He said

Bev and I got engaged. After a long time of trying to find a place I feel like I am at home I found it. That place is anywhere she is. I love her of course. That is without question. And I love all of her. That is the truth. But now that I am older I know love can be in vain. It isn’t enough, even if you have a heart full of it as I do for her. I love her more and deeper than any other person I have ever loved.

What we are above and past love is what matters. We are home, we speak the same language and I trust her, I believe in her. I know that if I get sick she will be there. If I fall down she’ll be there and if I need her to, she’ll stand back and let me find my way when I need to. That’s important. I have found someone who not only knows, but can read my signals and signs and she can tell when to let go and give me room to tilt at windmills, throw punches at ghosts and piss into the wind. Give me room to grow and to make mistakes. And I would do all the same for her. And more. I have never wanted to give anyone all of myself, my energy or all my focus before. I always held a bit back, like keeping my hand on one side of the pool without pushing off. Because I knew at some point I would need to get all the back out again. This year was when I went all in.

That’s what 2013 is to me, the year I found out I can let go and go forward. I am never going back again. They say life is a journey and not a destination. But I have come to the place I never need to go away from again. And now the rest is just gravy…Life is a gift shop now.

Don’t even get me started (because I’ll cry) on how much Ruby has grown. Boy! Is there ever such a big difference between 5 and 6! I am starting to see the first shadows of the young woman she will be, completely separate from us. All on her own. And it’s exciting and scary and a little strange. Time goes on and babies grow to little people and little people become fully formed humans.

When I left Ruby’s mom when she was just 17 months old and I had to visit with Ruby in parks and at other people’s houses because I lived in a rented room, I could have never seen this as where we’d be. But at the same time, this is exactly where I wanted to be. We are a family and I was almost certain it would never happen again to me. But I sure wished for it.

I don’t have any wishes of resolutions for 2014. Except for more financial security. But isn’t that every year? We will probably get married. And we’ll continue our life just as naturally as it has always been. It just feels like what we are and where we are is exactly as it should be.

That’s the best thing that has ever happened to me.

Fool for food

When I was growing up, my parents made bad food the most exciting thing in my life. We didn’t have pop or chips or fresh baked goods. We didn’t have dessert, cake or pudding or pie. But when we were celebrating we had it all. 

On my birthday I got to choose my favourite type of cake; Mom would bake it in the shape of my current beloved fictional character. There were so many types of cookies at my birthday parties, Oh, the snow balls and fudge squares. I didn’t even have to taste the ones I thought might not be awesome… I was able to pig out on the good stuff. And no one even said anything about it!

At birthday parties when I was a kid, no one said “Bev, you don’t need that” like they said every other day.  I didn’t have to watch my mother weigh out portions or count calories; I didn’t have to listen to my father grunt in disgust because we had to have vegetables again. Birthday parties were swell. 

Every other day we ate what we were told to eat. And we were told to eat every single morsel of food on our plate. Based on Mom’s serving size, not our individual appetite. And, as both of my parents had grown up in their own version of poverty, we had food in abundance. Not chips and candy, but a lot of processed, carbohydrate rich, comfort food. 

We were living in a newly established town that was isolated and in the harsh Labrador north. It was too cold for livestock, the climate didn’t allow for growing vegetables or fruit. Food came from the grocery store and was frozen or canned or boxed. We didn’t even have a restaurant in our town so we had to go to the next town and that was very rare.

When I started earning a weekly allowance, I would make a beeline down to the corner store with my BFF and we’d buy gum and chocolate and chips and candy and lolipops and ice cream and ohmygoditwassomuchfun! The power of money and the ability to buy/eat whatever I wanted was heady and exciting for me. I started taking money when I ran out of my own. I picked the pockets of my parents and anyone who came to visit them. And I spent every penny of it on junk food. 

That didn’t last very long, to be honest. I always felt guilty for taking something that wasn’t mine and, more than fear of being caught and punished, I didn’t want anyone to know that I was terrible person who would do such a thing. It was about that time, too, that I learned how to make my own money through babysitting. And I loved babysitting because I could make the kids go to bed and have complete control over what I watched and what I ate. 

My family was not active by any means. Mom was always doing something, puttering, getting things done when she came home from work or a meeting from the many committees/groups she was involved in. Dad spent the most of his time lying on the couch - at the time we thought he was cranky but we now know he was suffering from some pretty intense depression/anxiety issues. 

