I am doubled over with love pains. Bent in half.
I love him so much. Really. Truly. Deeply. My day doesn't feel complete if he's not in it in at least some small capacity. This man has convinced me to try harder to believe in myself and humanity and God and the goodness of the entire universe. I like the world better when I'm with him and being with him makes it easier to love myself.
We would travel the world together. We would spoon on Saturday mornings and get a dog. I'd take care of him when he's down and keep him going when he's up. He'd smile at all my harebrained whims at least, and the only ones he wouldn't outright support would be the ones so harebrianed they're dangerous. He'd write me songs while I'd dream up his cover art. And 100 years into the future, after kids and life, we'd still come down to the cliffs together to talk about important things and watch the blue waves break until 2 in the morning, and be the embodiement of that Death Cab for Cutie song, "I will Follow You into the Dark".
I want to be healthier, because I want to be around longer to enjoy him. I want to breathe him in. I want to wrap his voice around me like a blanket. He makes me purr.
I haven't told him any of this. I want to sooo badly, and I don't feel like I can. He's my neighbor. And my friend. And the girls I've seen him with or interested in are stick figures while I....I am definitely not.
"No great things was ever acheived with a guaranee of success." I think FDR said that.
If I pour out my soul, I risk losing one of the best men I've ever had in my life. I risk rendering my residence a very unsettling and akward place to live. I risk being rejected and having it reinfoced yet again, that I am just too fat to love.
If I hold it back, I risk never having the love of my life in exchange for a wonderful, yet not-completely-fulfilling friendship. I have a lot of friends. Not so many soul mates. i want him in my arms, I want to kiss his adorable duckie lips. "Just pull me down hard, and drown me in love..."
When I was in high school, I pined away for 4 years after this one guy. After we graduated, I sent him a letter saying similar things. Now, I was young and dumb, and these two relationships are incomparable, but who knows, it may have been love...but I remember seeing him a few months later, and he said "You know, about that letter..." And I dropped my head and held up my hands and mumbled something that caused him to halt. And we never spoke again. I couldn't even let the poor bastard finish his though! What if it was something amazing? I don't want that to happen again, I'm older and wiser now, and if I get rejected I just have to suck it up.
Why doesn't this ever get any easier???
CAT
I love him so much. Really. Truly. Deeply. My day doesn't feel complete if he's not in it in at least some small capacity. This man has convinced me to try harder to believe in myself and humanity and God and the goodness of the entire universe. I like the world better when I'm with him and being with him makes it easier to love myself.
We would travel the world together. We would spoon on Saturday mornings and get a dog. I'd take care of him when he's down and keep him going when he's up. He'd smile at all my harebrained whims at least, and the only ones he wouldn't outright support would be the ones so harebrianed they're dangerous. He'd write me songs while I'd dream up his cover art. And 100 years into the future, after kids and life, we'd still come down to the cliffs together to talk about important things and watch the blue waves break until 2 in the morning, and be the embodiement of that Death Cab for Cutie song, "I will Follow You into the Dark".
I want to be healthier, because I want to be around longer to enjoy him. I want to breathe him in. I want to wrap his voice around me like a blanket. He makes me purr.
I haven't told him any of this. I want to sooo badly, and I don't feel like I can. He's my neighbor. And my friend. And the girls I've seen him with or interested in are stick figures while I....I am definitely not.
"No great things was ever acheived with a guaranee of success." I think FDR said that.
If I pour out my soul, I risk losing one of the best men I've ever had in my life. I risk rendering my residence a very unsettling and akward place to live. I risk being rejected and having it reinfoced yet again, that I am just too fat to love.
If I hold it back, I risk never having the love of my life in exchange for a wonderful, yet not-completely-fulfilling friendship. I have a lot of friends. Not so many soul mates. i want him in my arms, I want to kiss his adorable duckie lips. "Just pull me down hard, and drown me in love..."
