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wellownedbkupone day, when i'm pretty, i'll walk around my house in a tank and a pair of boxer shorts because i'll be comfortable in my skin.
or, at least, that's what i keep thinking and wishing. i've been fat so long, i don't know if there's a way out. or if i should *want* a way out at this point in my life. i live in a world of deceptive perceptions and revealing photographs and mirrors. i'll feel pretty and awesome until i see the pictures of myself after the fact, until i look at myself in any reflective surface afterwards.
it probably has to do with the way we don't have any full length mirrors in the house. they end at about waist high on a 6 foot plus person.
all of my dreams of my future life don't have me at my current weight (300+, in point of fact). they have me far under. i always think that when i grow up, i'll have the time and the motivation to do things like going to the gym more than twice a week, or at least the motivation to have a routine. i even told my brother that once i have my own place in a certain multi-income home place, i'd ride my bike the less than a mile to my current job, where i hope to get on in a fuller capacity in a short period of time. and i'd be on public transportation to my place of worship, as well as to my parents' house, and my sister's place. if my brother got the place he wanted as well, i'd only be a bike ride from his apartment as well. it would be the most awesome arrangement i've ever encountered.
but it kind of requires being fit enough to bike up to three miles one way, with traffic. which i haven't done since i was a kid, and definitely never did up to speed with traffic.
i've been looking at places like LJ's fatshionista community, which is all about fat acceptance. and it's so beautiful of an idea! i think that if you're healthy and happy, then it doesn't matter what size you are. i know for a fact that some of the thinnest people i've met are wussy and can't even carry 50 lbs of weight, which is average for someone my age. me? i can and have carried 70 or more pounds, and i spend a lot of my life helping my mom (also over 300 lbs) to function outside of her wheelchair. she relies on me and my sister and my dad, depending on who's available, to lift her bodily from her (wheel)chair, help her stand and walk to wherever she needs to be next, and then sit back down again. i'm not healthy at all-- diabetic, obese, possibly narcoleptic, plus other problems that i'm not enumerating at this time-- but i can at least hold my own. i'm not at death's door.
i just.
the other weeks, talking about smiles and beauty for LJ Idol... it's not just me hating bits and pieces of myself. i was honestly shocked this past saturday at a party when the hostess took my picture and said i was photogenic. really, i asked, though i never got an answer. all i could think was that i had pimples across the apples of my cheeks and that my pants were just a hair too tight and i had a bubble of fat spilling over into a fairly thin sweater over the waistband of my pants. even while dancing, all i could see was that something was going to start jiggling and then everyone would just point and laugh and be disgusted that this fat girl would think she was cool enough or pretty enough to be on the dancefloor.
which breaks my heart more than anything else because of all things i love... i love dancing. dancing is the one time that i feel pretty, when i get to do it. i can salsa and bachata and meringue with everyone else, though i don't feel comfortable doing any of the 'ladies styling' moves that tend to draw attention to the girl. why? i don't like being the fat girl center of attention. i can waltz and foxtrot and polka and line dance because they're very structured dances that don't allow for too much attention grabbing. everyone looks pretty much the same in a line dance. but there's dancing like everyone else and looking good while doing it. i've never been able to go out on the floor when everyone's just "doing their own thing" because i don't have a 'thing'. something'll jiggle or something'll be too tight and suddenly i'm more comfortable sitting against the wall and being considered standoffish rather than being out on the floor and making a laughingstock of myself.
i've got a long way to go on my journey toward fat acceptance, clearly. but one day. one day, i'll put something on and finally think that i look pretty. and soon, i'll be happy to be in my own skin because i won't give a shit what everyone else thinks. kthxbai, haters.
and one day, i'll be exactly like Rives' poem--Gorgeous:
(transcribed-- check it out on youtube from his channel: shopliftwindchimes)
the day they make me gorgeous? i'd like to just hang around
like a ceiling fan mounted upside down
i'll only have three settings and every one will seem to suck air out of the room
like gorgeous (click), gorgeouser (click), gorgeousest (click)
ah look at me! no, look at me, why don't you?
gorgeous is the antidote to eyesore
gorgeous is an extra helping of appropriate
gorgeous is like... watching your friend who grew up in china? eat chinese food with chopsticks
no matter how good you are with chopsticks
except
instead of your friend, it's a laughing ghost
and instead of chinese food, it's characters from your dream last week, shrunk to the size of a AAA battery:
very familiar, but still kinda spooky
see, for all i know? gorgeous is 6 bars on your cell phone,
always
and they show up like exclamation points.