I wanted to be athletic. I wanted to be a gymnast and a ballerina, I wanted to run and swim and skate and play basketball. I had an energy that I didn’t know 

I think I taught myself to celebrate again. And I liked it so I kept celebrating. Celebrating is better, it’s more fun, it’s happy and buttercups and rainbows and best friends and girl movies and boys with big penises. 

The truth of a tweeter

When I can't eat whatever I want I feel like I'm being punished and start to wonder what I did wrong. Then I realized I could just stop doing whatever it is I think I'm being punished for.

Different? Or the same?

I've been thinking about going back on the antidepressant. I feel reasonably good on a personal level. I'm still nice to Jeff and the people at work, I'm mostly patient (maybe a little less but I can't say for sure). Choosing a workplace that forces me to smile was a good idea. It helps. Most of the time. 

I used to hate going to work but I didn't want to leave. Now I don't mind going to work but I can't wait to leave. My shit is half done. 

At home, I have to say, I think I'm pretty much the same. I've been making an effort to cook more and to deep clean more lately. Before I went off the Wellbutrin I was pretty much just doing the dishes and trying to make sure Jeff came home to a clean home in the morning. I went through a long spurt of barely even doing that over the summer. 

When did I gain all this weight? It seems to have come on in a hurry. Is it shameful to admit that I didn't see it going on? I watched it. I gave myself permission for every bag of chips and I shrugged off every chocolate bar. When I start beating myself up about food again? Did I ever really stop? 

I'm angry that I don't have any clothes. I thought I was angry because I can't afford to buy any more but I could get some stuff. I went to three stores today and felt like what I wanted didn't exist. And the other stuff costed too much for me to take a chance on it. I usually know what I want when I see it but nothing falls right anymore. And I'm completely the wrong shape for most plus size clothes. I don't have an ass, dammit. Every pound makes my ass concave a little more. 

Why did I go off these pills? Was it to see if I could? I know the upfont cost and the turn around time bugged me. But it also felt a bit like savings and I liked that. Did I think it would help me lose weight? Did I think it would make me feel better? 

I'm sad all the time. Not crying sad but just down. I don't want to make an effort. I thought pot would help. Motivate me or something. I honestly think that exercise would make a huge difference. I just can't seem to get my ass off the couch long enough to find out. 

I need patience. I need to let it unfold and see what happens. I'm just afraid... that's not fair. I'm assuming I'll fail. It's time to get back to assuming I'll succeed. 

And I need to figure out how I can make that happen. 

I am putting myself on the path, though, I think. I'm looking. I'm so fucking slow to do anything it's hilarious. But I am still doing. Today I walked from the far side of the Walmart parking lot over to Reitmans and then to Addition Elle, back to Walmart, out to the parking lot and back out to the pharmacy. I takes time and you can't really load up with purchases but I guess that's a pretty important part of it, too. 

I'm doing better. I'm happy, I'm okay. I just don't know if that still shows on the outside or if they're just remembering who/how I was. 

Pot calling the kettle fat

My boyfriend just bought me some pot. He's fucking awesome. And, if anyone actually reads this, you're going to see some stoned stuff for a while. It's very difficult to follow and probably hurtful and/or offensive but tremendously cathartic to me so please bear with me.

I told my mother that the very worst thing she did in raising me (we discuss and review these kinds of things frequently) was her refusal to let me fall. I can tell you where all my scars come from. All four of them. I can also tell you what I heard while healing from all four of them (two you can't really see anymore). I heard: See? Falling hurts, doesn't it? Don't do it again. And they were right. And I did my best to not hurt again. 

Okay, that's enough for now.

I think, therefore...

I think I just realized something - what I need to do. Obviously this whole weight thing has been bothering me. On a different emotional level than before but I still don't want to look like this. I don't want my clothes to be too tight or my hair to be limp. I don't want to drive a Pontiac and have floral wall-paper and have to worry about being five minutes late for work every day.

