I realized something about myself today: despite everything I've always believed and how I was brought up to be, I may not be the worlds most dedicated employee. This epiphany came from an aside in a discussion with my boss where he mentioned that another coworker was complaining about me making personal calls at my desk. My first reaction was complete and utter embarrasment because, yeah, I do make personal calls sometimes and I probably should take those outside or just make them on my break or whatever. So all afternoon I have been feeling pretty crappy because this one thing, making personal calls at my desk, has somehow in my mind replaced all of the good things I do at my job and my brain goes straight to the "I am worthless" place.
But really, after 30 years of this crap, I'm ready to start looking at it a different way. So I turned the idea over and over in my mind until I realized that, yeah, my personal life is probably more important to me than my work life. And that's how it should be. Granted, for the sake of my job I should be more careful about when I deal with my personal stuff, but there's nothing wrong with caring more about my life than my job. Also, I don't have to be the perfectest employee in the world all the time. This, by itself, is a pretty astounding realization because for the longest time I have felt that if I could just get everything right at my job then I would be successful and happy and stars would align and everything would be A-OK. But that's crap, isn't it? Nobody gets everything right all the time. The world will not end if I am late to work or make a personal call or (god forbid) take a sick day.
So I'm going to stop worrying about being the best ever and try to be satisfied with being good at my job, supportive of my coworkers, and helpful to my user base. Wow, even now writing that there's a voice in my head that says "okay, but if you aren't trying your absolute hardest to do everything right then you aren't a very good employee". But you know what? Screw it. I'm not living my life so that someone will stand up at my funeral and say "she was a very good employee". Work provides me with the means to pay for my life. That's it. I know enough of how to play the game to keep my job and be good at it, but I'm not going to get so emotional about it anymore. There is no fulfillment to be had, no reward that warrants such hand-wringing and anxiety.
So yeah...I may not be the world's most dedicated employee. And honestly, that may be okay with me.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
The details. Like, ALL of them.
Dude! I have been so busy today and I have been dying to write something about my experiences in Chicago. Now that I'm home, I finally have a chance to sit down and really think through it. Here's what happened:
So first of all, I have to say that taking my suitcase and laptop on the bus was a fairly obnoxious experience, though not so bad that it would stop me from doing it again. Some part of me enjoys that feeling of self-sufficiency, of not needing a car to get anywhere. Anyway, I went to work early so I could get paid for an entire half day and retain some of my dwindling PTO. I was fairly productive, but my mind was definitely already somewhere else. At 11:30 I left the office with my suitcase and got on the MAX to the airport.
Airport security was an experience because there are certain things you have to take out of bags and put in their own bin and I apparently had all of them. I needed a bin for my laptop, my coat and scarf, my CPAP, and my shoes and zip-top bag of toiletries. Then on the other side of the scanner, I had to hurriedly put everything back where it goes and get out of the way while the people behind me were waiting. I hate this part. I got through it pretty quickly though, and sat down at my gate to wait for boarding. My flight was already delayed, but only about fifteen minutes.
I flew Southwest, which has a very specific policy about "passengers of size" and how they should buy two plane tickets when they fly. When this policy first went into effect, there was a pretty strong backlash from the fat acceptance community because apparently officially the plane ticket you buy is just supposed to guarantee they will get you from point a to point b, not a specific seating space. And really, sure, the airlines should accommodate more body sizes with their seats and everyone should be able to just buy the one ticket and get where they need to go. But the way things are right now, there is just no way I would ever be comfortable pressed up next to someone else and I'm sure they wouldn't enjoy being pressed up against me (or would they? yowza! ;) So I always buy two seats when I fly because I like to know I am going to have enough space to be comfortable. What I LIKE about Southwest's policy is that if the flight you buy your two seats on ends up not being full, they will refund the money you paid for the extra ticket. That doesn't happen on other airlines at all. Also, they let you preboard which turns out to be a greater advantage than I even realized when I was buying my tickets because Southwest doesn't have assigned seating. You get to sit anywhere you like once you get on the plane. So for both flights I was able to be one of the first people on and pick the seats way up front with the ridiculous amount of extra legroom. It was awesome. Also, as watchers of The Amazing Race will know, it's important to sit as close as possible to the front of the plane so you can get off first.
My flight out was good. I did end up bringing my MP3 player and some magazines, so I had something to do if I wanted it. Most of the flight I just listened to music and let my mind wander, and I found myself feeling very glad that the flight was so long and I could just relax. My seatmates for the flight were a young mother and her baby. He was very sweet and she was kind of awesome too because she just let him be a baby. She wasn't paranoid about him annoying the other passengers or being too loud so when he made a loud noise or two, she just took it in stride and continued to interact with him. That was the other thing. I have seen parents with babies in public where you can tell they just want more than anything to not have to deal with this baby right now. And I understand that, because it's probably pretty damn exhausting to travel with a baby, which is why I thought it was so cool the way this mom was totally positive and kept interacting with hers. Anyway, I hope if I ever have babies that I will be able to find that much patience and energy to stay positive in a stressful situation like that.
Once at the Chicago Midway airport, I followed the signs to the train (easily about a mile and a half from the gate, or maybe it just seemed like it). I hadn't gotten any cash which was a mistake I won't make again because they don't take credit or debit cards in their ticket machines. The way transit in Chicago works is that you buy a transit card and then you can load more money onto it and keep using it until it expires. Luckily there was an ATM near the ticket machines so I got a twenty out and bought my card. I didn't even think about the fact that I was basically putting the whole twenty on the card and there was no way I would be able to use that much transit while I was there, but oh well, live and learn. So I took my $20 card and went through the turnstile and down to the train (aww...turnstiles...it's like being back in Atlanta again!). I ride public transit all the time, and I was kind of expecting the Chicago trains to be like the MAX. They are not. I mean, they're trains, they get you where you want to go, but that's about where the similarities end. Chicago trains are dirty, they have some pimpin' seventies upholstery and fake wood grain paneling, the doors open for about .02 seconds at each stop, so you'd better be ready to get on or off in a hurry, and finally, everybody on the train seemed to be perpetually grumpy. Oh also, the Chicago train system is COMPLICATED. You can see a map of the system here, so you know what I'm talking about.
