar that students were selling for fundraisers (even though I had unlimited access at home, I just couldn't wait).  But I can't say for certain if I had started unconsciously emotionally eating at that point.  But one thing is certain, unlimited candy/soda combined with removing all activity is a recipe for fatness. 

And then one night...it must have been near bedtime because I was up in my room just kind of hanging out.  My mom came in my bedroom, grabbed my arm and told me to come with her. Then she instructed me to stand on the scale.  This here isn't just my perception of what happened...this is the real deal. She freaked the fuck out.  I don't recall what the number was, but I remember she yelled it out like "ONE HUNDRED AND FUCKIN FATTY POUNDS?!?!?!?!"  And I went to bed crying my eyes out because I was a fat dissapointment. And while my mom was the one who put me on the scale, I knew that dad knew too. That he had been sitting there having this conversation with her about how fat I'd become and how disgusting it was. And she took that as him insulting her not taking care of the kids properly and of course it all culminated into one giant traumatic experience.  That one hurt bad.  Worse than the boobs, because the boobs it was known that I couldn't control them.  This one was my fault. 
The next morning I woke up to Slimfast and celery sticks while the rest of the family ate cinnamon roles and chocolate milk.  For lunch I had Slimfast and something equally as unappealing as celery...perhaps raw broccoli or something.  The candy bars and soda were now LOCKED so I couldn't get to them. And now I was forced to walk the circle driveway for a set amount of time a day...which bored the crap out of me. We did have an entire forest to explore right in their backyard, but they wanted to make sure I was doing it. So they could watch and monitor me if I stayed doing circles on the driveway.  It was hell...I felt so deprived of absolutely everything.  It felt like punishment...and well, it WAS punishment. The weight DID come off.  There were no ifs/ands/buts about it, that shit had to choice but to come off. And with the weight loss, and I guess some pride?  I mean I felt it as pride, but looking back I was more than likely internalizing a horrible message.  That thinness makes you likeable and loveable.  That your self worth is based upon your physical attractiveness which is also based upon your weight.  Back when I was fat I was a shameful person who disgusted even the people who were supposed to love me the most. But now I was worthy of love.  Whatever, I didn't care then.  I was liked by people. My parents were pleased. And I got a bunch of cute new clothes out of the deal.

  Through most of high school I maintained my weight. Which really is a miracle because I again was eating like shit.  It wasn't candy bars and soda so much anymore, but I started to become a fast food junkie.  I mean I had my own car now, I wasn't confined to what was in the house!! There were gas stations with chips, taco bells open late, and super sized insanity EVERYWHERE!!  And by some miracle, I was able to eat this without getting fat.  Of course, I also was on the basketball team and played in a million other off season leagues as well.  So I was very active about 2-3 hours of every day.

Then college came, and my crappy eating habits intensified, except now I wasn't an athlete anymore.  I'd gone from a very active lifestyle to a completely sedentary one.  On top of that, I was always just a few floors away from some heavenly, deep fried, heavily salted, greasy heart attack on a plate.  Oh, and by now I had added alcohol to the equation.  So I was pounding in calories with alcohol...eating shit...and eating more shit than usual because it had to soak up all the alcohol and I didn't move. Not shockingly, I went from looking slim and fit (even though nutritionally speaking I was still a wreck), to being fat, jiggly and pasty.  Stretch marks popped up all over.  I remember not knowing what they were when I first saw them.  they first appeared on my stomach not as a streak, but as like a hollow  feeling dot.  When I actually realized it was scarring because I had gotton too fat too fast, I was devastated.  I mean here I thought I had beat fatness back when I was like 10-11!!! I was humiliated.  I mean I remember feeling as if it all snuck on me??  But I don't understand exactly how it possibly could have. I mean I must have outgrown several sizes of clothes.  I mean you HAVE TO realize that at one point you were buying a size 12 and now you're buying a size 22, right??  But you know, looking back there wasn't much in my life that was mindful.  I wasn't mindful of what I ate. I wasn't mindful of what I drank.  I wasn't mindful of my relationships. And I definitely wasn't mindful of my emotions...I'd just stuff them with food and drown them in alcohol.  (Probably why when I quit drinking just feeling in general was extremely intense...overwhelmingly so.)