I've tried to eat healthy, made a half-assed attempt or two at exercise, sporatically looked at job postings and had moments of 'what if'. But nothing I do is sticking. I get it, I understand it, I want it but I throw it away just as easily. I don't need it, I don't care. I think I need to go back even further than that. Maybe it's time to start wanting it again. But, whatever, I'm stoned. What I'm trying to say is that I need to go even more simple - I need to take care of my home. I need to do the dishes and clean the floor, wash the windows and scrub the shower. I need to feel pride to feel want. Maybe then I'll eat better, cut my hair, exercise, study, and then to the moon.

I love my sister

I do. Before I met Jeff, my sister and my mom were pretty much the only people that I would go above and beyond for... and not even my mom during a few years of angst. And when I decided to leave Vancouver, it wasn't because I didn't love it there - trust me, I loved it there - it was because I was looking to test myself, to push myself and see how far I would go, what I could achieve. My sister is 11 years younger than me, had moved to Ontario and missed her big sister. She was planning to get married and start a family and I wanted to be in her life. Which coincided with our dad contracting terminal cancer and wanting to be closer to home - although I never dreamed for a moment I would end up there. I didn't know what I was looking for but I knew I was looking for something. So I decided to start looking at my sister's house.

She and her boyfriend (who is now her husband) took me in and gave me a home. I only lived here for three months, deciding after my second month that it was crazy to shovel snow out of my sister's driveway when I should be at home shoveling it out of my parent's driveway. (Then it took a full month to accept that I had volunteered to live indefinitely in the house that made me insane after a week and with the people who made me want to pull my hair out after an hour.) But the time here was very happy and important to show me that next hard step.

All of that was four years ago now. My dad lived for half a year after I got there, I stayed with my mom the promised one year after. In the mean time, I met Jeff on Tumblr, came to Ontario to meet him, came back to meet Ruby, we broke up and dated other people, we came back together stronger than ever, I moved back to this side of Ontario, four hours away from my sister.

It is my absolute fantasy that some day we will live closer again. But she has a home and a life here and I have Jeff and Ruby so there is a very strong chance that we will never live closer than we are right now. Four hours away really isn't so bad. We're in the same time zone, generally the same climate, we don't even need to worry about ferry schedules as we did when we lived in the west. We do need to worry about money a hell of a lot more, unfortunately, so we don't get to see each other as much as we'd like, and when we do we have to get together for days instead of lunch. She is going through a really rough time in her life right now and I wish so much that I could make it better. I want to promise her this baby will survive and they'll both be alright but it's not a promise I'm able to make or keep. So I need to find a way to take care of my little sister as I have been doing since she drank from a bottle. I want to be here for her as she was for me when I needed her. So I will come here once a month or so, to vacuum her carpets and wash the dishes and tell her to rest and have faith and let go of the things she can't control and concentrate on the things she can.

It's hard to be away from Jeff, though. I feel like a part of me is missing when he isn't around. I miss him and the home we've made together. I even miss Ruby more when I'm here for some strange reason. And there's all these cats climbing all over me! Tomorrow I will pep-talk, I will vacuum, refill water glasses and generally try to ease some of pressure until I leave my little sister in her husband's capable hands. And on Monday I will rush home to spend some time with my favourite person in the world and enjoy some more of the things that no one else can give me but him.

Distance makes the heart grow fonder. Reflection makes the head grow stronger.

Kiss my hole

It's like there's a hole, an abyss. How dramatic. But I can't think of another way to describe this feeling. This hole simply drains the life out of me. The want, the desire to do better, to be more. They're gone. These desires are stuck at the bottom of the hole, maybe they've even drained away by now. And it's not just that there's a hole... it's the absolute compulsion to fill it. With food. With pot. With anger or tears. With anything. But at the same time I know it won't work. Yet I try and I try. It's a terrible feeling and most of the time I want to do something about it. But the rest of the time - like when I'm stuffed with crap and my ass is suctioned onto the couch - I really couldn't give a fuck. It's terrible. It really is. I'm still not going back on those pills. I just need to wait until it eases and get up... hopefully, if I get moving and healthier, next time it won't hurt so damn much.

Frustration, an epilogue

Okay, first of all let me just say that was the booze talking.

And I succeeded in my goal. I just wasn't completely certain... haha... can't even finish the sentence that way. I totally didn't think I would succeed. I thought I needed some deep introspection and analysis but all I really needed was a good cry. And that's what I got. And it was good.

I feel fucking fabulous today.