But anyway, I had figured out where I needed to go with the help of the CTA trip planner (oh so handy!), so my train ride went pretty much as planned. The only thing I wasn't anticipating was the panicky feeling of "what the hell am I doing in Chicago?" that kind of came out of nowhere. It eventually passed though, and I bolted off the train when I finally got to my stop, lest I get caught in the swiftly-closing doors. Once I was down at street level, I took a quick self-portrait and started walking towards the Travelodge where I was staying. Looking up at the El tracks and especially hearing a train roaring overhead as I walked under them was an awe-inspiring experience. Chicago felt very very big to me at that moment. Overwhelming.
It was only about three or four blocks to the hotel, so I hoofed it, got my room key, called to let my loved ones know I was okay, then set out in search of dinner. I didn't have to go very far because there was a pretty decent looking Thai restaurant on the corner. I brought a magazine to read since I now know the pitfalls of eating in a restaurant alone. I managed to get there only five minutes before the kitchen closed, so I ordered the chicken satay (my favorite) and massaman curry. I tried to relax and enjoy my dinner and I was fairly successful for a while, but eventually I noticed the waitstaff was starting to give the stink eye to those of us who were left in the dining room. I was about done anyway, so I finished up and beat it back to my hotel room.
I stayed up a little while checking my email and waiting for my roommate to arrive (I was splitting the room with another COFRA member that I had never met), but I knew I had to get up pretty early so around eleven I put everything away and went to sleep. Saturday morning I woke up bright and early as planned and got ready to go to the think tank. My roommate hadn't shown up during the night, but I knew she was likely staying with a friend in town, so I wasn't too worried. I was, however, feeling some significant social anxiety about walking into a roomful of strangers. I took a few moments in the hotel room to take some deep breaths and psych myself up, then I set out to walk the few blocks to the Harold Washington Public Library, where the think tank was being held. I was positively dazzled by the library. It was enormous and beautiful and well-thought-out and just incredible. There were fountains, people. That's all I'm saying. Fountains. In the library. Awesome.
So I eventually found the room we were meeting in, took a deep breath, walked in, and introduced myself. The first person I met was Paul McAleer, the brains behind the think tank operation, writer of BigFatBlog.com, and personal hero of mine. Ten years ago, when I was first starting to think about the idea of fat acceptance, I did a search and came up with a page he had on his personal website called The Fat Acceptance Resource where he had put the results of a research project he had done on fat and discrimination in college. This was the first time it dawned on me that other people thought the way I did, that my size didn't have to determine my worth and that I deserved the same rights as everyone else. I read his personal blog for a long time after that, and, as you do with celebrities (even bloggers), I always felt like he and I would be super friends if we ever got to hang out. So anyway, I was finally meeting him, and that was fantastic. I met his wife Jeani and everyone else as they arrived (all fabulous people), and eventually we got down to business. Paul had been expecting about 19 people but we ended up with 10 which turned out to be a much better size for the planning we were going to do, so that worked out well.
I can't even remember right now everything that we talked about (I have notes somewhere), but one thing I'm excited about was that I had been turning over an idea in my head for a few weeks and I brought it up in the meeting and they all loved it and we're going to put it into action. So yay! I helped :) I'll write more about the specifics of that when it's up and running.
After the think tank, I was just exhausted so I went back to my room and took a lovely nap. We all got together that night for dinner at The Parthenon, a restaurant in the middle of Chicago's Greektown, which I didn't even know existed until my trip. Oh, I should mention that my roommate showed up in the room a little before dinner, so she came along (she had missed the think tank earlier in the day). We cabbed it over to Greektown, which is one of my least favorite methods of city travel, but the ride was uneventful and got us there pretty quickly, so I suppose I can't complain. The Parthenon was CROWDED. I mean just incredibly crowded. Paul had made a reservation for all of us, so a few minutes after he got there, we were seated at our table. When the waiter took our drink orders, I ordered an Ouzo Sunrise which I was expecting to be somewhat like a Harvey Wallbanger but it really was just like some Ouzo in orange juice with grenadine at the bottom. Didn't bother me though...I ended up having two of them ;)
The Parthenon is apparently known for Saganaki, which is basically a block of Greek cheese covered in brandy and lit on fire (I know, right?). When the waiter lights the Saganaki, everyone in the place is supposed to yell OPA! so it is very festive. The service was slooow but it gave me an opportunity to talk to some of my fellow COFRA folks, so I didn't mind too much. I ordered the pastitsio which was basically beefaroni baked with bechamel sauce. It was awesome, and well worth the wait. After dinner, my roommate and I said our goodbyes to everyone and took a cab back to the hotel. I spent some time on my computer, uploading that day's photos and checking my email, but again I knew I had to get up early, so I made myself go to bed. It was very strange to try to sleep next to a virtual stranger, but eventually my exhaustion won out and I drifted off to sleep.
My alarm went off at 6 AM and I dragged myself out of bed to finish packing and get myself out the door. My flight was leaving at 9:15 so I was aiming to get to the airport by 7:15. I had lost my $18 transit card but my roommate had given me a five dollar bill to use to pay my way on the train back to the airport, so I was all set. At some point on the walk to the train station, I realized that I didn't know what I had done with the five. I kept my cool, assuming I would find another ATM at the train station and I would just buy another $20 transit card. Of course I get my suitcases all the way up there and no, there is no ATM. There is no way to buy a transit card with a credit or debit card either (I asked a transit professional at the station), so I was basically screwed. Luckily, the transit worker I talked to pointed me vaguely in the direction of a 7 Eleven a few blocks away that might have an ATM. She hadn't really said where it was, so I just picked a direction and started walking. I totally passed it the first time but when I turned around, there it was, gleaming like the answer to all of my prayers. So I got a twenty out of the ATM, trekked back to the train station, bought my transit card, maneuvered my suitcases up to the train platform and finally sat, exhausted and ready to just be home already.
My trip back was fairly uneventful, though on the flight we were blessed/cursed with one of those flight attendants who believes himself to be very funny and charming and makes funny funny jokes over the speaker system and plays the trivia game with the passengers. Super. He didn't exactly bother me so much as he mildly activated my disdain. I was pretty much a grumpy ass by then anyway.
T picked me up at the airport, which was awesome. We had planned to go out to brunch but at that point I felt really tired and covered in plane ick, so she just took me home. I'm totally glad I went, as it felt like we really got some COFRA details hammered out, but it was such a short trip that I felt like I didn't really have a moment to see the city or just relax. They are having another think tank in June which I will probably go to, so maybe I'll plan a longer visit next time. I had fun though, and I had a lot of time on the plane to think about some things that have been bothering me lately and make some decisions, so that was a good thing. Also I now feel a teeny bit more like I can handle what life throws at me, which was one of my goals for going in the first place. Next time I plan a trip by myself I think I'll go somewhere more exotic though. Maybe Paris.