When I was in high school, I pined away for 4 years after this one guy. After we graduated, I sent him a letter saying similar things. Now, I was young and dumb, and these two relationships are incomparable, but who knows, it may have been love...but I remember seeing him a few months later, and he said "You know, about that letter..." And I dropped my head and held up my hands and mumbled something that caused him to halt. And we never spoke again. I couldn't even let the poor bastard finish his though! What if it was something amazing? I don't want that to happen again, I'm older and wiser now, and if I get rejected I just have to suck it up.
Why doesn't this ever get any easier???
CAT
So some marvelous wonderful person out there read the airwaves and re-opened my account FOR ME. This is wonderful! This is bizarre! This is so nice of you! I cannot think of anyone who would do this beyond the one person I already accused of doing it and they denied it so....could you please at least give me some hint as to who it is? I'd so like to thank you properly!
I've been wanting to reopen it, read up in all my groups, check new sets from my favorite creative tattooed Girls of Attitude, and just be around. Thank you so much, kind stranger. <3
I will attempt to keep a more up-to-date blog.
Happy to be back!
Love,
CAT
I've been wanting to reopen it, read up in all my groups, check new sets from my favorite creative tattooed Girls of Attitude, and just be around. Thank you so much, kind stranger. <3
I will attempt to keep a more up-to-date blog.
Happy to be back!
Love,
CAT
Jesus, I don't even remember the last time I was this sick. I don't think anyone really ever remembers the feelings clearly, because lemme tell ya, if I did, I wouldn't have the strength or will to go through this again.
The San Diego Black Death strikes again. My boss is pissed (we'll see how she feels when she gets it) because I haven't been to work at all this week. And I'm not going tomorrow. So far this flu has cost me $500 in meds and lost wages as my job has no such thing as sick days. It's a good thing I have so many books, because that what will have to fill my free time next months. And I'll probably have to eat the cookbooks.
So here's a list of symptoms, in case you're feeling funky too.
You spine stiffens and swells
your eyes are on fire
someone shoved fistfulls of chili powder up your nose and left them there...for three days
you're coughing up chunks of things you know you haven't eaten
all your muscles are vibrating, all the time
you sweat and shiver all day
your jaw is sore from having your mouth open ALL the time
you have to be a conscious breather, and it's VERY hard to sleep when you have to remember to breathe
you have a ridiculously high fever, all the time
you drink and drink and never pee
you cough so hard your whole core feels like it's being ripped to sheds by a weedwhacker
everything hurts. Fingernails, neck, back, legs. Even your hair hurts. Drying yourself off after the 5th shower of the day hurts.
Oh, and you puke. A lot. Not because you're queasy, because you cough so hard, it's like popping a bag of chips. Just as loud and startling, not as delicious.
It sucks, actually.
The San Diego Black Death strikes again. My boss is pissed (we'll see how she feels when she gets it) because I haven't been to work at all this week. And I'm not going tomorrow. So far this flu has cost me $500 in meds and lost wages as my job has no such thing as sick days. It's a good thing I have so many books, because that what will have to fill my free time next months. And I'll probably have to eat the cookbooks.
So here's a list of symptoms, in case you're feeling funky too.
You spine stiffens and swells
your eyes are on fire
someone shoved fistfulls of chili powder up your nose and left them there...for three days
you're coughing up chunks of things you know you haven't eaten
all your muscles are vibrating, all the time
you sweat and shiver all day
your jaw is sore from having your mouth open ALL the time
you have to be a conscious breather, and it's VERY hard to sleep when you have to remember to breathe
you have a ridiculously high fever, all the time
you drink and drink and never pee
you cough so hard your whole core feels like it's being ripped to sheds by a weedwhacker
everything hurts. Fingernails, neck, back, legs. Even your hair hurts. Drying yourself off after the 5th shower of the day hurts.
Oh, and you puke. A lot. Not because you're queasy, because you cough so hard, it's like popping a bag of chips. Just as loud and startling, not as delicious.
It sucks, actually.
It's Fa-fa-fa-fafaFRIDAAAY! Hooray!!!
I'm just happy at the prospect of being able to see a few of my neighbors. They're cool, and I'm crushing on one of them pretty hard.