Bitches.
;-)

Frustration

This is the second post of this name tonight. But let me get a little more in-depth, if you will...

Frustration?

I need to do better. I know who I am. I know what I can accomplish. But I've never done it without pot or anti-depressants. And, to be completely honest, I'm floundering. Even with, things aren't what they used to be. I'm 250 pounds. Two. Hundred. And fifty. Pounds. I make 30 thousand dollars a year. I drive a shit car. I have no clothes. I live in a stupid apartment. But I have love.

Is it enough? For now? I guess. In the long run? No.

But how do I get going?

I don't know.

And I think I'm really afraid that I won't find my way again.

I'm drowning.

All I need is a branch.

But where is it?

And, if I reaching out for it, am I not also pushing it away?

Good

I feel I should follow up on the last post. Because things were bothering me at the moment but we got through it - the same as always yet faster than usual. Knowing that I can be happy anywhere causes an internal struggle (oddly enough) but this is where I am and this is where I choose to be and that is good. The rest is on me, and I will be okay. I will be good.

Synthesized happy

Is this what we are? Is this what we will continue to be?

It's not that the problem right now is even a big deal because it isn't. How many times have we gone down this road? Too many to count at this point. And every time that I've been ready to walk away, he's asked me to stay and I did. Or I realized I wanted to stay and it didn't get that far.

But I realize something now. It's not that the problem right now is a big deal... it just reminds me of the problems that are a big deal and makes me consider taking the out that is being gifted to me.

Is this the life I want for myself? There are obvious problems. I don't call them deal breakers because they are mostly things I feel I should be working out on my own. The only deal breaker is when everything is considered at once.

Can I be positive enough for both of us? Do I want to be? Should I even be taking that on myself? Am I happy? Yes. Because I know I can be happy anywhere because the happiness exists within me. Am I feeding my happy? I don't think so. What does that say about us? And - the biggest question by far - will I feel the same tomorrow?

Wish list

Get office manager job - "resort" imperative!

Diane get sick of commuting and rent house for $900!

Get a dog!!!!!!!!!

Mow the lawn
Shovel snow
Clean the gutters
Pressure wash
Weed
Decorate
Paint
Walk the dog
Yes
Please.

Then.
Gym membership
Zipline
Treetop Trecks
Bike
Ball
Climb
Climb
Climb
Yes
Please.

With and without (drugs)

I have been off birth control for a whole month now. Off the anti-depressants completely for nearly two weeks. I've been watching.

The moods are there. I feel I'm pretty in control of them. Sometimes I could rip someone's head off and it's been a long time since I needed to deal with that but I keep it in check. Especially at work.

My head feels fuzzy. When I first started taking Welbutrin, I remember one of the first things I felt and one of the first things I thought was my brain felt clear in a way it never had. It was as if I'd been sleepy my whole life and finally woke up. The opposite is true right now. I feel as if I always want to sleep. I'm constantly asking for nap time and on the weekend I napped like a baby. I just feel lazy.

It is highly possible, though, that this fuzzy head and turtle-like body could be cleared up if it weren't for this lazy life I'm leading. And this shit I'm ingesting into my body. My periods are nearly non-existent now. My hair is falling out again. I sit constantly. I'm not healthy. And the promise of clarity would definitely be a motivator.

At this point, I'm the largest I've ever been -and I am not an attractive fat person... I look cranky, complete bitch. And I have never been so lazy. Sedentary. I've always been involved with something. There were lags, of course, but I've not sat this long before. I don't like it. But I'm too fucking lazy to get up and do something about it.

Poop.

Seeking Front Office Manager at Beautiful Resort!!!!

I want this job. I want I want I want stomp stomp stomp want!

How do I get it?

Eek.

This is Tuesday, right? This is Tumblr, right? (No. And really no.)

What's going on with him? Why is he acting this way? Is it because the whole marriage thing has been thrown at him and he's a little freaked? Would it be wrong to tell him that I just want to be engaged so I can wear Mom's ring? I mean, I love him like I've never loved anyone in my life. And I am really getting sick of pronouncing and spelling my name and still getting questions and blank looks. So I do want and expect to marry him at some point...  and only about 25% because I want to change my stupid name. But it doesn't have to be right now. I don't know. Whenever. It will fall into place in it's own time. Just like the idea of going off the pill - it will happen or it won't, it will fall into place. It really doesn't matter a whole lot to me, I'm in this either way. I'm here... I brought the jewelry.