So first of all, I have to say that taking my suitcase and laptop on the bus was a fairly obnoxious experience, though not so bad that it would stop me from doing it again. Some part of me enjoys that feeling of self-sufficiency, of not needing a car to get anywhere. Anyway, I went to work early so I could get paid for an entire half day and retain some of my dwindling PTO. I was fairly productive, but my mind was definitely already somewhere else. At 11:30 I left the office with my suitcase and got on the MAX to the airport.
Airport security was an experience because there are certain things you have to take out of bags and put in their own bin and I apparently had all of them. I needed a bin for my laptop, my coat and scarf, my CPAP, and my shoes and zip-top bag of toiletries. Then on the other side of the scanner, I had to hurriedly put everything back where it goes and get out of the way while the people behind me were waiting. I hate this part. I got through it pretty quickly though, and sat down at my gate to wait for boarding. My flight was already delayed, but only about fifteen minutes.
I flew Southwest, which has a very specific policy about "passengers of size" and how they should buy two plane tickets when they fly. When this policy first went into effect, there was a pretty strong backlash from the fat acceptance community because apparently officially the plane ticket you buy is just supposed to guarantee they will get you from point a to point b, not a specific seating space. And really, sure, the airlines should accommodate more body sizes with their seats and everyone should be able to just buy the one ticket and get where they need to go. But the way things are right now, there is just no way I would ever be comfortable pressed up next to someone else and I'm sure they wouldn't enjoy being pressed up against me (or would they? yowza! ;) So I always buy two seats when I fly because I like to know I am going to have enough space to be comfortable. What I LIKE about Southwest's policy is that if the flight you buy your two seats on ends up not being full, they will refund the money you paid for the extra ticket. That doesn't happen on other airlines at all. Also, they let you preboard which turns out to be a greater advantage than I even realized when I was buying my tickets because Southwest doesn't have assigned seating. You get to sit anywhere you like once you get on the plane. So for both flights I was able to be one of the first people on and pick the seats way up front with the ridiculous amount of extra legroom. It was awesome. Also, as watchers of The Amazing Race will know, it's important to sit as close as possible to the front of the plane so you can get off first.
My flight out was good. I did end up bringing my MP3 player and some magazines, so I had something to do if I wanted it. Most of the flight I just listened to music and let my mind wander, and I found myself feeling very glad that the flight was so long and I could just relax. My seatmates for the flight were a young mother and her baby. He was very sweet and she was kind of awesome too because she just let him be a baby. She wasn't paranoid about him annoying the other passengers or being too loud so when he made a loud noise or two, she just took it in stride and continued to interact with him. That was the other thing. I have seen parents with babies in public where you can tell they just want more than anything to not have to deal with this baby right now. And I understand that, because it's probably pretty damn exhausting to travel with a baby, which is why I thought it was so cool the way this mom was totally positive and kept interacting with hers. Anyway, I hope if I ever have babies that I will be able to find that much patience and energy to stay positive in a stressful situation like that.
Once at the Chicago Midway airport, I followed the signs to the train (easily about a mile and a half from the gate, or maybe it just seemed like it). I hadn't gotten any cash which was a mistake I won't make again because they don't take credit or debit cards in their ticket machines. The way transit in Chicago works is that you buy a transit card and then you can load more money onto it and keep using it until it expires. Luckily there was an ATM near the ticket machines so I got a twenty out and bought my card. I didn't even think about the fact that I was basically putting the whole twenty on the card and there was no way I would be able to use that much transit while I was there, but oh well, live and learn. So I took my $20 card and went through the turnstile and down to the train (aww...turnstiles...it's like being back in Atlanta again!). I ride public transit all the time, and I was kind of expecting the Chicago trains to be like the MAX. They are not. I mean, they're trains, they get you where you want to go, but that's about where the similarities end. Chicago trains are dirty, they have some pimpin' seventies upholstery and fake wood grain paneling, the doors open for about .02 seconds at each stop, so you'd better be ready to get on or off in a hurry, and finally, everybody on the train seemed to be perpetually grumpy. Oh also, the Chicago train system is COMPLICATED. You can see a map of the system here, so you know what I'm talking about.
But anyway, I had figured out where I needed to go with the help of the CTA trip planner (oh so handy!), so my train ride went pretty much as planned. The only thing I wasn't anticipating was the panicky feeling of "what the hell am I doing in Chicago?" that kind of came out of nowhere. It eventually passed though, and I bolted off the train when I finally got to my stop, lest I get caught in the swiftly-closing doors. Once I was down at street level, I took a quick self-portrait and started walking towards the Travelodge where I was staying. Looking up at the El tracks and especially hearing a train roaring overhead as I walked under them was an awe-inspiring experience. Chicago felt very very big to me at that moment. Overwhelming.
It was only about three or four blocks to the hotel, so I hoofed it, got my room key, called to let my loved ones know I was okay, then set out in search of dinner. I didn't have to go very far because there was a pretty decent looking Thai restaurant on the corner. I brought a magazine to read since I now know the pitfalls of eating in a restaurant alone. I managed to get there only five minutes before the kitchen closed, so I ordered the chicken satay (my favorite) and massaman curry. I tried to relax and enjoy my dinner and I was fairly successful for a while, but eventually I noticed the waitstaff was starting to give the stink eye to those of us who were left in the dining room. I was about done anyway, so I finished up and beat it back to my hotel room.
I stayed up a little while checking my email and waiting for my roommate to arrive (I was splitting the room with another COFRA member that I had never met), but I knew I had to get up pretty early so around eleven I put everything away and went to sleep. Saturday morning I woke up bright and early as planned and got ready to go to the think tank. My roommate hadn't shown up during the night, but I knew she was likely staying with a friend in town, so I wasn't too worried. I was, however, feeling some significant social anxiety about walking into a roomful of strangers. I took a few moments in the hotel room to take some deep breaths and psych myself up, then I set out to walk the few blocks to the Harold Washington Public Library, where the think tank was being held. I was positively dazzled by the library. It was enormous and beautiful and well-thought-out and just incredible. There were fountains, people. That's all I'm saying. Fountains. In the library. Awesome.
