So, on a close friend's wall, I was just subject to a fat joke. Which I didn't even notice/get.  My friend apologized fiercely, and is verging on cutting the guy out of his friends list over it.  I'm...like already over it.  Or, it didn't even phase me.  I had to explain to him, I've been fat all my life, and the word "fat" doesn't even have negative connotations anymore.  At worst, it's like describing me. I have green eyes. I have tattoos. I'm fat.  At best, I told him, it's positive.  As in.  "Yeah, I'm fat.  I get laid every fucking day.  YOU WISH YOU LOOKED THIS GOOD."  That's exactly how I worded it.

My whole life.  No amount of going to the gym, healthy eating, exercise, bicycle, yoga, pilates, belly dancing, weight training, calorie counting, vegetarianism...nothing...changes my essential shape.  I've converted about sixty pounds of this fat into muscle, but I'm still not even remotely thin, and I probably never will be, and what's more, I don't want to be.  It doesn't trouble me.

I feel the muscles rippling under my generous padding.  I'm ridiculously flexible.  I'm strong.  I'm light on my feet.  I'm graceful. I'm resilient.  I literally carry my own weight, well.  I've worked hard on this body, and I can work hard with it. It's amazing what I can do.  Sometimes, I amaze myself.

Turns out, being fat is good for me.

I've spent a lot of time figuring out how to dress, and how to maximize the potential of my finer qualities. I'm beautiful, I have gorgeous eyes and a wonderful, genuine, generous smile.  So, I focus on smiling a lot, genuinely.  I love looking at people, and looking in their eyes.  My skin is velvety.  I spend a good deal of time making sure it stays that way.  My shoulders are sexy, so I show them off.  My breasts are amazing. I show them off.  My legs and ass are strong and muscular, I show them off.  My belly is soft and lush to the touch, I love touching it, and I love having it touched  It really does feel nice squishing about in my hands.  My narrow hips are surprising. They're bony and sexy, and they make very convenient handles.  I have spent a lot of time acquainting myself with my body.  It's a delicious sensual experience, it's a playground, and a temple.   It's both primal and refined.  It's all good.

I care about how I represent myself to the world.  I never want to be unpolished, or sloppy.  I feel like not only do I represent myself, but all women of a certain size.  Every morning, I get up caring about my looks, and how I show myself to the world.  I want to do us proud.  Not only that, but I want to look good for my guys. I want them to be proud to walk next to me, and show me off.  I want to turn them on, and I want to be attractive.

Because of my size, I've worked very hard to find self love, and self acceptance.  Many people never even think about this, but it's something that I have smashed myself against for many years.  I've arrived now.  I don't cringe at my photographs anymore. I don't shy away from full length mirrors anymore (in fact, I embrace them, so I can get a good look at the tattoos I don't normally see).  I'm going to the beach Friday.  I'm going to look hot as hell in my bathing suit.  This journey was all on my own.  Luiz has written sonnets about my body, but until I completely internalized it, they were meaningless to me.  It's all about what goes on within.  If I weren't fat, would I have spent so much time self actualizing?  Who knows?

Because I'm fat, when I was younger, I worked SO hard on being a good person that people would like no matter what.  I try to be tactful and charming. I'm fucking hilarious. I've studied great comedians, timing and delivery.  I was always fat, and I had no friends when I was a kid... so I read whole libraries worth of books.  I'm brilliant, I'm educated, and I continue to be well read.  Rather than hanging out and being shallow with the cool kids...I devoted every spare bit of time to learning learning learning.  I've watched scores and scores of good movies.  I taught myself to write, draw, and paint, and to cook.  Immersed myself in countless hours of exquisite music. I've learned the art of conversation. Without the distraction of banal social bullshit, I've also learned to be alone with myself, and relish my own company.  I've learned to never be bored.

Because I already look different, I never tried to fit in.  I've always been an outcast, so I thrived in that role, turned it on its ear, and made being the "outcast" something positive.  I physically stand out from the crowd, so why not everything else?

