BulgingButtons

Not bad for a fat girl


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Overtaxed and Exhausted

No, not me. At least not at the moment. Just some things – expensive things at that – that make my life more comfortable. More than comfortable, do-able. What things? 11752433_10206222696840415_3969932574497247769_nMy car and my air conditioning system. I know.

Now if we were talking about a blender and a microwave, or a crock pot and an iron, or even a washer and dryer, I don’t think I would be as concerned, but the car and the air conditioner are both pretty important.

The car was giving me signs of distress before I left for vacation. It decided that it no longer wanted to keep the radio stations that I preset, so it wiped them all out. Twice. I should have taken it in then to get it checked out, but of course I didn’t.

That left my sweetheart in a bit of a lurch when it came time to pick us up at the airport. He drives a sporty little thing, so it made sense to take my car. Except that it wouldn’t start. Out came the jumper cables, and he got it going. Everything was fine until later, when it died again. Hello, AAA? Out they came and jumped it again, but the diagnostics indicated that a mere battery wasn’t the only issue. Cripes. It has since been towed to the dealership, and I am awaiting a call enumerating the myriad problems that my vintage 2006 vehicle has. I really just want it to run. Safely, of course. And with air conditioning.

Yes, air conditioning. I miss it already. That’s because although the AC guys were here this morning, it isn’t working. Current outdoor temperature? 106. It worked while they were here, of course. They poked and prodded and proclaimed that I just had some dirty filters and that must be why it quit working. Great. Of course they don’t have filters with them, and I don’t have a car to get to the store to get some new ones. Meanwhile, the inside temperature is doing its best to catch up with the outside temperature.

The car is tired. It’s a good car. The AC unit is tired too. It’s been here since the eighties. I just hope I can keep both of these work horses going a bit longer. Please, keep your fingers crossed for me.


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Crossing the Line 

I’m not sure exactly when it happened, but at some point over the past few months, I crossed the line. I entered the realm of the really really fat, and it sucks.

I’m not the same person I was just a little while ago, at least not physically. I’m achy, my joints are stiff, and my range of motion is limited. Simple tasks have taken on a new complexity that, frankly, is ridiculous.

If you’ve been with me for a while, you may recall my fear of flying. It wasn’t the flying itself I dreaded, it was the thought that the seatbelt wouldn’t fit. It didn’t. At least I came armed with the knowledge that requesting a seatbelt extender isn’t really that big a deal, except in your own mind. It does get easier, though, you’ve just got to own it. The problem is, I don’t want to own it.

I also don’t want to own the fact that I don’t always fit in booths at restaurants. This reality escapes the skinny little hostesses who seat us, and my mother, who likes booths for some reason. In a chair I’m in charge of my own destiny.

While we’re on the topic of sitting, even that has changed. The larger a person gets, the more difficult it becomes to sit in a ladylike manner. Think of a Teddy bear sitting. His legs automatically open wide, it’s the way he’s  designed. Well, as a person gets bigger, that’s what starts happening, at least it has to me. That makes keeping my already ample legs in my own airline seat difficult.

It also makes getting a pedicure a challenge (but it’s pretty much a necessity since reaching my toes is difficult enough without the added pressure of trying to make them look good). The sweet young women who work on my feet have no idea how difficult it is for me to maintain the position they put me in. I’m pretty sure they think I’m stupid, stubborn, or a combination of the two.

Even sitting in a chaise lounge in Mom’s backyard has gotten difficult. First there’s the fear that I’ll snap one of the ancient straps. It could happen to anyone, but I’m the one who’s fat, so I would never hear the end of it if that actually happened. Then there’s getting back up. The other day I was out there alone and I tried it. I just couldn’t quite figure out how to get up from that chair without flipping it or breaking my neck. Eventually I did it, but I was glad I was alone. I think I’ll read in a different chair from now on.

One year ago these were not real issues to me. Sadly they are now. So what’s next? Part of me is tempted to skip my upcoming physical because I know it won’t be pleasant, but I won’t. Maybe it will be the kick in the pants I need.


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Sand Art

   
  

 I love the idea of creating something  of nothing. In Cape Cod there are wonderful sand sculptures all over the place. Some are patriotic, others reflect the businesses where they’re located, and some, like the two on top, are just plain cute.