BulgingButtons

Not bad for a fat girl


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Doggy Dreams

I wonder what my dog dreams about. She follows me into my studio (a fancy term for the bedroom I have commandeered) and lays at my feet while I work (or play) on the computer. Soon, she falls asleep.

She is lovely company, quiet and undemanding when it’s just the two of us here in this peaceful space. I go into my head here, and she does the same. Her journey, however, is through her dreams.

I’m certain she dreams. She lets out little chuffing noises from time to time, and occasionally a paw will mime running. It’s as though she’s on a mission, perhaps chasing down a little rabbit that has dared to enter her yard.

I wonder what the world is like from her perspective. I recently read A Dog’s Purpose, and a while back I read The Art of Racing In the Rain, both wonderful books written from a dog’s point of view. I wonder how close the authors came to capturing the experiences of these dogs (and yes, I know these are works of fiction, but you know what I mean).

My dog is a sweet girl, and her presence in the room, while she dreams her doggy dreams, never fails to charm and calm me. I hope all of her dreams are as wonderful as she is.


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Just Because I’m Fat Doesn’t Mean I’m a Victim

do-you-have-a-victim-mentality-at-workStuff happens. Sometimes there’s a reason for it and other times there isn’t. Some people are dealt an awful hand in life. I feel for them. Fortunately, I am not one of those folks.

Ok, I’ve had some sad things happen in my life, and some difficult things. There have been things that are beyond my control, and other things that were the result of my own poor decisions. I think most people can say the same. The thing is, those experiences don’t define me. They help shape who I am and how I approach the world, but I don’t get on a soapbox and shout at the world, “look at me and all that I’ve endured!”

Now please don’t think I’m heartless. I’m not. There are people in this world who have faced heartbreaks far greater than any I’ve endured. Are they entitled to anger, sadness, grief? Of course. But recently I’ve noticed a wave of “boo hoo, poor me, I’m fat and someone was mean to me” types of posts. I’m sorry, but being fat doesn’t even scratch the surface of life events for which to pity someone.  Besides that, why do people seek pity?

Compassion I understand. Pity, on the other hand, makes no sense. Pity is degrading as it implies that a person is powerless. I feel compassion for people who face difficulties, particularly ones that are not of their own making. That doesn’t mean I don’t wish others well as they take on new challenges, on the contrary, I’m a great cheerleader. I do it all the time. You want to earn a degree so you can get a better job? Fantastic! You’re trying to eat better to improve your health? Good for you!a3188213713e1f11563fd512c6000241 But you want me to feel sorry for you because you wear plus sized clothing? Um, nope. Compassion, yes; pity, no.

I get it. It’s no fun clothing shopping. I’ve lamented about it often enough on this blog, but that doesn’t mean that I want your pity. I don’t. I want options. I want decent clothing at an affordable price. I want sales staff that don’t look down their noses at me. But pity? Nope.

Yes, I’ve been supremely frustrated shopping, and it’s happened more than once. Usually the frustration I feel is leveled at myself when I can’t find what I want, or nothing fits. I don’t go on a rant, and I don’t think the whole world is out to get me. And let’s face it, the clothes I wear ARE really big. A couple of average sized adolescent girls COULD fit into one of my tops. So what?

It doesn’t make me any less intelligent, any less beautiful, any less kind. I don’t love the size I wear, and sometimes I forget to love the body I’m in, but dammit, it’s my body, and it serves me well. This body carries me around and sleeps and wakes for me. It houses my brain and my heart and my soul. This body houses the person who works with kids and helps them to become successful when learning difficult concepts. This body  houses the person who is truly loved by a wonderful family. This body houses a person with wonderful friends who share life’s ups and downs. This body houses the person who has challenged herself to reach difficult goals and has achieved them. What difference does it make to you if my body weighs 98 pounds or 298 pounds? Why do you care? You don’t. At least most of you don’t, because you have your own “stuff” to worry about.

The people who are obsessed with making rude comments about others’ appearance are emotionally stunted. Sure, you can cloak snide comments in a veil of “I’m worried about your health,” but honestly, that’s between my health care provider and me, thank you very much. Don't+Be+A+VictimIt’s none of your business whether I have conditions or illnesses. I wouldn’t ask you your health history, or make assumptions based on your size or weight, so please don’t do the same to me. Fortunately, I don’t see that type of thing on this blog, but goodness knows there’s been a lot of it all over the interwebs lately, and frankly it’s tiring. Fat people are starting to look like a bunch of spineless cry babies, and as a feisty fat chick I sort of resent that.

If you want to talk about body issues, go ahead, but please stop playing the victim every time some callous jackass makes a rude remark. Yes, I know it hurts. Yes, I know it’s embarrassing. But really, I already know I’m fat. Some idiot pointing out that fact to me is hardly grounds for me to take to the internet to let the world know how mean some people can be.

Here’s the deal. Some people are fat and some people aren’t. Some people are nice and some people aren’t. I wish we (and by we I mean humans) would stop letting others bully us into a victim mentality. I am not a victim. I am a strong, intelligent, beautiful person. Yes, I also happen to be fat. Deal with it.


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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.