Oh, don't worry, I'm not off the track to becoming a nun, this is probably one of those situations where the fantasy is better then the reality. Or so I'm going to keep telling myself. Whatever.
I've been having so much fun at work. I mean really, my job is to teach and delight children all day. How can you go wrong? A bad attitude and the little fuckers can really get on your nerves, but you know what? They're only reflecting your bad mood and lack of creativity. I've been making a concerted effort the last 2 weeks to respond so lovingly and understandingly (which I do about 90% of the time...) and the effect it's had on the mood in the classroom has been fucking phenomnal.
Don't worry, be happy.
I'm just happy at the prospect of being able to see a few of my neighbors. They're cool, and I'm crushing on one of them pretty hard.
Oh, don't worry, I'm not off the track to becoming a nun, this is probably one of those situations where the fantasy is better then the reality. Or so I'm going to keep telling myself. Whatever.
I've been having so much fun at work. I mean really, my job is to teach and delight children all day. How can you go wrong? A bad attitude and the little fuckers can really get on your nerves, but you know what? They're only reflecting your bad mood and lack of creativity. I've been making a concerted effort the last 2 weeks to respond so lovingly and understandingly (which I do about 90% of the time...) and the effect it's had on the mood in the classroom has been fucking phenomnal.
Don't worry, be happy.
*yawn*
I've had a bottle of wine. I'm sick. I might have mono. That kind of sucks, but it could be worse. My roommates are gone for the weekend, I'm freakin' horny! Damn WHY did I take that vow of celibacy!? I hate orange; I'm no monk! Grr grrr GRRR!
When I'm drunkn and alone you know what I do? I clean. And I blog. I should get drunk and kick my roommates out more often.
Noo, they're great. One is never home when i'm awake, and that's sad because he's like a barrel of monkeys without all the crap-flinging. Jen is always studying cause she's in law school. Cause it's hard and stuff. pfff. Guilty guilty guilty!!!!!!! GUILTY!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (That word looks so weird to me)
Fires and children: a deadlt combination. GREAT news headline. Go FOX news. Stupid kids. No, stupid parents. Who the FUCK leaves a lighter lying around when you have kids around!? WAKE UP YOU FUCKING MORONS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
GODDAMMIT, kids are curious, it's not their fault. It's YOUR fault! It's all your fault your kid is dead because you left a lighter where he could find it and/or you neglected to tell him about the dangers of fire!!
I am an angry angry drunk.
I've had a bottle of wine. I'm sick. I might have mono. That kind of sucks, but it could be worse. My roommates are gone for the weekend, I'm freakin' horny! Damn WHY did I take that vow of celibacy!? I hate orange; I'm no monk! Grr grrr GRRR!
When I'm drunkn and alone you know what I do? I clean. And I blog. I should get drunk and kick my roommates out more often.
Noo, they're great. One is never home when i'm awake, and that's sad because he's like a barrel of monkeys without all the crap-flinging. Jen is always studying cause she's in law school. Cause it's hard and stuff. pfff. Guilty guilty guilty!!!!!!! GUILTY!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (That word looks so weird to me)
Fires and children: a deadlt combination. GREAT news headline. Go FOX news. Stupid kids. No, stupid parents. Who the FUCK leaves a lighter lying around when you have kids around!? WAKE UP YOU FUCKING MORONS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
GODDAMMIT, kids are curious, it's not their fault. It's YOUR fault! It's all your fault your kid is dead because you left a lighter where he could find it and/or you neglected to tell him about the dangers of fire!!
I am an angry angry drunk.
Today I woke at 6 and sat on the corner of my bed and thought of all the things I'm happy about.
I went to work where I squashed flowers with hammers, painted with pine needles, planted carrots in dixie cups, built a sand castle, played hide-and-seek, danced and made general merriement all over the place. I tried to rescue a pigeon who'd found his way into the Shul, but he wouldn't come down off the ceiling lamp. His butt was probably all warm and toasty, "fuck that rainy weather outside," I bet is what he was thinking. I left him a handful of cheerios on the floor and I will just have to call Project Wildlife first thing in the morning.