So I eventually found the room we were meeting in, took a deep breath, walked in, and introduced myself. The first person I met was Paul McAleer, the brains behind the think tank operation, writer of BigFatBlog.com, and personal hero of mine. Ten years ago, when I was first starting to think about the idea of fat acceptance, I did a search and came up with a page he had on his personal website called The Fat Acceptance Resource where he had put the results of a research project he had done on fat and discrimination in college. This was the first time it dawned on me that other people thought the way I did, that my size didn't have to determine my worth and that I deserved the same rights as everyone else. I read his personal blog for a long time after that, and, as you do with celebrities (even bloggers), I always felt like he and I would be super friends if we ever got to hang out. So anyway, I was finally meeting him, and that was fantastic. I met his wife Jeani and everyone else as they arrived (all fabulous people), and eventually we got down to business. Paul had been expecting about 19 people but we ended up with 10 which turned out to be a much better size for the planning we were going to do, so that worked out well.
I can't even remember right now everything that we talked about (I have notes somewhere), but one thing I'm excited about was that I had been turning over an idea in my head for a few weeks and I brought it up in the meeting and they all loved it and we're going to put it into action. So yay! I helped :) I'll write more about the specifics of that when it's up and running.
After the think tank, I was just exhausted so I went back to my room and took a lovely nap. We all got together that night for dinner at The Parthenon, a restaurant in the middle of Chicago's Greektown, which I didn't even know existed until my trip. Oh, I should mention that my roommate showed up in the room a little before dinner, so she came along (she had missed the think tank earlier in the day). We cabbed it over to Greektown, which is one of my least favorite methods of city travel, but the ride was uneventful and got us there pretty quickly, so I suppose I can't complain. The Parthenon was CROWDED. I mean just incredibly crowded. Paul had made a reservation for all of us, so a few minutes after he got there, we were seated at our table. When the waiter took our drink orders, I ordered an Ouzo Sunrise which I was expecting to be somewhat like a Harvey Wallbanger but it really was just like some Ouzo in orange juice with grenadine at the bottom. Didn't bother me though...I ended up having two of them ;)
The Parthenon is apparently known for Saganaki, which is basically a block of Greek cheese covered in brandy and lit on fire (I know, right?). When the waiter lights the Saganaki, everyone in the place is supposed to yell OPA! so it is very festive. The service was slooow but it gave me an opportunity to talk to some of my fellow COFRA folks, so I didn't mind too much. I ordered the pastitsio which was basically beefaroni baked with bechamel sauce. It was awesome, and well worth the wait. After dinner, my roommate and I said our goodbyes to everyone and took a cab back to the hotel. I spent some time on my computer, uploading that day's photos and checking my email, but again I knew I had to get up early, so I made myself go to bed. It was very strange to try to sleep next to a virtual stranger, but eventually my exhaustion won out and I drifted off to sleep.
My alarm went off at 6 AM and I dragged myself out of bed to finish packing and get myself out the door. My flight was leaving at 9:15 so I was aiming to get to the airport by 7:15. I had lost my $18 transit card but my roommate had given me a five dollar bill to use to pay my way on the train back to the airport, so I was all set. At some point on the walk to the train station, I realized that I didn't know what I had done with the five. I kept my cool, assuming I would find another ATM at the train station and I would just buy another $20 transit card. Of course I get my suitcases all the way up there and no, there is no ATM. There is no way to buy a transit card with a credit or debit card either (I asked a transit professional at the station), so I was basically screwed. Luckily, the transit worker I talked to pointed me vaguely in the direction of a 7 Eleven a few blocks away that might have an ATM. She hadn't really said where it was, so I just picked a direction and started walking. I totally passed it the first time but when I turned around, there it was, gleaming like the answer to all of my prayers. So I got a twenty out of the ATM, trekked back to the train station, bought my transit card, maneuvered my suitcases up to the train platform and finally sat, exhausted and ready to just be home already.
My trip back was fairly uneventful, though on the flight we were blessed/cursed with one of those flight attendants who believes himself to be very funny and charming and makes funny funny jokes over the speaker system and plays the trivia game with the passengers. Super. He didn't exactly bother me so much as he mildly activated my disdain. I was pretty much a grumpy ass by then anyway.
T picked me up at the airport, which was awesome. We had planned to go out to brunch but at that point I felt really tired and covered in plane ick, so she just took me home. I'm totally glad I went, as it felt like we really got some COFRA details hammered out, but it was such a short trip that I felt like I didn't really have a moment to see the city or just relax. They are having another think tank in June which I will probably go to, so maybe I'll plan a longer visit next time. I had fun though, and I had a lot of time on the plane to think about some things that have been bothering me lately and make some decisions, so that was a good thing. Also I now feel a teeny bit more like I can handle what life throws at me, which was one of my goals for going in the first place. Next time I plan a trip by myself I think I'll go somewhere more exotic though. Maybe Paris.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Has mass and takes up space
So the more I think about it, the more I'm glad to not be moving until June. I'm not really ready to just pick up and go yet. I sat down with my budget yesterday and realized that I can actually manage to pay for my moving expenses and deposits without having to borrow money from anybody. This is a landmark moment, as every previous move that I can think of has required either maxing out a credit card or borrowing from my (or T's) parents.
So I'm excited! I feel very grown up about the whole thing, which I recognize is a little silly, but there you go. I may not even leave all the packing to the last minute this time!
This time tomorrow, I will be about to board my flight to Chicago. The fear and anxiety is starting to creep up on me, but so far it's still at a manageable level. I have my 3oz or smaller toiletries ready to go, but I realized this morning that I forgot to get my quart-sized plastic zip-top bag to put them in (security regulations are very specific about this stuff). I'm hoping I can find one in the freezer and repurpose it, otherwise I may have to travel to Chicago sans toothpaste and various girly products. I don't suppose I really need to bring my lip gloss to fight for fat rights, but I would prefer to look fabulous when I conquer the windy city. Thanks a heap, terrorists.
Brian sent me an interview with Pema Chödrön a while back, where she was talking about the idea of people willfully distracting themselves on airplanes:
I'm thinking about maybe not taking anything to do on the plane, just to see what it would really be like, if I could meditate during that time or if it would drive me crazy. It's a four and a half hour flight though, so maybe that's too ambitious to start. I would hate to be stuck reading the crappy in-flight magazine because I just! can't! take it anymore! I think I'll give it some more thought and let you know how it goes.