What if part of the problem was that he deleted his Tumblr? It was a release, a way to vent and voice his frustrations - or, at the very least, prepare me for them - and he doesn't have that right now. He was mostly sick of the obligation of looking at the feed of his followers but it doesn't have to work that way. It can be a cross between Facebook and Tumblr. He could do like Amy does with WordPress or like I'm doing here to a degree (probably more 'magazine article' than my 'dear diary' approach but same difference). He is a tremendous writer and he knows how to get shit down on paper internet blog. It would be a shame to give that up just because of a few dick-head posers.

What do I want to say to him right now? I want to say he caught me off guard last night and I wasn't expecting him to be in the mood he was in. I need to prepare myself, I'm sorry. I'm that way with just about everything, though. And when I'm not prepared, it's fight or flee. I don't like to fight. I don't. I left my parents during their darkest hour because I couldn't bear to listen to them bicker anymore. I did it under the guise of leaving because I was a financial burden and so I could make more and send some home, which I did whenever I could. But it was the fighting that drove me out of there.

And you can say that Mom says we were a normal family and whatever she told you. She's completely right in a general sense. Don't get me wrong, I love that woman... you know I do. I love her as much as I did when I idolized her as a child. But I see her with adult eyes now, too. She's not as into it these days but she likes to bicker. She is a very good bickerer, she comes from a long line of bickerers. I don't think she really picked it up until she got laid off. It was like her soul got broken a little bit that day. She lost her faith in humanity, and in herself. And she began to bicker. I, too, will bicker if I feel the need. You can blame our ancestors.

Dad liked to banter. See the difference? Bicker, banter. Same words, different tone. And when Mom wasn't around, Dad would banter until the cows come home. And he brought out the banter in me. Ohgod, we had so much fun. Like when you and I banter. Dad hated the bickering but he loved Mom more than he loved his own life, and I think he really didn't know how to stop the bickering without stopping the banter. So he learned to live with it.

We both do both. We don't always do a good job in communicating or synchronizing, but we both seem to have a handle on bicker and banter. And when I'm feeling a bicker coming on, I have to see which one of us is causing it because I don't want to put you through what my father went through. Here's the thing about me that's different, though: if it's just a few words, I'll leave the room for a minute; if it's more than a few words, I'll walk around the block; if it's hurtful name calling, I'm probably gone for the night or weekend; if it's aggressive and I lose trust, I'm pretty much just gone.

I won't permanently leave in anger. I will never move out if we are fighting or angry unless I feel threatened (which I almost felt once and he totally backed off). But I will always step away and reflect. Objects in mirror are closer than they appear. Feelings in mirror are more obvious than they originally appear.

I need to edit this. I don't know if I got my point across. I'll look at it again tomorrow. I like to rewrite my diary. Sosueme.

G'nite.

Asshole

I never know when I'm being an asshole. Better said: I never know when I'm going to be taken for an asshole.

I wonder

Sometimes I wonder whether or not we'll get through it all. And sometimes I wonder if I care enough to sit around and wait to find out. This can't be all me. It's him and it's me, or it's us. I'm not sure which is worse.

I feel, I want, I need, unfortunately...

I feel like he's bullying me. I feel like he's saying "do as I say or it's over". And fuck you! I disagree! Is that not allowed? How is that not allowed? In an adult relationship? How can he not just say "I don't like it but I trust in us enough to know it's going to be okay"? Or "I want to trust so I'm going to take a chance, please don't fuck it up!" Why can't he say that? Why can't he be open and fucking take a chance on me??? How are we going to spend our lives together if he can't do that?

And all I want to do is rebel against those rules. Every fibre of my being wants to stand up to the bully. I want to say a big fuck you, but in the "a picture's worth thousand words" way. But I don't want to hurt him. I love him and I don't want to hurt him. So I'm constantly stuck between this rock and him. And the longer this goes on, the more the rock is going to jiggle and eventually it will roll right out of my way.

I don't want that. He doesn't want that. I know he doesn't. He loves me and (although he seems to struggle with it from time to time) I love him. But I told him before that I can't live on a roller coaster. I won't. So it's going to come down to this: we're either together, or we're not together. There's no halfsies anymore. In or out.