or there's a gorgeous thesaurus somewhere where
the synonyms are suitable for framing
the homonyms all rhyme with (moan)
and the word clandestine doesn't even have a definition
gorgeous is a pristine sentence in the present tense
gorgeous is the very edge of the bell curve
the hunchback on the other edge clangs the bell curve's clapper against
and that hollow little go-o-o-ong?
the day they make me gorgeous, that'll be my theme song.
cause i shot the crapshoot.
gorgeous is like you, and all your siblings siblings
fishing in a river at a family reunion when your great-great grandma gives the go-ahead
except. instead of a reunion, it's everybody's birthday
and, instead of a river, it's an underwater pharmacy
you're casting fish hooks shaped like helixes
looking to fish out a sensible prescription
somedays, whole families get shut out
other times, someone gets lucky.
and just what is the math behind aesthetics?
because me
plus charismatic, for example, does not equal gorgeous.
and i should know;
i shave me.
and i scribble "stunning is only skin deep" on that little piece of toilet paper i need to tear up the days my blemished face
my blemished face has bled enough
but the day they make me gorgeous?
if they just begin with the skin? i swear i'll take care of the deep stuff.
gorgeous does not put the "ow" in shallow.
people put the "ow" in shallow.
gorgeous is like a new pair of shoes, slung over a powerline on a summer day when the asphalt's hot
you're barefoot and the ice cream truck is invisible
except
instead of new shoes, it's a pair of angels, handcuffed together
and, instead of a powerline, it's a tightrope in a circus
and even the clowns below with that big, round, impotent net stare up, thinking
"that is really something to look at."
gorgeous is its own reward
gorgeous does not have a weatherman
gorgeous is never, ever "what was your name again?"
and i know you know what i mean.
it's either halloween, or it's not halloween.
you either look like you usually do, or you don't.
and the day they make me gorgeous? i won't.
i will be first place county fair kind of rare.
i will eat dressing room mirrors for breakfast.
i will be, i will be, i will be like the edge of an egg: fragile, hard, impossible and flawless.
because gorgeous is a little bit like me after all.
except, instead of a little bit? it's a lot like me.
and instead of me, i'm gorgeous.
or, at least, that's what i keep thinking and wishing. i've been fat so long, i don't know if there's a way out. or if i should *want* a way out at this point in my life. i live in a world of deceptive perceptions and revealing photographs and mirrors. i'll feel pretty and awesome until i see the pictures of myself after the fact, until i look at myself in any reflective surface afterwards.
it probably has to do with the way we don't have any full length mirrors in the house. they end at about waist high on a 6 foot plus person.
all of my dreams of my future life don't have me at my current weight (300+, in point of fact). they have me far under. i always think that when i grow up, i'll have the time and the motivation to do things like going to the gym more than twice a week, or at least the motivation to have a routine. i even told my brother that once i have my own place in a certain multi-income home place, i'd ride my bike the less than a mile to my current job, where i hope to get on in a fuller capacity in a short period of time. and i'd be on public transportation to my place of worship, as well as to my parents' house, and my sister's place. if my brother got the place he wanted as well, i'd only be a bike ride from his apartment as well. it would be the most awesome arrangement i've ever encountered.
but it kind of requires being fit enough to bike up to three miles one way, with traffic. which i haven't done since i was a kid, and definitely never did up to speed with traffic.
i've been looking at places like LJ's fatshionista community, which is all about fat acceptance. and it's so beautiful of an idea! i think that if you're healthy and happy, then it doesn't matter what size you are. i know for a fact that some of the thinnest people i've met are wussy and can't even carry 50 lbs of weight, which is average for someone my age. me? i can and have carried 70 or more pounds, and i spend a lot of my life helping my mom (also over 300 lbs) to function outside of her wheelchair. she relies on me and my sister and my dad, depending on who's available, to lift her bodily from her (wheel)chair, help her stand and walk to wherever she needs to be next, and then sit back down again. i'm not healthy at all-- diabetic, obese, possibly narcoleptic, plus other problems that i'm not enumerating at this time-- but i can at least hold my own. i'm not at death's door.
i just.
the other weeks, talking about smiles and beauty for LJ Idol... it's not just me hating bits and pieces of myself. i was honestly shocked this past saturday at a party when the hostess took my picture and said i was photogenic. really, i asked, though i never got an answer. all i could think was that i had pimples across the apples of my cheeks and that my pants were just a hair too tight and i had a bubble of fat spilling over into a fairly thin sweater over the waistband of my pants. even while dancing, all i could see was that something was going to start jiggling and then everyone would just point and laugh and be disgusted that this fat girl would think she was cool enough or pretty enough to be on the dancefloor.
