_____day

I cried last night (burbling up, surprising)

had some–probably psychosomatic–scar-area pain;

but trends seem to indicate that it will hurt less each year.

Anna is DEATHFATZ, Long Live Anna

So I weighed myself for the first time in about two years? According to the (*cough*crap*cough*) BMI, I am oh so morbidly obese, and have probably been for some time. Get this, at my thinnest, I was still “overweight” (I weighed more than 136 pounds) and have been “obese” since before I had kids.

Will I lose weight as I become more active in the weeks and months to come? Your guess is as good as mine. (Lord willing, with this move I will be getting healthier.)  But if I weigh myself again in two years and am not at least “overweight”, call the doctor, ’cause I’ll be dying.

As for now, I kinda like the ring of deathfat. Wheeeee!

Oh but TV birth scenes are horrible. I thought I was going to get through this one in St. Elsewhere, because hello,  guest star Robert Picardo! But purple pushing, episiotomy, baby in need of resuscitation and the doctor not telling the parents what was going on…it was all too much so I changed the channel for a little bit. When somebody who respects women and knows something about empowered birth (ooh, maybe, you know, A WOMAN) gets a different kind of birth scene on the air, the world won’t know what hit it. And I won’t change the channel.

The Lesson

“When I have a baby, bad things happen.”

That is the lesson I have learned.

Nice Guys, Jerks, and Godly Men

The most recent post at Shapely Prose takes a look at the problem of the Nice Guy, and proposes that the Nice Guy and the Jerk are pretty much the same. Nice Guyness rests on the idea that if the guy in question acts [and sometimes it is an act] nice enough towards the woman he desires, then she in turn should recognize his efforts and reward him with what he wants–a chance, a date…
Yeah, read the post and some comments.

What is missing in the Jerk and the Nice Guy is the recognition of a woman as a whole person with the right to say no for any (or no) reason, with a life encompassing more than her potential romantic relationships.

I’m sure I’ve heard about another way.

Treat younger men as brothers, older women as mothers, and younger women as sisters, with absolute purity.

In this context, a man who would follow God is called beyond [selfish, calculating] Niceness and into absolute purity. Treat women as mothers and sisters? Yeah, that changes things just a bit.

Not aiming this at anyone in particular. But I do have a son (who loves his sister and mother, so he’s off to a good start.) We’ll see how this goes.

It Ends Quietly

A month from today, Lord willing, we fly.

A week from today is the last work night, and then we start moving out of the flat.

I’ve packed up my craft supplies (that’s what’s important, right?) and started taking apart the painted boxes, but clothes…oh clothes.

A handful of sizes and dozens of pounds past, and I don’t want to just dump them at a second-hand place. I came here [newly wed, happy, on the verge of growing up and learning and experiencing and yeah, getting hurt so much] with these clothes, and I’m leaving this place a different person.

Dumping the clothes feels like letting go of some of the last shreds of the girl who moved here nearly four years ago. Maybe that’s stupid, but it seems like a kind of grieving.

Of all the things to grieve, right? I am leaving family here, and friends. The first church I chose as my own. The flat where I gave birth. Rain and history and all the little things I won’t notice again until they’re gone.

And it all ends so quietly. One day at a time.

Going

It’s obvious by now that this is one of those pick-lint-out-of-my-belly-button-for-all-to-see blogs. If I held a higher standard for myself I would write even less than I do already. My first blog was born of depression in darkness, and this one continues in hope but still in solitude. Will it survive my new life?

Waking

In my dream the evil–robot women?–chased and threatened me, desirous of fashion. Maybe they were a bit of crazy me.

In my waking I can dwell on what I will eat and drink and wear, and what the world will think of me because of these things. In my long night hours I can absorb…messages from someone. Will it be them, or him?

I am to be adorned not (only? at all?) with gold or braided hair, but with good deeds. Not giving way to fear.

What goes into my body doesn’t make me unclean, but what comes out of my heart can.

And I am glad that these long nights are numbered. They can do my head in.

Relational Insights, Devolving Into Rant

The conversation going on on my facebook profile has made me think. Save for my sister, everyone commenting who is related to me seems to have a very different perspective on the subject at hand than I do. Non-relatives, while not completely aligned with me, have made more palatable contributions.

You can’t pick your friend’s nose or your family tree. Or something.

The people we choose to associate ourselves with will probably share with us some common views of the world.

Thank God that we can pick our friends.

Thank God for blood ties stronger than politics.

Yeah, I’m definitely fat, and it’s fine that you notice. You can even mention it. Your intentional weight loss doesn’t particularly disturb me, either–it’s your body and your choice. I choose not to abuse my body with calorie restriction or my heart with self-hatred or my mind by believing everything the medical types say. But you knew that.
*shrug*
No offense.