So I'm excited! I feel very grown up about the whole thing, which I recognize is a little silly, but there you go. I may not even leave all the packing to the last minute this time!
This time tomorrow, I will be about to board my flight to Chicago. The fear and anxiety is starting to creep up on me, but so far it's still at a manageable level. I have my 3oz or smaller toiletries ready to go, but I realized this morning that I forgot to get my quart-sized plastic zip-top bag to put them in (security regulations are very specific about this stuff). I'm hoping I can find one in the freezer and repurpose it, otherwise I may have to travel to Chicago sans toothpaste and various girly products. I don't suppose I really need to bring my lip gloss to fight for fat rights, but I would prefer to look fabulous when I conquer the windy city. Thanks a heap, terrorists.
Brian sent me an interview with Pema Chödrön a while back, where she was talking about the idea of people willfully distracting themselves on airplanes:
PEMA CHÖDRÖN: In Tibetan, the word is Dunzi. I love this word, Dunzi. It means
distractions -- distractions that just sort of, you can waste your whole life in
Dunzi, you know, just, like, the lifestyle of just sort of flipping through
magazines. Or -- I don't know. The thing is, what we find if we're not used to
sitting quietly with ourselves and not used to meditation and not used to having
any inner solitude in our lives, we find that we're very threatened by nothing
happening. And we are addicted to dunzi addicted to distractions. And that's why
you get on an airplane, and it's as if, I think they're just, like, terrified,
what would happen if the video went off and there was no food, and we all had to
sit there for the whole, you know, 1 1/2-hour flight, You know, and not have any
entertainment? And, you know, all the books, you forgot your book and
everything. It would be kind of interesting to see if people would, like, freak
out. Because you look up -- you walk up and down the aisles, you know what
everyone would do, they'd close their eyes and go to sleep. They'd just try to
not be there.
I'm thinking about maybe not taking anything to do on the plane, just to see what it would really be like, if I could meditate during that time or if it would drive me crazy. It's a four and a half hour flight though, so maybe that's too ambitious to start. I would hate to be stuck reading the crappy in-flight magazine because I just! can't! take it anymore! I think I'll give it some more thought and let you know how it goes.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Breaking News
I just sold my first necklace on Etsy! I am not even remotely prepared for this...but what a happy problem to have! :)
xo,
C
xo,
C
Loose Ends
Yesterday I was fairly sure I wanted to change jobs. Today, I changed cubes instead. We'll see if it's that easy to assuage my unrest. Somehow, I doubt it.
T and I decided the best way to handle our future living arrangements would be for T to stay in the house with the dogs and for me to find a new place with the two cats (since it should be way easier to find a place that will take two cats than one that will take all those dogs). The only problem with this scenario is that she's not going to be able to move back into the house until June, so I can't look for a place to move into yet. I've been looking anyway, because that's what I do, but it's fairly pointless since even if I find the perfect place at the perfect rate, I can't take it. There are other concerns too, since I will need some new furniture in the new place and of course there's the actual moving of my current stuff. I'm not positive, but it's likely that I will be walking around with a base level of anxiety for the next four months until I can resolve some of these questions. I'm so terrible at waiting...
There's a new guy in our area at work. He doesn't work in our department, he's just using one of our vacant desks. He seems like a nice enough guy, but everyone seems to be falling all over themselves about how awesome they think he is, which makes me instantly wary. The only direct contact I've had with him was when he squeezed the life out of my hand as he introduced himself. My hand was still throbbing painfully 30 seconds later. What's that about?
Chicago is coming up fast! I'm not as nervous as I thought I'd be at this point, which I guess is good, but it makes me wonder if it's all just going to hit me right before my flight.
We are finally experiencing some nice weather in Portland. It has been sunny for the past few days which is awesome as I was starting to feel like I was living in that Ray Bradbury story where it rains for seven years at a time. I plan to get back out there on my bike as soon as I can, though that may have to be after Chicago since I don't usually get home until after dark. Speaking of biking, Brian supplied me with a surprisingly accurate artist's rendering of me as a burly mountain biker which I have attached below for your perusal. The resemblance is uncanny, don't you think?
T and I decided the best way to handle our future living arrangements would be for T to stay in the house with the dogs and for me to find a new place with the two cats (since it should be way easier to find a place that will take two cats than one that will take all those dogs). The only problem with this scenario is that she's not going to be able to move back into the house until June, so I can't look for a place to move into yet. I've been looking anyway, because that's what I do, but it's fairly pointless since even if I find the perfect place at the perfect rate, I can't take it. There are other concerns too, since I will need some new furniture in the new place and of course there's the actual moving of my current stuff. I'm not positive, but it's likely that I will be walking around with a base level of anxiety for the next four months until I can resolve some of these questions. I'm so terrible at waiting...
There's a new guy in our area at work. He doesn't work in our department, he's just using one of our vacant desks. He seems like a nice enough guy, but everyone seems to be falling all over themselves about how awesome they think he is, which makes me instantly wary. The only direct contact I've had with him was when he squeezed the life out of my hand as he introduced himself. My hand was still throbbing painfully 30 seconds later. What's that about?
Chicago is coming up fast! I'm not as nervous as I thought I'd be at this point, which I guess is good, but it makes me wonder if it's all just going to hit me right before my flight.
We are finally experiencing some nice weather in Portland. It has been sunny for the past few days which is awesome as I was starting to feel like I was living in that Ray Bradbury story where it rains for seven years at a time. I plan to get back out there on my bike as soon as I can, though that may have to be after Chicago since I don't usually get home until after dark. Speaking of biking, Brian supplied me with a surprisingly accurate artist's rendering of me as a burly mountain biker which I have attached below for your perusal. The resemblance is uncanny, don't you think?
Saturday, February 16, 2008
I rode my bike!
I really did. This afternoon, faced with a beautiful day and nothing planned, I actually managed to get out there. Now granted, I only rode down to the end of the block and back, but since I haven't ridden a bike in a gazillion years and I still have voices in my head telling me I am too fat to do these things, I was happy that I had the fortitude to at least get out there and give it a try. I realized a few things on my maiden voyage. First of all, if I pick the right time of day, there will be nobody outside in my neighborhood so I don't have to care what they think. Secondly, I may need to start with walking first to get my cardiovascular system back into shape for bike-riding. Third, as T so aptly put it, I have the tender ass of a couch-sitter so I need to either build up some callouses on my cheeks or find an easy chair that will attach to my bike's seat post.