I came home, had dinner and a glass of wine, and here I am. Everything is OK. It's raining really, REALLY hard out there.
I went to work where I squashed flowers with hammers, painted with pine needles, planted carrots in dixie cups, built a sand castle, played hide-and-seek, danced and made general merriement all over the place. I tried to rescue a pigeon who'd found his way into the Shul, but he wouldn't come down off the ceiling lamp. His butt was probably all warm and toasty, "fuck that rainy weather outside," I bet is what he was thinking. I left him a handful of cheerios on the floor and I will just have to call Project Wildlife first thing in the morning.
I came home, had dinner and a glass of wine, and here I am. Everything is OK. It's raining really, REALLY hard out there.
Sheesh. It's been a while. I've just kinda been plodding through life. Exciting things have happened, boring days have passed, beauty has been witnessed, ugliness has been provoked or ignored. You know, the usual.
I moshed for the first time ever this last Friday. I went to go see Social D and the U.S. Bombs all by myself. I had had a monumentally stressful week and just needed to let it go. It was so weird, because my job requires me to say, countless times a day, things like "your hands are not for hitting your friends", or "hitting is not ok." So while I was punching big muscle-y dudes there was quite the inner moral conflict raging. I'm not sure which side won, because while I held my own (ok, I didn't stomp around inciting shenanigans perse, but I defended myself and had fun throwing people back in. I was a periphary mosher.) I also acidentally flat-palmed someone in the nose and, in the midst of all the chaos, very gingerly took his face in my hands and made sure he was ok. Dork.
U.S. Bombs were way too gross and punk for me, and Social D was a little disappointing. I know I like a lot of their songs, but they only played one or two of those. The rest I didn't really know.
I finally have an MP3 player, and am loving Napster. I went for a walk in the rain with all my new music today and tried to do some reflection and meditation on Sunset Cliffs while listening to Loius Armstrong sing "What a Wonderful World" ad nauseum while watching pelicans skim over breaking waves and grey whales migrate south. Neato. I feel good.
Now I'm off to go track down a cheap dresser, a large corkboard, something delightful and soft for a baby girl, the universe's most perfect socks and some groceries. Bye!
The sun just came out!
I moshed for the first time ever this last Friday. I went to go see Social D and the U.S. Bombs all by myself. I had had a monumentally stressful week and just needed to let it go. It was so weird, because my job requires me to say, countless times a day, things like "your hands are not for hitting your friends", or "hitting is not ok." So while I was punching big muscle-y dudes there was quite the inner moral conflict raging. I'm not sure which side won, because while I held my own (ok, I didn't stomp around inciting shenanigans perse, but I defended myself and had fun throwing people back in. I was a periphary mosher.) I also acidentally flat-palmed someone in the nose and, in the midst of all the chaos, very gingerly took his face in my hands and made sure he was ok. Dork.
U.S. Bombs were way too gross and punk for me, and Social D was a little disappointing. I know I like a lot of their songs, but they only played one or two of those. The rest I didn't really know.
I finally have an MP3 player, and am loving Napster. I went for a walk in the rain with all my new music today and tried to do some reflection and meditation on Sunset Cliffs while listening to Loius Armstrong sing "What a Wonderful World" ad nauseum while watching pelicans skim over breaking waves and grey whales migrate south. Neato. I feel good.
Now I'm off to go track down a cheap dresser, a large corkboard, something delightful and soft for a baby girl, the universe's most perfect socks and some groceries. Bye!
The sun just came out!
Ouch. Nothing sucks needlessly quite like injuring yourself in your sleep. I can't move my head at all. I took too much Percocet and I was breathing weird and couldn't stay awake. And it didn't help the pain.
I have better things to talk about, but I have to lie under a hotpak now.
To understate: fire SUCKS.