I've learned who I can trust, I've learned more than I ever wanted to know about how other people view me, for better or worse.  I've developed lightning flash intuition.  Being fat has conveniently cut many people out of my life, simply because they had a problem with my size.  That makes things nice. Never a need to worry I'm wasting energy on the wrong people. They show their hand early on.

I've also learned to look past everyone's physical appearances, and all superficial criteria, and to not judge anyone by anything, ever.  Being judged hurts, I've learned.  So, I don't do it.

Because I'm fat, I've worked extra hard learning about nutrition and good health.  I have more risks to worry about, of course, which means I go the extra mile to keep myself healthy.  I take lots of extra care, with getting a balanced diet.  But, also, I love myself enough to eat with relish and abandon. Self denial is not in my vocabulary (about anything, really).  It's a fine balance.

Here's the thing about self denial.  I don't do it. Not for love, not for sex, not for just doing whatever the fuck I want.  I will never deny myself a worthwhile sensual experience, no matter how it shows up, and sometimes, that means food.  Or sometimes it means just stepping out of my jeans and wading into the ocean in my panties.  I love myself, and I would never deny myself anything. Just like, I would never deny my loved ones anything.  I love you, so I will never deny you anything.  We talked about love today a lot, too.  I think, somewhere in the cosmos, my weight is just me wearing my "Refuser of None" nature on my frame.  I won't turn down an amazing meal made with love. I won't speculate about calories, or potential consequences. If someone (including myself, because I love myself) fixes me a delicious meal, or takes me out..then I embrace it with full openness and really fucking live that moment, taking in every bit.

My friend. He was so appalled on my behalf, so protective, so hurt.  I'm not.  He's gained a lot of weight in the past few years, and I think it's settling on him nicely.  He looks very rugged and deliciously primal.  I don't think he's ok with his size, yet.  I think that's why he freaked out.  A shot at my fatness was a shot at him.  I want to empower him, so he doesn't feel self conscious about that kind of thing either.  He's beautiful.  I am too.

another sorta beach dream

I had a dream that I remember!  It doesn't feel especially significant, except that it had a load of recurring elements in it, that show up in other dreams.  Maybe as I write it, I'll get it.  Why so many Asian girls? Why the color scheme?   Why a school setting?  It's always school or a resort.  In this case, the apartment felt resort-like, it had a dreamy vacation feel, but it wasn't a huge communal thing like they are mostly.



I was in some class, like a drafting class, or something about technical drawing. The classroom had lots of long tables, and I recall there being lots of tools and accessories scattered around, and we all sat at long tables, shoulder to shoulder.  It was crowded.  I sat next to a young Korean girl, maybe in her early 20's.  We became friends, and she invited me to her house. Only "me" was "us" but I can't recall who was with me, they didn't really show up in my dream, except that there was a distinct "us" feeling about it.  So, we went to her place. It was a really nice sort of studio apartment, with a second floor mezzanine circling the main room, and it was directly on the beach.  Like, walk out the door onto sand.  The dominant colors were blue and white and grey, also, windswept and not at all sunny which seems to be typical beach colors for my dream. Muted, cool.  Every beach is the same pale grey sand, blue sky, grey-blue water.

So, she invited us to her place, and she hunted all over the apartment for food.  She wound up feeding us the Korean equivalent to fancy party food, like appetizers, and delicious little sweets.  It was a pleasant experience.  There was a lot of fun and kinda had a "girly sleep over" feel, with laughing and being playful.

We saw each other in school later, and were still very friendly, laughing about the previous day.  Everything seemed totally cool.  Halfway through the class, her mother showed up, furious, looking for the people that ate her food.  The girl apologized to the mother, and was deeply ashamed.  It wasn't her place, she lived with parents, and they were just out for the day.  She moved away from me, and I got the distinct feeling that the friendship was over, just like that.  Then, shortly after, a bunch of new people flooded into the class, and while I was up talking to the girl and her mother, they took my seat, got rid of my stuff, and I was the only one left standing.  As if I never had a spot, to begin with.  Massive anxiety.  So, I left the class.

The last thing I remember was being outside, by that beach again, which was also close to the class room, leaning over a rail.  Outside, I felt distinctly better, and had that "us" feeling again.  I saw people I recognized off in the distance, hanging out on the beach, people I liked and felt comfortable around, and it went a long way to making me feel better.





