For Liz

This was before I got to my biggest. Kinzie (on the right) is like a size 4 and my mom wears a 0. I was then about a 20.



I put on a 12 slack today though!

In response...

Thanks for reminding me that not everyone thinks my neurosis is just wrong.


Judy, I am really glad you said something. I appreciate the third party aspect a lot. I am also flattered that you read...

Michelle, you're right. I don't want friends that can't handle the truth.

Liz, I guess it doesn't bother me that someone says, "I'm sorry." It is HOW it is said that bugs me. Some people just have a way that is so diminutive. That bugs me immeasurably. This particular incident was bad. It was like I was instantly subhuman because I subjected the person to my reality.

And, about my husband being awesome... I cannot ever explain to you how awesome he really is. He is the first person (other than my son) that I *know* loves me just for me. He chooses to spend his life with me despite my quirks. Some in my family do love me, but I always wonder if they love me just cus I am family, ya know? I don't wonder that with Tom. Before I knew him I was a weak and meek person. He didn't change me, but he made me safe enough to dig out of the trenches and look at my life. The gift he has given me is life-changing.

Lipstick (an ammendment to eyeliner)

OK, I need to explain my last post. Actually I should probably delete it, but I am not going to. It started out as a self-deprecating post. Why can't I put on eyeliner? Why can't I keep my silly little mouth shut? Why can't I understand that people don't want to really know others? Why do I just not get social nuance? Why am I as dense as cement some (most) of the time? Then it all spiraled out of control with the mouth part.

I was speaking with someone and said something about not liking Christmas because it was always another opportunity for my parents to fight about me and then my dad hurt Austen in a big way. You could see this person literally bristle and tense up. They looked at me and said I just can't think about those things. I need to make new traditions. I need to forget that bad stuff and make happy memories. I just get really pissy when I am told that I just need to forget about things and move forward.

All of this seems to go back to things Morgan just can't comprehend. Why do I need to deny my past? Why should I NOT talk about my childhood? Why should I pretend that I get any type of warm and fuzzy from thinking about childhood holidays?

I hate this holiday. Truly really effing hate it. If you know me, I never use the word hate for anything. With Tom it is much more tolerable because I can focus on the here and now, but I just don't have that this year. I hate having to send Christmas cards to people I don't even like. I hate buying gifts because you're supposed to. I hate the tree. I hate the lights. I hate all of it.

Anyway, the 'you' was empirical, not direct. It's just silly little Binky shaking her fists at the things she doesn't understand. I just don't like being superficial. If you ask me a question, why shouldn't I answer it truthfully??? Why should I sugar coat the truth to make you (the other person) comfortable when being superficial and lying makes ME uncomfortable.

Eyeliner

It's one of the finer points of being a woman that I have never figured out. I asked Eve to show me once, she never got me to understand. Professional make up ladies have tried. I just do.not.get.it. It looks pretty, though. I try and try but just never master it.

I don't get secrecy either. Some things are *meant* to be secret, or at least private, but I can't seem to muster enough strength to keep my thoughts, etc to myself. It makes people really uncomfortable when I talk about abuse like any of my other childhood memories. It makes them say, "I'm sorry." and stuff like that. I don't feel the need to congratulate people for good things in their childhood, why do they have to apologize for the bad stuff in mine. It bugs me that I have to censor myself to oblige the comfort of others. Why can't I talk about the Christmas that my father almost killed my son? You get to talk about the Christmas that made you love the holiday.

So, to everyone... I am *really* sorry my history makes you uncomfortable. It is a part of who I am though. It walks with me every day and probably will forever. I have an amazing life now and am blessed with awesome friends and family around me. However, the past doesn't vanish.

Done, done. done.

Thank the powers that be!!! I just finished my last paper. I have two to turn in tomorrow (both biggies) and that's IT! I do have one paper to do basic revisions and edits on for next week, and one little assignment, but other than that the big work is done.


I have never felt so relieved. The finals next week should go well. Only one to worry about is the Psyc final. I really, really need to get a 96 or better on it. So, I think I am going to pour myself a glass of wine and then drift off to sleep. I might actually be present around here next week. If things go well, the tree in my living room might get lights on it this weekend (it's only been standing in here a week).

Oh, and Tom comes home NEXT MONTH. That makes my heart sing.

Margaret and Helen

An online friend of mine posted a link to the breastfeeding blog. I read that and laughed pretty heartily. I started digging through the archives and absolutely fell in love with them.

My grandmother, Nana, is 85 years old today. Her baby sister, Auntie June, is about 83ish and Nana's best friend. These two remind me so much of them.

Anyway, I am glad I was able to spread their joy. Oh, and Liz, I agree with you about wanting to be like them when I grow up.


Total side note, sitting here at my dining room table, looking out the back windows and the sky is ablaze with reds and purples above the harbor/ocean. I figured you all would appreciate how pretty it is. I can't wait to see the sunsets in Hawaii.

I'm in love with Margaret and Helen...

This was posted on that same forum I mentioned before today and I've effectually wasted most of my day reading the different posts. I love them.

Go, enjoy. Know that it will eat up your day...

Margaret and Helen, bloggers in their 80s.