In A Funk

Man. I’ve been pretty down these past few days. I’m having the “I’m Never Gonna Have A Career!” blues. I wish I was able to afford an apartment. Or a car. Or my cell bill. Or the damn $20 payment on my credit card. But I can’t. And that shit sucks to high heaven.

I don’t know anyone here in my new state…so I don’t have any friends. I’m not so lonely (cause I’m a natural loner 🙂 as I am just bored. And I wish I knew someone so they could come over and share my salmon chowder (brand new recipe y’all) I made tonight, cause nobody in my house eats salmon but me.

I want to date…but I don’t feel I have a whole lot to bring (see first saddening paragraph above) to the table, besides my sparkling personality and razor-sharp wit, of course. 🙂

But despite all of this…all of my whining and complaining…I have no need to:

  1. Diet
  2. Exercise Obsessively
  3. Berate my belly
  4. or make a list of flaws.

Now some folks are wondering…how in the hell did she make a jump from feeling broke to her belly? Simple. I was one of those folks who felt that everything that went wrong in life (lack of job, friends, significant other) was brought on my my belly. Because see, when you’re fat, nothing else is focused on except the size of your belly. That’s what it’s all about, after all. You’d get a man if you took the time to look good. (Look good=get skinny, natch.)You’d have a job if you looked “hireable” (no. seriously. someone told me that once. jackass.) Our culture stigmatizes fat so much that it feels like getting rid of it is the Holy Grail to All Things Wonderful.

But it isn’t. And even though I’m in this funk now, I’m happy to note that, for once in my 22 years on this Earth, it has absolutely nothing to do with my thighs/arms/ass/belly. I’m not angry at my fat, nope, not a bit. Not anymore.

Heh. That thought just brought a smile to my face. Gonna go job hunting now. 😀

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