Anyway, it was exciting to get started finally. Here's a pic of me just afterwards, high on endorphins. I can only hope that the second time will be just as much fun :)
Anyway, it was exciting to get started finally. Here's a pic of me just afterwards, high on endorphins. I can only hope that the second time will be just as much fun :)
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Feel the burn
I just noticed that all day I have been attempting to distract myself, to avoid thinking too deeply on anything. I feel like if I can just keep moving then I won't sink down into whatever dark feelings are lurking below. Well, of course I know that probably isn't the best way to deal with one's feelings...so I guess here is a little bit of what is going on with me:
For the none of you who don't already know this, T and I decided on Monday to 'go our separate ways' romantically. We both found through the separation that we were doing pretty well on our own and were, in some ways, happier when we were apart than when we were together. As simple as that sounds, the reality of breaking up has been extremely painful for both of us.
We had a connection that was so powerful that, for a time, we ceased being individual people and became one unit. There are definitely problems with that kind of relationship structure but it's also a very comfortable place to be when you feel, as I have felt in the past, that you have never really fit in with anybody. The fact that T was so willing to be on my team and spend her time with me and listen to me talk for hours about whatever was going on in my head caused an incredible shift in the way I perceived myself. Through T I was able to feel not alone for the first time in my life. Through her eyes I began to be able to see positive qualities about myself. I began to believe that I could be beautiful and appealing and that I wasn't the freakish misfit I had always assumed myself to be.
She would listen to my ramblings about things I had figured out about myself, like why I reacted a certain way to something my brother said or why it was so important to me to be singled out positively at work. She would offer her insightful opinions too, of course, but mostly she just let me talk, which was exactly what I needed in that situation. We bought our first house together, went through our first refinance together, and survived the foreclosure nightmare together. We adopted way too many pets together and got through some very painful losses of some of those pets together. She was with me every step of the way during my brother's brain tumor, from the very first phone call from Mom, through both trips to Portland and both surgeries, to his latest positive (meaning no change) brain scan. We have been on countless incredible vacations together, have watched a million movies and tv shows together, and have more inside jokes than I can imagine ever having with anyone else.
All this is to say that T has meant more to me than any non-family member I have ever known. I love T, she will always be in my heart and part of my family. If there was some way to guarantee that she would be my friend forever, I would sign up for that shit so fast. So the biggest, scariest part of this whole breakup thing is not being able to see the future. I can only hope that we can continue to maintain our connection even though neither one of us has any idea what is coming.
I hope you are all having wonderful Valentine's days.
xo,
C
For the none of you who don't already know this, T and I decided on Monday to 'go our separate ways' romantically. We both found through the separation that we were doing pretty well on our own and were, in some ways, happier when we were apart than when we were together. As simple as that sounds, the reality of breaking up has been extremely painful for both of us.
We had a connection that was so powerful that, for a time, we ceased being individual people and became one unit. There are definitely problems with that kind of relationship structure but it's also a very comfortable place to be when you feel, as I have felt in the past, that you have never really fit in with anybody. The fact that T was so willing to be on my team and spend her time with me and listen to me talk for hours about whatever was going on in my head caused an incredible shift in the way I perceived myself. Through T I was able to feel not alone for the first time in my life. Through her eyes I began to be able to see positive qualities about myself. I began to believe that I could be beautiful and appealing and that I wasn't the freakish misfit I had always assumed myself to be.
She would listen to my ramblings about things I had figured out about myself, like why I reacted a certain way to something my brother said or why it was so important to me to be singled out positively at work. She would offer her insightful opinions too, of course, but mostly she just let me talk, which was exactly what I needed in that situation. We bought our first house together, went through our first refinance together, and survived the foreclosure nightmare together. We adopted way too many pets together and got through some very painful losses of some of those pets together. She was with me every step of the way during my brother's brain tumor, from the very first phone call from Mom, through both trips to Portland and both surgeries, to his latest positive (meaning no change) brain scan. We have been on countless incredible vacations together, have watched a million movies and tv shows together, and have more inside jokes than I can imagine ever having with anyone else.
All this is to say that T has meant more to me than any non-family member I have ever known. I love T, she will always be in my heart and part of my family. If there was some way to guarantee that she would be my friend forever, I would sign up for that shit so fast. So the biggest, scariest part of this whole breakup thing is not being able to see the future. I can only hope that we can continue to maintain our connection even though neither one of us has any idea what is coming.
I hope you are all having wonderful Valentine's days.
xo,
C
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
I may well be losing my mind...
All day long I have been hearing the annoying sound of music on a very low volume, as if one of my coworkers had a radio on very softly at their desks. Several times I have noticed the sound and been irked by it, not because I'm a cube nazi but just because...ech..turn that crap off! This is a place of business, people! It was only just now, when I recognized the song that was being played as one I have been listening to a lot lately that I realized that the music was coming from my very own mp3 player, sitting right next to me on the desk.
I think I need a vacation.
I think I need a vacation.
Friday, February 8, 2008
My Story (with love)
I came across a great website the other day. It's called "I was a fat kid...and this is my story". It's basically a repository for people who were fat kids to share what they went through, whether it was problems with their families, problems with other kids, etc. What's awesome about it is that I was a fat kid and it's so easy to think that you're the only one who has ever had these experiences and to feel really alone because of it. Reading some of these stories reminded me that I'm not alone in my experiences and that others have been through some of the same things. Reading their stories also inspired me to write mine. It took me a few days to get it all out on paper. I started out from a place of anger and frustration because of the argument B and I were having in the comments a few entries ago, but as I wrote the story out it was like a moment of great release, of finally being able to let go of hurt and regret and anger over things that happened when I was a kid. Writing it allowed me to look at history more objectively and think about what might have prompted situations to play out a certain way.
Part of me feels almost like it is a betrayal to post my story here, like my fat kid story is a big family secret that no one should ever know. But there's nothing wrong with my story. It's a shame that anyone would have to experience the tension, conflict, and unhappiness that my family and I did, but it is what it is and I am who I am today because of it. So, with great love to all involved, I present my fat kid story:
I was seven years old when my parents enrolled me in my first
weight-loss program. It was called The Body Shop and meetings were held weekly
in a baptist church in the city, one of the few times in my life I have ever
been inside a church. I was the youngest person there. The next oldest was a
girl in her late teens and then the rest of the people were much older, maybe in
their thirties and forties. The thing I remember most about the program was my
unbridled joy and hope on the first day, when I fully believed that this program
would fix what was wrong with me and I would then be happy. I don’t remember
anymore how effective the program was at the time, but I do know that I didn’t
live happily ever after. Either I lost weight and then put it back on, or I
didn’t lose enough so it was ultimately judged unsuccessful by my parents and
eventually we tried another approach.