I need to know now. I need to know once and for all. Maybe I shouldn't even be here. Maybe I'm so quick to say I want to go because I want to go. Do I want to go because not everything is perfect? No, not at all. But I can't  live with ultimatums. I'm too rebellious  And it might not be his kind of rebellion but my kind is probably even worse because it's inside me. And it feels no guilt.

Unfortunately, I cannot say any of these things to him. So I said this instead: It's not like these are people I would consider getting back with. They're people I've been with and decided I don't want to be with them. Completely and absolutely. They're in relationships with other women who are perfectly okay with us exchanging a few words and maybe a few pictures from time to time. Why are you so dead set against it?

And still, he stomped stomped

Another day, another tear

Two hours ago I was thinking about when I should tell him that I want to go off the pill. Right now? I'm trying to decide what the fuck I'm doing here and if it's time to cut my losses. Nice. So awesome to be here again.

Have I learned anything in the past decade? And does it matter at all?

Tears and thoughts

Well, I'm not pregnant. In case you were wondering and all. It's a fact that makes me feel good and bad, happy and sad. I'm not going to be a mother. I'm going to live until I'm 103 - another 61 years - and I am never going to be anyone's mom.

Okay, it looks like I found those tears I was looking for. And the reason I wanted them.

I can't have this taken away from me. If it's not in the cards I will live with it but I can't spend my life with someone who says I can't have this, especially since he's already got it. No, being a sixth or eighth of a parent to the gem isn't enough. I'm sorry. Even is she moves in with us in her teens - which, let's face it, is complete conjecture right now.

I said something to him the other day that I wasn't expecting and didn't know where it came from or why it popped up when it did. I said "You're never going to marry me, are you?" And later "I don't have time to be with someone who isn't willing to make that commitment to me."

Am I ready to make that commitment to him? Sometimes. With terms.

He has to stop threatening the end. The ultimatums. If I tell him to fuck off one more time it's over? Well, that's pretty fucking solid, isn't it? I'm not willing to watch my p's and q's with him. I will do it with every single person in my life but I'm not doing it with the man I live with. I'm not willing to watch what I say or be afraid that I'll say the wrong thing.

I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't be here at all. If I'm still having these thoughts, maybe I should listen to them. Maybe I need to go back west and get back to my life.

(I don't want to go back west. Even as I was typing it I knew that. And I do want to be with him. But I think I also want to try to get pregnant. I don't want to try, I just want to open my life to it. To the possibility. The possibility. And if he really doesn't want that, maybe I should find someone who does.)

Myronic

I opened this blog with the intention of writing the following sentence: I'm really fucking cranky right now and I don't know why.

Then I saw what I wrote the very last time I logged in: "I'm really fucking cranky all of a sudden. Why?? Why??"

I'm sensing a trend. When was the other time I wrote that? April 23... Tuesday... two weeks and one day ago. That's how far I got without being in whatever mood it is that leads me here.

Is it always going to be this hard? Relationships, I mean. Are we always going to get on each other's nerves and get frustrated and miscommunicate and fucking be pissed off? Is this what I want for my life?

I need to get stoned. More than that, I need a really really good cry. Maybe then I'll feel better. I'll let you know.

I don't know why

I'm really fucking cranky all of a sudden. Why? Why?? Because I'm fat and none of my clothes fit. Because JRB had to go out and buy a stupid DQ cake, which is, like, my favourite thing ever. Not really, but I do love them and they're my favourite thing in this apartment right now. I'm so sick of thinking about this, so sick of being bothered by it. Then, of course, I could say 'fuck it, I'll just stay fat' but that's not an option either because we don't have any shitting money. See? Top three topics, one paragraph. Fuck.

IMO

One of the things that caused an "Aha!" moment in my life was a little novelty coaster my BFF gave me which said 'Everyone is entitled to my opinion.' My first thought? I'm not opinionated! My second thought? Let me tell you my opinion on opinions.

The "Aha!" was the realization that people see me very differently than I see myself and it made me wonder what I was doing to promote and influence the false perception that people seemed to have about me. It took me down a path of questioning and observing that included dozens of personality tests, self-help books, singular friendships with people out of my normal social groups, an in-depth analyzation of my upbringing and my family (a moxy crew of people who were made, bought and borrowed), and an awful lot of pot (shut up, it helped me observe and analyze myself... and it made me giggle.)