I have not been able to go to work this week, nor will I be able to for the rest of the week. My school was in the area first evacuated, and sadly most of the families I know live nearby. My friends the Dawsons came over early yesterday am for refuge and Challah French Toast. (When tragedy strikes, make food.) Then they continued to another safe spot, so hopefully they're fine. The mom wrote this morning saying they had been able to go back to the house to feed the fish and it was still standing, but they can't actually go home yet. I assume, since the school is a block away, that if it had burned down she would've said something. I'm so glad I didn't take my frog to school last week like I was going to.
I've never been affected by a natural disaster before, and suffice it to say I'm a little gloomier than usual. Being at home is awesome, but being stuck n the house because it hurts to breathe outside sucks. Hooray for two days of doing nothing but watching tv and eating. My body fucking HATES me right now.
If the school survives, that's great. But I wonder what enrollment will be like. I wonder how the community will change...I know one of my co-workers has already lost her condo, and at least one of the families has lost their home. The only nice thing has been going down to Qualcomm, my roommate and I, to drop off blankets and pillows to help the people there, and seeing the outpouring of generosity and goodwill and helpful spirits was really good.
Fire is just the scariest thing. When I was little it was the monster in my biggest baddest nightmares. Remeber the Disney shorts, where Mickey and Donald and Goofy were firefighters and they had to chase all the mischievous little flames with little legs, running all over the place, hiding in corners and pulling apart ladders splinter by splinter? Nasty little things. Wathing this fire all over the news isn't much different. Disney may have cutie-pied it, but fire definitely has a life of its own, is definitely mischievous, and has a real bad attitude. This is some scary shit, I just hope everyone continues to stay safe and can pull together after all is said and done.
I have not been able to go to work this week, nor will I be able to for the rest of the week. My school was in the area first evacuated, and sadly most of the families I know live nearby. My friends the Dawsons came over early yesterday am for refuge and Challah French Toast. (When tragedy strikes, make food.) Then they continued to another safe spot, so hopefully they're fine. The mom wrote this morning saying they had been able to go back to the house to feed the fish and it was still standing, but they can't actually go home yet. I assume, since the school is a block away, that if it had burned down she would've said something. I'm so glad I didn't take my frog to school last week like I was going to.
I've never been affected by a natural disaster before, and suffice it to say I'm a little gloomier than usual. Being at home is awesome, but being stuck n the house because it hurts to breathe outside sucks. Hooray for two days of doing nothing but watching tv and eating. My body fucking HATES me right now.
If the school survives, that's great. But I wonder what enrollment will be like. I wonder how the community will change...I know one of my co-workers has already lost her condo, and at least one of the families has lost their home. The only nice thing has been going down to Qualcomm, my roommate and I, to drop off blankets and pillows to help the people there, and seeing the outpouring of generosity and goodwill and helpful spirits was really good.
Fire is just the scariest thing. When I was little it was the monster in my biggest baddest nightmares. Remeber the Disney shorts, where Mickey and Donald and Goofy were firefighters and they had to chase all the mischievous little flames with little legs, running all over the place, hiding in corners and pulling apart ladders splinter by splinter? Nasty little things. Wathing this fire all over the news isn't much different. Disney may have cutie-pied it, but fire definitely has a life of its own, is definitely mischievous, and has a real bad attitude. This is some scary shit, I just hope everyone continues to stay safe and can pull together after all is said and done.
Why do I always feel the need to write when I feel crappy? Why can't I write nice things? I know I'm just being hormonal, that's the worst of it. Being a chick is like being an unwilling paranoid crackhead. Once a month, the fucking universe and everything in it is out to get me.