I was always a big, sturdy kid. My mom has commented many times over the
years that she had expected to have a dainty little girl that she could dress up
in pink frilly things and instead she got me, the polar opposite. I was loud, I
was obstinate, I didn’t ever quite fit the traditional girl role. I was just
bigger in a lot of ways than the other girls my age. This inherent difference
was highlighted by my parents’ continual efforts to get me to lose weight. My
body became the big issue between my parents and me. It was the main source of
conflict, the main struggle, the main reason for discussion.
I may be fuzzy on the timeline, but the next official thing I remember my
parents trying was the (first) nutritionist. Her big thing was the food diary. I
think I was eight at this point, and what eight year old doesn’t love writing
down everything she eats? The thing I remember most about the nutritionist was
that she gave me a recipe for something called a coffee ring using something
called Sugar Twin. I vaguely remember eating it and let me just say, sugar is to
Sugar Twin like Arnold Schwarzenegger is to Danny DeVito. The other thing I
remember about the nutritionist is having to go to her office right after my
basketball team won the league championship. I’m pretty sure I had to miss going
out for pizza with the team, so that must have sucked. It’s likely that during
this time I wouldn’t have been allowed to enjoy pizza anyway though, so maybe it
doesn’t matter. Multiple experts and programs followed this one, but they all
tend to run together in my head.
I should mention that while I was attending the official program or
expert of the moment, things at home were fraught with tension and conflict over
my weight. My parents went with the legal approach. Every new effort began with
a meeting of the two parties (my parents and me) around our kitchen table.
Looking back, I realize I probably should have had representation. My mom would
always have a typed-up contract with the ways in which I was expected to change
(rarely this was about specific habits like exercise or food but usually it was
about quantifiable weight loss) and sometimes, the reward I would receive for
it. Dad would do most of the talking, explaining what their side requested of me
and what they were prepared to do to get it. Mom would usually sit quietly until
it was contract-signing time, then she’d whip it out and we’d all sign our
names, each of us desperately hoping that this time would be the one that would
work.Food was a huge huge huge source of tension for my parents and me.
Everything I would eat in front of them was heavily scrutinized, so I got very
good at hiding and sneaking food. Probably as an attempt to control this
behavior, there was a period of time where all of the food in my house was
locked up. My father put a locking doorknob on the pantry door and threaded
chains with padlocks around the refrigerator and the freezer. This didn’t stop
me for very long, as at this point I was dealing with a raging eating disorder
and, like a junkie looking for a fix, I would do just about anything to get at
my self-medication supplies. I searched the house methodically until I found the
keys to the pantry door and the padlocks and I used them to sneak food out and
hide it in my room. It’s not like there were boxes of twinkies or bags of
cheetos locked up in there either. My parents had always been a little nuts
about healthy food and our struggles made it even more of a goal for them to not
buy anything that was really appealing, food-wise. It didn’t matter. I remember
in one extreme example the only thing I could find that was worth eating was a
container of powdered sugar. I didn’t enjoy it very much but it temporarily
filled the deep hole of despair inside me.
Exercise was another big struggle. We lived on a circle, meaning the
street looped all the way around and was perfect for taking a walk. I remember
many many times one or both of my parents asking or pleading or telling or
insisting that I get out there and walk around the circle. I did not want to
walk around the circle. For one thing, it was boring to just walk around by
myself. For another, there were kids who lived in the neighborhood who went to
school with me, and I really didn’t want to encounter them while walking for
exercise because I was a big fat freak. My parents tried other things though. We
joined the local YMCA, so then there were struggles about whether I was going to
go to the Y and whether I was doing enough to exercise when I was at the Y. They
bought an exercise bike and a treadmill for the house, so then there were
struggles about whether I was going to use the bike or the treadmill and whether
I had biked or treaded for long enough. Again, I got very good at hiding the
truth. I would turn on the treadmill and go sit down on the sofa and watch TV,
then when I heard someone coming I would jump on the belt and pretend to be out
of breath. I had been active in sports when I was younger but as this struggle
went on, exercise became more and more of something to avoid, something to get
out of.
When I was twelve my parents sent away for a stack of brochures for
various fat camps around the country. I liked the idea of fat camp, at least the
ones that were actually like camp, with the campfires and canoes instead of the
college campuses. I had been to summer camp before and found it to be a lot of
fun, so I had high hopes for Camp Kingsmont, the one my parents and I chose for
me to go to. It was set in Massachussetts and the session was seven weeks long,
so I was excited to try something so far outside of my usual life. I suppose
part of me thought that this might be the magic answer to fix what was wrong
with me so I could then be happy.So I went to fat camp. It was pretty awesome, actually. I was thirteen and
had recently developed an interest in the opposite sex, so it was nice to be in
a place where the playing field was leveled somewhat. I had my first boyfriend
at fat camp and my first experience of being dumped rather spectacularly in
public, but that is a very different story. My days at fat camp consisted of
exercising all day (usually sports of some kind but sometimes non-fun exercises
like aerobics or walking) and dealing with the usual social drama one finds when
you get a coed group of teenagers together. The food was specifically
calorie-controlled but not too bad.I don’t remember how much weight I lost that first summer, but it was pretty
significant. I came home to the expected accolades and excitement about what I
had accomplished but things quickly got back to normal. Since I was no longer
exercising all day and eating a specifically controlled diet, the weight crept
back on. By the next summer, I weighed even more than when I had gone to fat
camp the first time. I had begged my parents to send me back to camp again and
they agreed (though there may have been a weight loss contract involved). My
second and third summers were similarly successful and had similar results when
I returned home. By this time I was fifteen years old and it was decided that
fat camp was too expensive and didn’t produce the lasting results we were after,
so I didn’t go back.
My teen years were marked with continuing conflicts over food and
exercise. As my eating disorder got worse with time, there were more and more
incidents that were alarming to my parents. Specifically I remember an incident
where I ate an entire box of banana popsicles the night my mom brought it home
from the store. As my weight continued to rise in the wake of diet after diet,
so too grew my unhappiness. I had spent a lifetime struggling against my body
and feeling that there was something inexorably wrong with me.