I'll read this a few times, and figure out what it could mean.  It didn't bother me, and it didn't feel all that significant.

[4] I'm writing a lot more now.  Sometimes I just need to be kicked into motion.

Insomnia tonight.  Insomnia every "night before". I feel like a kid on Christmas. Too wound up to sleep. I literally started writing a shopping list, for tomorrow, and cleaning the bathroom.  I try to fill the whole day with stuff, because if I sit idle, I'm liable to start biting my nails again.  Who the fuck am I kidding? There is no sitting idle.  There is only nervous energy.

It's a good feeling.  I hope it never wears off.  That anticipation and longing that comes with being in love, and loved.

I thought I was going to write earlier, but playing Borderlands 2 with Tutt and Luiz was offered, so I went with that.  I turned down playing last night, so I could sit in quiet contemplation. I needed it after yesterday.  Tonight was fun.  Sometimes, it's just because I can laugh for two hours straight, and it brings me back to old times, so many times over.  Back to 2005, when Tutt and I first met and created our adventuring team.  Thousands of needless deaths, and like at least fifteen games later, we're still a total horror show.  When we both first started playing Star Wars: The Old Republic, last year, we were both in this lavish city, and we spied some decorative pit in the center, filled with white light.  As one, totally spontaneously, we both went charging for the railing and dove over it...and died.  Luiz went on a 30 minute tirade about our antics, and how we should have grown out of them already.  What can I say? I'm eternally a kid.  Tutt and I have gotten into some hilarious trouble together, and I wouldn't trade that for any amount of headshots in the world.  What are the stories we tell, five, ten years down the line? The fucking funny ones.

I get that Tutt doesn't have a load of joy in his life right now, so I'm glad he's got this escapism.  It's good for all of us.

Looking forward to tomorrow night.  Looking forward to making some Thai food and drinking some Maker's.

[6]  I don't generally sit to write like this, but I'm on a tear.  I did a huge cathartic bunch of writing today. The medicinal kind.  If it doesn't fix anything else, just the putting it out will fix my heart and answer my questions.

I must be fine now, because I'm watching darkwave videos and my skin feels slightly carbonated. Sisters of Mercy reminds me of the best time I ever had in my life, being ignored.  I think about that time a lot, because this time of year is when it hit it's inevitable and violent turn.

I looked through all the bands in my iTunes. Studied each band thinking if that was the direction I wanted to take tonight.  I wanted Steve Earle, I have to take a break from that album. I keep hovering over it, and deciding against it.  I'm obsessing some.  I hope it doesn't become some tragic soundtrack in my life like Sisters.  So, I went Peter Murphy.  His sound is so acidic and acerbic it'll shatter anything clean, sterile even.  Peter Murphy leads to Bauhaus leads to Sisters of Mercy.  Why am I so maudlin all of a sudden?

I haven't done this since Saturday.  Sunday I couldn't even. I would have thrown myself into the bay.  Monday I was too busy freaking out for Tuesday, the elections. Tuesday, the elections, and I was passed out by 10:30 on the couch.  So, tonight.  I'm glad of it tonight. After earlier, my heart is light.

Hearing his voice is like being wrapped in a rich warm blanket, the oldest, most comfortable, favorite.  It's got the power to blast my mind blank. We're so awkward with the talking.  We were awkward at everything, once upon a time. We get over it.

Is my head empty yet? It should be after earlier.  Just sloshing the last bits out.

I'm listening to Transcendental Blues, now.  I couldn't stay away. It fills my heart.  It's not all wonderful.  I've read the lyrics to "Everyone's in Love With You"  That's a little much.  Then there's "I Don't Want To Lose You Yet" which is the most perfect capture, the most hopeful, and the one I love the most.

I'm having fun here, listening and analyzing the lyrics, but I think I'm going to go immerse myself in the Scottish Highlands of 1743.  I love this book, Outlander.  Lots of lush setting and purple prose.  Breathless sexuality.  Darkwave moody mood passed.