I read an article here in the SD Reader about how Barbarella, a local columnist, used to be fat. (BTW, I am sorta fat. Sorta...uber-fat.) And it was like reading something I've written. I enjoyed it, was a little saddened by it, but nevertheless, I wasn't offended or anything. Just kind of a "good-for-her" response, put down the paper and go get myself a sandwich. What fucking offended me was the article I read in response to the original. Some lady who'd been skinny all her life and is now fat due to some athletic injury (HA! Oh the IRONY!) is pissed because now she's viewed as societal untouchable and smelly and lazy and she can't believe how now that she's fat she feels invisible and blah blah blah...Her letter made her sound like a bitter, whiny spoiled brat. And I KNOW from bitter and whiny. What I didn't appreciate was her throwing all this information in my face: the puffy, distorted face of a "Forever-fat girl". Not only does it hurt to be reminded of this so that now, when I go out I feel all those judgemental eyes that I might only have suspected before, I hear the laughter I thought was just a giggle about something having nothing to do with me, and being introduced to a friend of a friend of a friend who can't even bring himself to look at me when he shakes my hand and asks me how I'm "doon" is because either he's embarassed that he has to talk to me or is embarassed for me. Now I notice these things. These are things one simply CANNOT understand if one isn't fat, and that, if you are fat, you try your best to ignore because it could cripple you if you pay attention. It's like daydreaming the details of your own firey death in a car crash while you're driving down the freeway. It's not a good idea, and if you're lucky enough to get back into your house, you don't want to leave again.
But you know what? Now, I find myself kind of stuck. See, this chick, who is a newbie to being a sprawling sack of blubber is upset by her new plague of invisibility, I have been a lardass since the second grade. (I lost any friends I had because I let it slip that I didn't believe in God, and I couldn't climb the rope ladder. It wasn't because I was fat, it was because I had a FUCKING FEAR OF HEIGHTS. Try telling that to a class of shitkickers who'd already made up their tiny little god-fearing minds.) ANYWAY, my point is, she is used to getting all the attention and being in a glittering spotlight and is sad because now the spotlight is on her thin friends. Me, I've NEVER had the spotlight. I am NOT used to that shit. So on the odd occasion that the fucking thing does hit me, I become too terrified to move gracefully, to say ANYTHING intelligent, or to do anything but sit with my shoulders hunched up around my ears and a shit-eating ear-to-ear perma-grin that says LOOK AT ME THIS IS SO FUN! WOW THIS IS FUN! WHEEEE! WHEN THE FUCK CAN I GO HOME!?!?!?
SO. In light of this realization, how the fuck am I supposed to be able to lose weight? When I look in the mirror, I see the thin girl I must've eaten in order to get this grotesque. I see muscles, and smooth skin and a pretty jawline. But I can't even fathom that fucking spotlight. I lost like 70 lbs. once. I felt like a strong breeze could've knocked me right over. And at that point, I still had another 40 or 50 to go.
The more I write, the more I realize this way of thinking is dooming me to a lonely life punctuated by an early grave. And what's really scaring me is that...it's kind of ok with me. I just wish things would move along.
The second order of business is that I have a friend who is no longer my friend, but he doesn't know that yet. Our relationship has consisted of him lifting my spirits 5% of the time, and being a heartbreaking disappointment the other 95%. The final straw was two weeks ago. My best friend in the world was getting married, and her own father was too big of a douchebag to show up to walk her down the aisle, so she asked this guy, her "soul brother from another mother" so to speak. He bailed last minute. No apology, no anything. He hasn't even called her to see if she got back from her honeymoon ok. This was the action the led me to see the mountain of shitty things he's done to people compared to the molehill of superficially nice things he's done.
He has major drug problems. That's why he's been shitty. This is no excuse, but it's his reason. I've offered all my rope to him that I can, and I'm simply tired of putting up with the bullshit, the lies and the undeserved rockstar attitude. At the same time, I don't feel the need to make him feel any worse about himself than he does inside anyway, and isn't that usually why addicts continue to be addicts? I just want to fade from his life and forget him. But he deserves a grandiose fuck you and some hard-core comeuppance. He keeps calling. What do I do?
On the upside, I made some little kids feel good about themselves today, and I bought myself a Looney Tunes collection on dvd. Hooray.
