I am deleting a now unused blog, and this is the only entry that I want to save from it. It basically sums up the way I feel about being fat. It was written on January 8th, 2008:

The last year of my life was fraught with change and transition. I found myself attempting to make breaks from old habits, and one of my resolutions for 2007 was to try to take more risks, and attempt to put myself outside of my comfort zone in a plethora of situations. Do I feel that I was successful? Well, I cannot argue that I didn't at least make an attempt. When you consider that I left my job of over four years to go back to school, well then yes, that was a risk. I left a scenario that I was accustomed to, and comfortable with. I left the people that I had worked with for years, people that I liked, people that I knew that I could rely of for a source of daily comfort and support, whether it be through light and casual conversation, or the unburdening of my internal struggles. I gave up my apartment that I held so dear, my cozy little downtown nook, full of books and cats, stocked with gourmet tea and cheap wine, and furnished with third-hand furniture and pilfered knick-knacks. I left this for a basement bedroom in my father's and stepmother's house. I haven't lived with my father since I was 22, shortly after my mother died... this has been an adjustment!

But I also believe that when I was initially outlining my goals for 2007, what I actually meant by intending to take more risks was to do just that... risk appearing foolish, risk being embarrassed, risk your pride to do the things that you want. This is what I meant by putting myself outside of my comfort zone: do what you want to do regardless of what people will think. This has by far been my life's most difficult lesson, and I know it is one that most people struggle with at some point in their life.

I am just sick of it ruling my though processes! I want to take a pilates class without being afraid of being the fattest girl in the class. Who cares if I am the fattest girl in the class? Following logic, doesn't someone have to be the fattest girl in the class? Why can't it be me? What is wrong with that? I want to walk by stores and see something that I like, walk in and try it on, regardless of the fact that it might not fit me! What happens if it doesn't fit me? I put it back and walk out of the store! Or better yet, find something else that does! Why am I so afraid of the judging eyes of the pilates instructor, sales clerk, random passerby? Why do I care? And furthermore, why do I assume that they will judge me in a negative manner?

These are all questions that I have grappled with for most of my adult life. And they are also questions that I trying to force myself to examine a little more closely.

I am so tired of having my fat-related paranoia rule my life. I have been fat since I was a child. It is not a matter of not excercising - my summer months are filled with downtown pavement walks on hot days, and bike rides on the boardwalk, and swimming in Lake Superior. It's not a matter of poor eating habits - while I may not exactly be a picture of perfect nutrition, I do enjoy fruits and vegetables more than most people I know. Perhaps it lies in the fact that I am not a fan of self-denial? When I desire chocolate, cheese, laughter, comfort, sex, pleasures of all varieties, I in turn seek them! Perhaps my excess adipose tissue is a penance for hedonistic ways?

I would say that about 75% of the time, I like the way that I look. I am eternally flawed... name any body part, and I will list a complaint. My hair is too fine, my nose is too big, my skin is too dry, my eyebrows uneven, my arms are too fat and my legs are too short. I have a giant scar on my left leg, and it gets swollen when I am on my feet for too long. I get ingrown toenails, and I have the scar on the back of my neck that flares up into and angry rash every once in awhile. My eyes are too small, and my fingernails are very weak and flimsy. My complexion is too ruddy, and I get these brown skin patches around my upper arms because of a condition. My breasts are too large, and I don't like their shape. My vulva is lopsided!

And yet... I still feel okay about myself, 75% of the time. I think that's a pretty good number! When you consider the number of times in a day when you are faced with someone trying to convince you not to like who you are, I will absolutely be okay with liking myself 75% of the time.

2007 was the first year that I found moderate success with my resolutions. And it was also the first year, in at least ten, that I DID NOT resolve to lose weight. Coincidence? Instead, I quit smoking. I am very proud of this!

My primary resolution for 2008?

To love myself 25% more!

The entire city is covered in a six inch layer of slush. There is so much slush-related anger coursing through my veins any time I have to leave the house. Any time I find myself walking to the bus stop, I try to repeat the eco-friendly rhetoric in my head - public transportation is GOOD. Cars are BAD. But it's a whole lot easier to swallow when the pavement is dry and I get to wear cute shoes. I'm just going to buy sorels! I can't believe that I've gotten to a point in my life where I'm willing to admit that function>fashion. But it really is for car-free people such as myself, and I'm soooo tired of fighting it.

Oh, hey tharrr super secret blog. Why do I always neglect you, and write terrible half-entries and delete them without posting?

This cute little boy that works at HMV came into my store today and was asking about Marvel Zombies 2. He always comes straight to me for the zombie deets, cause he knows that I'm familiar with the territory. I am always instantly attracted to zombie-philes, and I have no idea why. (Althought the guy from HMV is TOO YOUNG, and it's wrong to dick little babies and shit.)

I have many other varied interests that I'm sure that I share with a good bulk of the population, but finding out about other common interests just doesn't affect me in the same way. When Marvel Zombies 2 first arrived at the store, I happened to be working cash the first time a guy bought it. A totally normal and nondescript sort of dude, very blue-collar and non-interesting looking in every way. But when he slid his avid reader's card and copy of MV2 across the counter to me, I looked up at him and just about got lost in his dreamy zombie-infected eyes. I started gushing about how awesome the series is and made myself look like a blathering idiot, and I am absolutely embarrassed to admit this... but I memorized the name that came up when I swiped his card, and tried to facebook stalk him. I swear to god, I am really that sad. It's a problem. (I should mention that I did not locate him on facebook. I have decided that this is just as well. I may have done something crazy.)

I once considered going on a date with a 42 year old married man because he really really really liked zombie movies, and saw on my POF profiles that I also really really really like zombie movies. Fortunately I was talked out of it. This would have also probably been a terrible situation.

Someday I will meet a man who will understand me enough to get me this without having to ask me if I want it, or without me TELLING him about it. Someday. I'm not holding my breath, though.

I met a totally cute boy at a 90s party I threw last weekend. An acquaintance of mine brought him along, and all night long I was trying to figure out where the hell I knew him from. Turns out he's the little brother of this guy I used to be friends with, a million billion years ago. He's cute, and funny, and has a wicked job, and had gone on a date with a girl I know the night before. POO. Also, being that it was a 90s party I basically looked like Kurt Cobain. I probably actally looked more like a dude than Kurt Cobain ever did. And when I found out that this guy is a nurse, I dragged him into my bedroom and made him let me take his blood pressure and asked for tips. Also, I was wasted and couldn't hear shit through my stethoscope. Who does that? Me, that's who. Also, I'm pretty sure that he thinks I'm a freak now because after I finally scraped together enough ballz to add him to my msn, the only think I coudl think of to talk to him about was boots.

For real. Like, sorels. And uggs. And weatherproofing and garbage like that.

I'm probably the worst person in the whole world at talking to boys. I'm going to die alone.

Also, after he left, I wrote on his facebook wall, thanking him for helping me with the blood pressure stuff, and then the girl that I know that he went on a date with kind of wigged out a little bit. Sorry?

I have approximately somewhere in the realm of seventeen kajillion exams over the next two weeks. Then I am off for a month. I'm planning on spending most of my break sleeping, and not talking to boys, because all I ever do is make myself sound like an idiot.

I wish I could date Ice Cube, for real. Plus he's got all that Are We There Yet? money, so I could quit my job at the bookhole while I finish up my Nursing degree.

Fuck my life!