I began to heal my eating disorder through a therapist I saw in my late
teens. She gave me the book When Women Stop Hating Their Bodies by Jane R.
Hirschmann and Carol H. Munter. This was a revolutionary idea for me, that
changing my body didn’t have to be the goal, that changing my attitude and my
habits was more important. The authors advocated a radical approach called
demand feeding which included such techniques as overstocking your pantry with
more than you could ever want of anything you could ever think of wanting. The
point was to legalize and equalize all foods so you could break the connection
between the food and the emotional response. I was living at home at this point,
so I enlisted my mother’s help in trying this out. She was skeptical but still
let me buy the groceries I needed on her dime and tried to understand what I was
trying to do. I wasn’t entirely successful in my efforts the first time around,
but over the next several years I tried again and was eventually able to
minimize the impact food had on my emotions. My food issues haven’t been
entirely eradicated and there are definitely times where I have food-related
anxiety or feel the need to eat to deal with my feelings, but most of the time I
am on a pretty even keel when it comes to food. This is something I worked
really hard for and am very proud of.
As an extension of my work with my own food issues and that therapist, I
came upon the fat acceptance movement. It took me many years of emotional work
to realize that I have worth no matter how fat I am and that I can let go of the
idea that I have to be thin before I can live my life. Even now those are ideas
I struggle with every so often.
I absolutely love my parents. I know that whatever trials I went through
as a child came from their desire to make my life easier, to help me fit in with
my peers. But that doesn’t stop me from wishing that things had been handled
differently. I have often looked back on my childhood and wished that one or
both of my parents had had the wherewithal to just love me as I was and teach me
to love myself. If I ever have children of my own, I only hope that I can teach
them that they are strong and beautiful no matter what.
Monday, February 4, 2008
It's really over
I just got back from my bankruptcy trustee hearing. It's over. I'm officially bankrupt. I don't really feel great about it, but it is a relief to have it all over and it's nice that I was able to file chapter 7 instead of chapter 13 and therefore I don't have to pay it all back. I was telling T that it felt like the first time you buy a house, when you sit down in the lawyer's office, not sure if everything is actually going to go through or if something is going to screw things up at the last minute. You sign your papers, then it's over and you feel this immense relief and euphoria because omygod! We just bought a house!
Okay, so it's like that, except instead of euphoria I feel this lingering sense of guilt. It's not rational, but it's there. I think it's going to take some time for my brain to actually register that it's over and start to let go of the huge anxiety monkey that has been sitting on my back since this whole process began.
In other news, I've joined a group on flickr called 365days. Basically everyone takes a self-portrait of themselves every day for a whole year. So far I've only posted one, but eventually I will have a whole mess o' self-portraits in there. I'm interested to see what effect it might have to view a year of me. I'm hoping it will help loosen some of my steadfast body image issues.
That is all, my friends. Chicago in 18 days!
Okay, so it's like that, except instead of euphoria I feel this lingering sense of guilt. It's not rational, but it's there. I think it's going to take some time for my brain to actually register that it's over and start to let go of the huge anxiety monkey that has been sitting on my back since this whole process began.
In other news, I've joined a group on flickr called 365days. Basically everyone takes a self-portrait of themselves every day for a whole year. So far I've only posted one, but eventually I will have a whole mess o' self-portraits in there. I'm interested to see what effect it might have to view a year of me. I'm hoping it will help loosen some of my steadfast body image issues.
That is all, my friends. Chicago in 18 days!
Saturday, February 2, 2008
An uneasy peace of mind
As I was riding the train home today, I had an interesting thought: I am doing okay. I am happy with the status quo, everything is chugging along pretty well for me and I really can't complain. You would expect thoughts like these to be accompanied by a feeling of ease or relief, but honestly I felt a little stressed out by them. The thing is, I tend to constantly have an evaluative process going on in my head that has one job: to figure out what is going wrong in my life so I can fix it. So this evening when I realized that nothing was going wrong, my brain didn't quite know how to process that. Some time later when I had the unusual thoughts again, I was able to set aside the stress and unease and really appreciate the fact that there is nothing to fix. This feeling of relative contentment is new to me, so I'm not sure how long it will last. While it's here, though, I'm going to try to enjoy it.
In other news, I am going to Chicago at the end of the month to attend the second think tank for the Coalition of Fat Rights Activists (details). It will be my first time traveling by myself in at least ten years and my first time in Chicago. I'm plenty nervous but also pretty excited! I have been thinking about going for a few weeks now, but the whole Mississippi legislation issue from my last entry was what prompted me to go ahead and get my plane tickets. I have no doubt that there will be more obesity regulation bills coming eventually and I will be damned if I will stand idly by while some politician decides to legislate my free will.
In other news, I am going to Chicago at the end of the month to attend the second think tank for the Coalition of Fat Rights Activists (details). It will be my first time traveling by myself in at least ten years and my first time in Chicago. I'm plenty nervous but also pretty excited! I have been thinking about going for a few weeks now, but the whole Mississippi legislation issue from my last entry was what prompted me to go ahead and get my plane tickets. I have no doubt that there will be more obesity regulation bills coming eventually and I will be damned if I will stand idly by while some politician decides to legislate my free will.
Friday, February 1, 2008
No fatties allowed!
This article from Junkfood Science is just shocking. If you needed any evidence that fat prejudice was a dangerous thing, there you go. Never mind that the bill won't pass because the restaurant lobby in Mississippi is too powerful, the fact that someone sat down in a room and wrote this bill out, proofread it, revised it, discussed it in a committee, and submitted it for actual consideration is just unbelievable to me. As a commenter on BigFatBlog noted, this kind of thing just serves as the distraction for the real legislation. So the next bill that's introduced that's slightly less extreme will be taken more seriously because at least it's not as crazy as Mississippi! The whole thing is a slippery slope and a very distressing precedent.
Even if you buy into the whole idea that fat people would just not be fat if they ate differently (which I don't, btw), is it really the kind of thing that the government should be involved in? Should politicians have the right to decide whether someone can go out to dinner with their families based on how fat they are? It blows my mind that anyone can look at that and think it's a good idea. What a fucked up world.
Even if you buy into the whole idea that fat people would just not be fat if they ate differently (which I don't, btw), is it really the kind of thing that the government should be involved in? Should politicians have the right to decide whether someone can go out to dinner with their families based on how fat they are? It blows my mind that anyone can look at that and think it's a good idea. What a fucked up world.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)