Here's what I discovered: the person everyone saw on the outside was not the person I was inside. (Which turned out to be a large part of the combination to understanding my unhappiness.) But you know what was even more important to learn? The person I see when I look at someone is very likely not the person they are inside, either.

When, as a child, they taught me that everyone was equal, I thought that meant everyone was the same. Obviously I knew people looked different and had different upbringings in different places surrounded by different people. But I honestly and wholeheartedly thought that everyone knew the differences between right and wrong, good and bad, yes and no. I thought everyone felt the same way I did about the simple, obvious things like the death penalty, how to treat animals, and gender, sexual and racial equality. I thought that no matter who you were, you understood the basics and, if you didn't, it was only because it hadn't been taught to you properly, if at all.

So, back then, in the course of conversations with people I knew and people I didn't know, I discussed my ideas as absolutes. And when the people I was speaking with didn't contradict what I was saying, it only strengthened my belief that I was right. When they did disagree, I assumed it was because they didn't understand as I understood. I felt I was completely open to hearing the opinions of others, even if they were wrong. Because everyone has the right to be wrong.

Today you will rarely, if at all, see or hear me voice an opinion. There are no more absolutes, there is no such thing as black or white. There are only perceptions, learned behaviours and ideas, wrongs that are accepted as rights and vice versa. I still believe what I believe and I feel strongly about a lot of things. But I also understand that other people have opinions that are different than mine. And virtually nothing I say will change their minds... because I know that virtually nothing they can say will change mine.

And that's my opinion on not having opinions.

Top three just announced!

You will come to see over time, dear non-existent reader, that the three main topics of my bitching are weight, money and my man. Not that I won't whine and complain about other things but, if I continue using this blog (because, let's face it... when it comes to writing my shit out, I'm kind of a fickle pickle), those are the three you'll see most.

Today I seem to be somewhat bothered by all three. And that's how I can tell that the real issue is probably me and, for the most part, I should just keep my mouth shut and see if it passes.

That drives JRB crazy. Yes, there's something wrong but that doesn't mean that I want to sit here and bitch about it. I bitch it out in my head enough, I have no interest in letting that poison into the air, too. Eventually, when nudged, I'll let it out a little, we will deal with it and it will be over. But I hate fighting more than I hate doing laundry (and that's a lot) so I try not to do it more than once a week.

So, last night when he was at work, I made my favourite macaroni and cheese dish. It's a weird different recipe and the first time I tried it, I didn't particularly like it. Now I would be more than happy to jump into a huge vat of it and eat my way out. Yum. Anyways, I wrote on my Tumblr (which he always reads) that I had decided to make macaroni because there's not a lot he can eat right now and that I hope he likes it, I'm such a good girlfriend, love my man, blah, blah, blah. But he comes home and doesn't even acknowledge it. To tell you the truth, I was hoping he didn't want it because then I get to eat it(!) but give me something, man. Throw this bitch a bone already. I believe this is close to the number one problem women have with men so I'm not unique but I still want a kiss, a thanks for thinking of me, a swat on the ass, something. Acknowledgement. That's all. So simple. Boys suck, with their stupid penises and ungrateful ways. Buncha weirdos.

That being said, last night I ate so much of that fucking macaroni, I'm sure I gained five fresh new pounds of fat. It was so good; I got so full. I am well aware that the only way I'll get through this weight thing is by changing the bad habits I've developed. The other day I promised myself that I'd start doing that by only eating meals that are prepared at home, i.e. an end to the take-out habit. So the deal was I could eat whatever and as much as I want, as long as it isn't take-out. And I probably ingested twice as much fat and calories than a super-size Big Mac combo. Does that mean I should chuck it and get a burger tonight???? No. That means I need to continue on and trust that eventually I'll kick that habit and move on to the second step of eating better at home.

I was going to make this a well rounded entry and touch on each of my big three topics but I don't feel like talking about money now. What's the news? In short, we're broke, it sucks, story at eleven, peace out.