I read an article here in the SD Reader about how Barbarella, a local columnist, used to be fat. (BTW, I am sorta fat. Sorta...uber-fat.) And it was like reading something I've written. I enjoyed it, was a little saddened by it, but nevertheless, I wasn't offended or anything. Just kind of a "good-for-her" response, put down the paper and go get myself a sandwich. What fucking offended me was the article I read in response to the original. Some lady who'd been skinny all her life and is now fat due to some athletic injury (HA! Oh the IRONY!) is pissed because now she's viewed as societal untouchable and smelly and lazy and she can't believe how now that she's fat she feels invisible and blah blah blah...Her letter made her sound like a bitter, whiny spoiled brat. And I KNOW from bitter and whiny. What I didn't appreciate was her throwing all this information in my face: the puffy, distorted face of a "Forever-fat girl". Not only does it hurt to be reminded of this so that now, when I go out I feel all those judgemental eyes that I might only have suspected before, I hear the laughter I thought was just a giggle about something having nothing to do with me, and being introduced to a friend of a friend of a friend who can't even bring himself to look at me when he shakes my hand and asks me how I'm "doon" is because either he's embarassed that he has to talk to me or is embarassed for me. Now I notice these things. These are things one simply CANNOT understand if one isn't fat, and that, if you are fat, you try your best to ignore because it could cripple you if you pay attention. It's like daydreaming the details of your own firey death in a car crash while you're driving down the freeway. It's not a good idea, and if you're lucky enough to get back into your house, you don't want to leave again.
But you know what? Now, I find myself kind of stuck. See, this chick, who is a newbie to being a sprawling sack of blubber is upset by her new plague of invisibility, I have been a lardass since the second grade. (I lost any friends I had because I let it slip that I didn't believe in God, and I couldn't climb the rope ladder. It wasn't because I was fat, it was because I had a FUCKING FEAR OF HEIGHTS. Try telling that to a class of shitkickers who'd already made up their tiny little god-fearing minds.) ANYWAY, my point is, she is used to getting all the attention and being in a glittering spotlight and is sad because now the spotlight is on her thin friends. Me, I've NEVER had the spotlight. I am NOT used to that shit. So on the odd occasion that the fucking thing does hit me, I become too terrified to move gracefully, to say ANYTHING intelligent, or to do anything but sit with my shoulders hunched up around my ears and a shit-eating ear-to-ear perma-grin that says LOOK AT ME THIS IS SO FUN! WOW THIS IS FUN! WHEEEE! WHEN THE FUCK CAN I GO HOME!?!?!?
SO. In light of this realization, how the fuck am I supposed to be able to lose weight? When I look in the mirror, I see the thin girl I must've eaten in order to get this grotesque. I see muscles, and smooth skin and a pretty jawline. But I can't even fathom that fucking spotlight. I lost like 70 lbs. once. I felt like a strong breeze could've knocked me right over. And at that point, I still had another 40 or 50 to go.
The more I write, the more I realize this way of thinking is dooming me to a lonely life punctuated by an early grave. And what's really scaring me is that...it's kind of ok with me. I just wish things would move along.
The second order of business is that I have a friend who is no longer my friend, but he doesn't know that yet. Our relationship has consisted of him lifting my spirits 5% of the time, and being a heartbreaking disappointment the other 95%. The final straw was two weeks ago. My best friend in the world was getting married, and her own father was too big of a douchebag to show up to walk her down the aisle, so she asked this guy, her "soul brother from another mother" so to speak. He bailed last minute. No apology, no anything. He hasn't even called her to see if she got back from her honeymoon ok. This was the action the led me to see the mountain of shitty things he's done to people compared to the molehill of superficially nice things he's done.
He has major drug problems. That's why he's been shitty. This is no excuse, but it's his reason. I've offered all my rope to him that I can, and I'm simply tired of putting up with the bullshit, the lies and the undeserved rockstar attitude. At the same time, I don't feel the need to make him feel any worse about himself than he does inside anyway, and isn't that usually why addicts continue to be addicts? I just want to fade from his life and forget him. But he deserves a grandiose fuck you and some hard-core comeuppance. He keeps calling. What do I do?
On the upside, I made some little kids feel good about themselves today, and I bought myself a Looney Tunes collection on dvd. Hooray.