I know I'm abrasive.  I know it's a flaw.  I have the ability to be very diplomatic, I can talk fancy and sugar coat any damn thing. Around people I'm close with, I drop the pretense and diplomacy, and just say things straight, efficient, with no prose.  Apparently, this makes me abrasive.  Alright, I'll take that.

Let's not mistake that for mean, or irrational, or dramatic.  In fact, it's the opposite of those things.  Any of those other things add elements, like emotion or intent.  My abrasiveness removes all of that. Sometimes, yeah, it's not nice.  You could be very enthusiastic about something, and trying to convey that, and if I'm not at all on the same page, I'll say so.  It's ok to disagree.

Just because your ego is hypersensitive doesn't always mean that I'm the badguy.

My currency

So, Irv threw away my Nick Cave tickets, because he was being careless.  Nick Cave never tours, this was to be a once in a lifetime opportunity.  I've been bottling up my feelings about this for weeks, but it's given me stress, when I think about it. When he first admitted that he thought he chucked the envelope, he was sure to tell me at lunch in the center of a very small and crowded restaurant   I had an asthma attack because I was trying to stifle the tears that immediately came.  I didn't want to embarrass myself.

Today, it came up in discussion, because I tried to see if I could call about it, and basically in the confirmation email, it was pretty much stated that if lost, destroyed, whatever, they can't replace them.  Devastating. I've loved Nick Cave pretty much my whole adult life.  It became apparent, when I've been casting about among my myriad playlists to find something to put on and just have playing, that there are very few without Nick Cave.  I've been avoiding listening to him because it's depressing, and the gods know I don't need any more depressing shit right now.

Anyway, today, I broke down because the show is a week away, and there's no way to fix things.  I launched into a full on sob, fully inconsolable.  Irv tried to blame Alden maybe he picked them up, or maybe it was my fault for leaving them too near his desk, or..the cat, or sun spots, or aliens.  I was like "fuck you, and just apologize."  He's very bad at apologizing.  At first, he said "we can fix this, it'll be ok." I refuse to be pacified. It will very definitely not be ok.  10th row.  $200 for these fucking tickets.  Count Basie Theater. He was going to take me to Drew's, for dinner, then on to the city.  Once in a lifetime.  So, I'm angry.  I'm sad.  I married a Walling, the kind of guy who will sweep every paper off a surface, and shred them because one or two in the pile were garbage.  Which in light of all the bullshit that's been going on, is becoming some kind of fucking curse.  A Walling.  I'm crying a little about it right now. I ask for so little, you know?  I have a knot in my stomach.  This was my big Christmas present, and through all the heinous bullshit, this concert was to be the whole light of my spring.

This Walling also broke my netbook a few months ago, and refused to admit that or apologize, too.  He accidentally dumped a full, 12 oz. cup of tea with honey into the keyboard, right in front of me.  I let him use it after the flood, because he was too lazy to put his own computer back together.  The poor 'book still lives, but you can't type on it. To make the keypad work, one must literally slam the hell out of it.  I alluded to "saving up for a replacement".  And that's all that was said on the matter.  It hurt, because I work part time. I make a hundred bucks a week. I have no money, yet, I saved for months to buy this netbook, just two years ago. I loved that thing.  I took it whenever we went on vacation, and it lived upstairs in my room, on my hobby table.  I let him use it, he destroys it, moves on- no apologies...

So, today he wanted to go shopping, like spontaneously after my huge cry-fest over the tickets.  He finally decided to replace Alden's computer which died in the flood, too.  While we were at the store, he also bought me a new netbook, a really exceptionally nice one, top of the line, way better than the one he demolished.

Luiz was shopping with us, and he commented out of Irv's earshot "you know, this is a patch, this is his way of apologizing."  The tears, the anguish over the tickets is so real, so real, I'm *still* crying, even now.  This is not a demonstration, this is not a show.  I can't talk about it without choking up. I can't listen to my favorite artist without choking up all over again.  This is genuine pain.  And for my pain, I get a shiny new computer. I hate that.  I'm being bought.