I blame my grandfather

When it comes to my life, I seem to struggle between the two worlds of all or nothing. And because I've spent so much effort trying to rid myself of the extremes, the idea of dieting freaks me out. Okay, I'll be completely honest with you - I kind of don't want to put in the effort. I totally don't want to put in the effort. Hmmm... I think I just answered the question of why I'm so fat. I have not, however, answered the question of what I'm going to do about it. Meh. Baby steps, bitches.

Fat is a four letter word

There was a time, not so long ago, that I whole-heartedly believed that once I was finally able to rid myself of my numerous life-long issues with food I would no longer be fat. I thought that my weight problem was completely in my head, caused by the fact that I was miserable, I hated my life and body, my family had screwed me up in my formative years and I couldn't find a man to love me just as I was.

Never one to settle with not-good-enough, I spent many years and tens of thousands of dollars getting my head on straight. Today I love a man who loves me like no one ever has. My relationship with my family is strong and fulfilling. I'm content(ish!) with my work, my home, my car and my bank account. I love my life. I am actually in love with my life.

And I am fatter than I have ever been.

How does that work? I mean, I was wrong, obviously. All of the reasons may have been the right reasons but they didn't change the big picture. Controlling my weight is nowhere near as easy as I thought it would be. I boast to myself frequently that food no longer has control over me but, if that is true, why do my eyes keep leaving this screen and slipping over to that chocolate bar that sits on the table behind my computer? If I no longer have issues with food, why am I so full? And, most importantly, why am I so fat?

Bitch blog

I like this new blog. Every day I think "hmmm, what can I bitch about today?" and then I laugh because that's just silly. I like silly.

Oh, sorry, supposed to be bitching.

*ahem*

Fucking blogging is bullshit, man.

Work sucked ass today.

My boyfriend is a in pain.

His kid is super silly and we're having a fun night.

D'oh!

Dammit!

I couldn't maintain, man. I broke.

Being bitchy is bullshit, man.

*teehee*

Worky woes

I'm old. I've learned some important life lessons. I won't bore you with the details but basically don't let anyone link your name with your blog when you are bitching about your work.

Don't ask me how I know.

Okay, I know because one time I was up for reasonably good promotion that I'm really fucking glad I didn't get but back then I kinda wanted it and the other person who was up for the job found my profile name on a dating site and went boink boink boink and found my blog where I had made one negative comment in a sea of awesome 'I love this place' kind of stories and shit hit the fan. I didn't get the new position, I quit the job I did have and forever damaged my relationship with the owner of the company who just happened to be one of the best and oldest friends. Yes, I handled the whole situation extremely bad due my devastation that the personal information on the rest of my blog was found out but fuck you who are you to tell me what I should have done, mutherfukr? What.

Anywhoo... I won't be making that mistake again. If you figure out who I am from reading this? Don't fucking tell anyone or I'll slit your throa... just kidding. I rarely make the same mistake twice.

As I mentioned, I am tremendously glad I didn't get that job because if I had I wouldn't be where I am right now. And I love my job. Didn't always love the boss but that's another story for another post. Today's story is about the attitudes of your subordinates and where those attitudes come from.

GMP, the captain of our ship (who yesterday someone aptly referred to as "a pit-bull in a chiwawa's body') goes through phases of having it in, giving it to and taking it out on various staff members. I mean, she is really good at the business side of things... just a LOT lacking in the interpersonal skills department. I had my own extensive turn on the toe of her boot and it wasn't pretty.

Well, it looks like it's RAT's turn right now. The woman has only worked there for five years but suddenly has an "attitude problem" and tomorrow the boss is going to give her a stern talking to about her work ethic. But here's the real issue: GMP was off for the past two days and left MAT in charge. MAT says she totally doesn't want to be the boss but goes on quite the little power trip when she is number one in command. So she makes demands and gets irate when someone doesn't jump at her bidding. Neither of MAT or GMP seem to realize that people react to the way you speak to them as much as the words you say. If you try to boss a strong willed 50 year old woman around, she is not going to like it. She is not going to hurry to do everything you tell her and take the initiative to do even more just because you barked orders at her like she was some kind of disobedient dog.

Why is it that GMP and MAT are appalled by her bad attitude but I find that RAT does everything I ask her to do, in a timely and efficient manner. Could it be that she prefers to be treated with a little dignity and respect? No. Jesus, how silly of me. Sorry. I must be an idiot.