Sunday, January 23, 2011

That doesn't help.

Insert here.

Screw you, you ARE still fat, you didn't get the body you wanted I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you.
I don't know if it's just this stupid cold, but the past few days I have not felt like socializing AT ALL.

And that stupid thing keeps coming back I hate youIhateyouIhateyouIhateyouIhateyou.

Friday, January 21, 2011


I had another one of those epiphanies the other night.
I'm not fat anymore. I'm. Not. Fat. Any. More.
I used to equate "fat" with "me", so now, outside of these epiphanies, I can't imagine myself as not fat, because if there's no fatness, there's no me.

I don't feel any smaller. When you're fat you imagine that, if you lost weight, you could feel your fat bubble around you, and imagine your skinny self aware of that feeling. It doesn't work that way. When you're thin, you still fill out your skin.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011


Today I lost a $50 check, I unintentionally might have not yielded to a car because I was tired and distracted, my life flashed before my eyes when an idiot driver passed a car a hundred feet in front of me on a double yellow line, and came home tired and hungry from seven hours of babysitting to a mess of a kitchen and no dinner even begun.
Excuse me while I wallow in self-pity.

And now I am so weary. Why is this always the case? I come away from any more than a few hours of social activity, and I just want to sit down and zone out and weep and never wake up.

I hate everything.

Also, I think I have a nothing box.

Saturday, January 15, 2011

What are you?

I'm sorry.
I couldn't quit thinking about feeling that... thing bloom in my head, like paint dropped into a jar of water, I'm sorrysorrysorrysorry.
I think he does that on purpose- waits for a time when he knows you'll be most convicted afterwards, and then. pounce. He does a good job, clean cut, no mess on his part.
I can't think about it anymore.

Now, in this moment, I guess this is feeling God. He feels good. Soft, but not fuzzy. Gentle, but not weak. Gracious, but not incapable. Loving, but not naive.
Why can't I seem to carry Him with me?
"God", "Bible", "church", and my immediate thoughts involve peppermints during the offering and waiting for our dinner time prayers to be over so we can just get on with it.

I remember curling up on the church seats and putting my hands over my infected ears because the music was too loud. Rolling around and kicking on my bedroom floor on Sunday mornings, screaming that I wished I was dead, or that everything was perfect. Begging for Altoids and more stories, because my stomach hurt. Fourth grade, talking with the counselor every recess hour about stomach aches and stupid friends. Sitting at my desk at home with my little blue decorated notebook, turning inward on myself. Resting on the couch, wrapped up in an afghan because I was too tired to do anything.
I don't think things are supposed to work the way they did.
But I'm thankful for this moment.

Saturday, January 8, 2011

N. O.

I. am. not. interested. in. boys.
I hate it when they can't take a hint.

Friday, January 7, 2011

Aeiou. Y.

I bought my mom a kitchen timer for Wisemen's Day. She's using it right now. It ticks very quiety about three times per second. I have to synchronize my chewing and toe-tapping with it.

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Hippopotamus toes.

In second grade, I missed two weeks of school for a stomach ache. The doctors prescribed Zantac and told me I had acid reflux. But looking back, I'm positive I did not. I don't remember my esophagus burning or stomach cramping. What I remember is a dull pain and buzzing in my head that only flared up when I thought about it.
I was anxious. I was just anxious.
And as I got older, I just learned to ignore the stomach ache. I dealt with anxiety with a behavior that was almost obsessive-compulsive. Double- and triple- checking to make sure that I'd done all my homework and it was all packed up and ready to go in my backpack. Agonizing over not forgetting a napkin or fork or whatever I needed for my lunch. I cried once when I forgot my flute, because it was the second time that quarter, so I'd get a detention. The only thing I ever let slip was my library fine.
And then I dropped out. I'm sort of proud of that.
Now I can dream about things. I've derailed my mind from the average track, and I've learned that I don't have to go to college, that there are ways of travelling that don't include minivans and tents or airplanes and hotels, that people dance inside cubes and hoops and fabric suspended from the air, that there is a circus guild twenty minutes from where I live, that people share houses sometimes, that hula-hooping is a sport, that pole dancing will be in the Olympics, that people volunteer all over the world in exchange for room and board, that there are houses made of mud and hay, that the devil can't read your mind, that Cool Whip is made of hydrogenated vegetable oil, that there are six negative emotions, that there is a thing called slam poetry, that gelatin is made from cow hooves, that there is a difference between carbs, protein, and fat, that car horns honk in the key of F, that manual is more fun than automatic transmission, that you have to pay taxes on cars from private sellers, that turkeys stink worse than pigs...
I still need help solving quadratic equations and remembering the order of the Bill of Rights, but I can read you the poem I wrote last night, and I can play you one of Chopin's nocturnes, and I can show you what hoop dance looks like, and I can bake you a damn good batch of cookies.

I'm going to pray for you.

Monday, January 3, 2011

Well maybe.

I've sort of begun writing a book. The few words I've written so far are all jumbled and chaotic, but if God wills it, it won't be too hard to organize when I'm finished. If I finish.
I will finish.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Feasible things.

Happy New Year. Merry Christmas. Happy Hannukah. Joyful Kwanzaa.
Sweet Jesus hold me and let me breathe.