So was my adult life.  Filled with drinking perhaps 3x my caloric intake a day...maybe 4x if it was a good night.  Soaking up the alcohol with extra greasy pizza before I passed out for the evening.  Than gourging on a fully fried breakfast to help eat off the hangover the next morning. And hating myself.  It started with just hating my fat...I was keenly aware that fat was my issue because fatness had been my issue since I was a little girl! I was not so aware, at least not at first, that alcohol was also my issue. But I knew one thing.  I hated my body, and so did the rest of the world.  Yeah, that statement right there sounds a little presumptuous, but there is some truth in it.  People don't like fat people.  Fat people are treated differently. Talk to any former fatty about their life with fat and their life after fat. They'll confirm what I've said. Of course my mother and father hate me fat as well, and I have to be very gaurded in my conversations with them about any weight loss goals. For instance, if mom gets wind that I'm trying to loose weight, the next time I'm over there she will serve me a plate of raw cauliflower.  And then when I'm like "uh...is that it?"  She'll offer me up some fat free dip.  And when I ask if she has something more substantial, she'll roll her eyes and then present to me a triple layer double chocolate fudge cheesecake with a side of onion rings and sigh. And I can tell when she thinks I've gotton fatter because she buys me underwear that look like bed sheets. But those are my parents, and of course parents are known to push the boundaries from time to time.  And if they're MY parents, that would be non-stop all the time.  And I'm sensitive to them and their comments. Probably because it brings me back to those earlier painful memories.  And makes me want to bitch slap them a bit.
 But even step outside that immediate family scenario.  Take for instance, a family reunion where you are seeing relatives you haven't seen in quite some time.  Guess what they do as soon as you leave?  They talk about how fat you got!!  And don't you even TRY to pretend that's not the case!  When you haven't seen someone in awhile, and then they're fat, you say "oh my God, they sure did gain a LOT of weight!!" Or better yet, "wow, they look horrible."  Thanks for that assholes!! Even complete strangers hate fat complete strangers!  And don't lie about that shit either!  If you're driving down the street, and you see an obese woman exerting a bit of effort walking to wherever she's walking to.  Hell, she could be power walking even to help get rid of her fat.  People are still going to take the opportunity to say something, "Holy shit, look at that heffer!  Gonna have to pick up the pace a bit sweetie cos you got some work to do!"  Or walking by the beach...thin or "normal" sized women...then an overweight woman.  Don't even pretend that people don't say "Egads!! Put some clothes on!"  Because they do.  And you know they do. And guess what, I am KEENLY aware that they do.  Thus why I hate exercising in public.  Why I hate wearing a swimsuit. Why I hate shorts.  why I hate being seen.  I hate my body.  And the world hates my body too...but it feels like they hate me.

Now I'm not going to pretend that "starting today, I am going to love and adore my body...appreciate it's beauty and grace."  I'm sorry, I tried that about 4 years and 40 pounds ago, and I didn't buy my own bullshit then, and I'm not buying it now. My body is fat. It's not able to do all the things it should be  able to do if it were a healthy weight. It's not as asthetically pleasing after 30 plus years of gaining/loosing/gaining more/loosing a few/gaining a ton.  Not to mention add 3 babies to that mix.  It's full of stretch marks, it's skin is loose and hangs in some places. It's actually quite fucking gross in spots to be brutally honest. But perhaps that's good, because It's not about vanity anymore.  Regardless if I lost 100 pounds, I'm still going to have scars and hanging skin and all of that jazz. So I'm not in this game for vanity anymore...but I'm still playing. That's a good thing, right?  That means that there is still a little flame in me (however small) that is reaching out for happiness...that wants it bad. That there's a little part of me that loves me...even when it feels like I hate me.

 And that is the flame I'm choosing to fan. This is far from a roaring fire. Shit, it wasn't even sparks until a few months ago.  But I have made fire. And like any good survivalist knows, just ones ABILITY to make fire builds morale.  It keeps people going when normally they'd just huddle up into a ball to die.  And I've got fucking FIRE bitches!!! So I'm going to fan that tiny little flame. Keep my eyes focused on that tiny little glow. Feel the hints of warmth.  And let hope blaze into certainty and watch my life go up in love.  Peace.