I hate it, but I am fine taking it.  I'm conditioned to it.  My mother can't apologize either. She can't admit wrongdoing.  She used to beat the shit out of me, or let Earl beat the shit out of me, but...my god, I had the hottest suede boots in all of Memorial School.  Both my mother and Irv just, literally throw money at problems.  And you know what?  I will fucking take it.  I have to take something.  I am not too proud to accept this netbook.  No, I will never forget the Nick Cave tickets.  I will not be bought.  No, it does not make things better.  But, I will take it, because, I get so little.  Last year, I needed clothes so bad, my pants were dry rotting...and I had to beg, actually beg, for Irv to get me a few new pairs of leggings.  I will not feel like a heel for accepting material objects to pacify me, because I am NOT pacified.  You can throw money at me, I'll catch it, and I am still fucking angry.  It's just a currency I am used to dealing in.  It's shitty.  I'm struggling with not feeling horrible.  I'm also still crying.

I get why people "go postal" now.  I get why people strap themselves with bombs and run into giant corporate headquarter type buildings.  I understand why mothers just up and leave and never come back.  I get why a person could do that, or how.  When I was a kid working at 7-11, a co-worker, Tanya did that. A mother of two, in what looked like a fine marriage to a nice guy.  She just...told the kids she was going grocery shopping and never came back.  Called the family three days later from Iowa.  We were shocked, appalled.

I get it now.


I just fought down myriad urges like that, a while ago.  I stood up from my chair, sobbing furiously, looking for something heavy I could use to start tearing the walls down in this house. I want to kill this house. I want to destroy it.  I want to bomb it. I want to run away from it and everything about it.  I've been fighting tooth and nail to get this house fixed from all the Sandy damage.  We're looking at $70,000.00 damage.  Another $30,000.00 to lift the house four feet, out of the danger zone, as per town specifications.  We have $520.00 in the bank.  And we're living in this busted-ass house.  We've been fighting with our insurance company for four and a half months, and nothing.  Everything is a dead end.  I've never felt hopeless in my life. Really genuinely hopeless.  Today, I learned that.  One more letter, this time from the state, rejecting our claim, saying that it's not their jurisdiction, and they can't do anything about it.

The house has been fucked up and busted since October 29.  We've done the best we could to fix it and live here, but it's horrible. I feel like I'm suffocating. It's killing me, and sometimes I think- literally.  I spend most of my life thinking about it, doing paperwork, talking to countless nameless anonymous people, trying to get the insurance money that we're owed, that we've paid into all these years.  I don't want the moon. I just want my house fixed.  Not better than before. Just. Fixed.

One beacon of hope in this mess is through FEMA. We were approved for a $70,000.00 low interest (1%!!) loan through the Small Business Administration.  The payments will be $247.00 a month. Even I can swing that. It's less than we spend on beer, a month.

Here's why I want to run away forever, and not look back.  The Wallings are crazy.  Every Walling going back to Irv's great grandfather has been, and I am not kidding...committed for insanity.  His grandfather died in a mental hospital and buried in a pauper's grave.  His father was committed for months in the mental ward at Riverview.  Irv is following right in their footsteps.  Due to a long history of bad decisions, illiteracy, and general bad business sense, they've lost money, land, their lives to alcoholism...I could go on and on.  What I'm left with is Irv, who is showing signs of mental disorders.

Here's our loan, which I slaved for a month and a half to get, and get approved for. When I say, "we're losing the fight with the insurance company. I'll continue to fight, but right now, let's take this loan and get the house fixed."  He says, verbatim "The government is just looking for a new way to come take our house from us. That's all they want, is to take the house."  Which echoes through the generations. His father said that almost every day. His grandmother. His grandfather who died in the mental hospital.  That's his family mantra.  Meanwhile, I'm living in, literally, a house of shit, buried under this level of crazy.  I work my ass off, like a full time job, to get money anywhere I can, and I hit a brick wall of irrationality.

I can't obviously leave.  I did feel that so overwhelmingly, before, like I wanted to put on my shoes, hop in my car, and drive across the US to some anonymous location, and start a new life.  I went upstairs and cried myself to sleep, instead.  I haven't exactly stopped crying, for the past eight hours.