BulgingButtons

Not bad for a fat girl


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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. 


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One More Day

350-628200-847__1-1Nineteen down, one to go. Days of summer work, that is. Not that it’s difficult work. It isn’t. In fact, it’s very rewarding work that come fairly easily to me, especially since I’m part of a terrific team.

We’ve been running a writing camp for kids at our local university. I did it last summer too, and enjoyed it. It’s fun to be with kids, teaching, in an environment where the strongest “discipline” that you ever dole out is a raised eyebrow, and the kids are all there because they want to be. Oh, and there’s no grading, no worry about common core, and no tests. Cool, huh? The kids think so. I have to agree.

Still, the alarm clock goes off each morning, and there’s a commute to deal with, made longer by summer construction (which is absurd where I live – do it during the cooler months, people!). Then there’s the trek from the parking lot to campus and back. Not so bad in the morning, but grueling in the afternoon heat. beach_cape_cod-thumbAll in all, not a bad gig, but I’m looking forward to a few weeks of NO obligations. What will I do? Read. Write. Sleep. Swim. Visit family and friends. The usual. I can’t wait!

I’m looking forward to days where the biggest decisions I make involve which flavor of fudge to sample and which bathing suit to wear. Should I read another chapter now or wait until tomorrow morning? Do I want to cool off in the ocean or in the pool? It’s a rough life, but someone has to do it. This time, it’s going to be me. One more day. I know it’s going to be a good one.