which breaks my heart more than anything else because of all things i love... i love dancing. dancing is the one time that i feel pretty, when i get to do it. i can salsa and bachata and meringue with everyone else, though i don't feel comfortable doing any of the 'ladies styling' moves that tend to draw attention to the girl. why? i don't like being the fat girl center of attention. i can waltz and foxtrot and polka and line dance because they're very structured dances that don't allow for too much attention grabbing. everyone looks pretty much the same in a line dance. but there's dancing like everyone else and looking good while doing it. i've never been able to go out on the floor when everyone's just "doing their own thing" because i don't have a 'thing'. something'll jiggle or something'll be too tight and suddenly i'm more comfortable sitting against the wall and being considered standoffish rather than being out on the floor and making a laughingstock of myself.
i've got a long way to go on my journey toward fat acceptance, clearly. but one day. one day, i'll put something on and finally think that i look pretty. and soon, i'll be happy to be in my own skin because i won't give a shit what everyone else thinks. kthxbai, haters.
and one day, i'll be exactly like Rives' poem--Gorgeous:
(transcribed-- check it out on youtube from his channel: shopliftwindchimes)
the day they make me gorgeous? i'd like to just hang around
like a ceiling fan mounted upside down
i'll only have three settings and every one will seem to suck air out of the room
like gorgeous (click), gorgeouser (click), gorgeousest (click)
ah look at me! no, look at me, why don't you?
gorgeous is the antidote to eyesore
gorgeous is an extra helping of appropriate
gorgeous is like... watching your friend who grew up in china? eat chinese food with chopsticks
no matter how good you are with chopsticks
except
instead of your friend, it's a laughing ghost
and instead of chinese food, it's characters from your dream last week, shrunk to the size of a AAA battery:
very familiar, but still kinda spooky
see, for all i know? gorgeous is 6 bars on your cell phone,
always
and they show up like exclamation points.
or there's a gorgeous thesaurus somewhere where
the synonyms are suitable for framing
the homonyms all rhyme with (moan)
and the word clandestine doesn't even have a definition
gorgeous is a pristine sentence in the present tense
gorgeous is the very edge of the bell curve
the hunchback on the other edge clangs the bell curve's clapper against
and that hollow little go-o-o-ong?
the day they make me gorgeous, that'll be my theme song.
cause i shot the crapshoot.
gorgeous is like you, and all your siblings siblings
fishing in a river at a family reunion when your great-great grandma gives the go-ahead
except. instead of a reunion, it's everybody's birthday
and, instead of a river, it's an underwater pharmacy
you're casting fish hooks shaped like helixes
looking to fish out a sensible prescription
somedays, whole families get shut out
other times, someone gets lucky.
and just what is the math behind aesthetics?
because me
plus charismatic, for example, does not equal gorgeous.
and i should know;
i shave me.
and i scribble "stunning is only skin deep" on that little piece of toilet paper i need to tear up the days my blemished face
my blemished face has bled enough
but the day they make me gorgeous?
if they just begin with the skin? i swear i'll take care of the deep stuff.
gorgeous does not put the "ow" in shallow.
people put the "ow" in shallow.
gorgeous is like a new pair of shoes, slung over a powerline on a summer day when the asphalt's hot
you're barefoot and the ice cream truck is invisible
except
instead of new shoes, it's a pair of angels, handcuffed together
and, instead of a powerline, it's a tightrope in a circus
and even the clowns below with that big, round, impotent net stare up, thinking
"that is really something to look at."
gorgeous is its own reward
gorgeous does not have a weatherman
gorgeous is never, ever "what was your name again?"
and i know you know what i mean.
it's either halloween, or it's not halloween.
you either look like you usually do, or you don't.
and the day they make me gorgeous? i won't.
i will be first place county fair kind of rare.
i will eat dressing room mirrors for breakfast.
i will be, i will be, i will be like the edge of an egg: fragile, hard, impossible and flawless.
because gorgeous is a little bit like me after all.
except, instead of a little bit? it's a lot like me.
and instead of me, i'm gorgeous.
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Date: 2009-12-01 06:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-01 06:37 am (UTC)Все отлично сделано!
Date: 2011-07-06 07:29 am (UTC)