Just sitting here at the shop bullshitting with the guys at the shop feeling too full from dinner. Why does that alway equate with guilt? Feeling too fdull. I'll never understand why I eat when I'm not even hungry.

new droid

I'm now connected to the blogosphere. Will be here more often. There's always Fat Ass issues to write about. Today (again) I really need to fast. I fed entire army through my own mouth yesterday. Feel bloated and (can you believe it?) hungry.

Susie

It's been almost a year since Susie died.  How I miss her.  When I read my memoir, the numerous parts about Susie rip my heart to shreds.  I read them at her funeral.  Sometimes I feel so alone without her.  I try so hard to relive every moment with her, remembering her beauty, her faults, her physical and emotional transformations throughout her too-short life.

I no longer have the measuring stick for my own self-esteem that Susie was.  I always felt she was more beautiful than me, through no Provocation on her part.  She always tried to protect me from the world.  I still hear her endless giggle, still feel her strong hands on my shoulder, and I still feel the instinct to follow her.  She was always the leader, my mentor, my dearest cousin.

Susie acted like being large was no skin off her back, but then she almost died from gastric bypass surgery.  I think the surgery had a hand in her final demise ten years later.  If she wasn't so weakened by years of post-surgery nutritional deprivation, she may have survived the fall that killed her.  But her once-strong bones were like chalk, her former athletic muscles were weak and flabby, her brilliant teeth were gone.  I would never recommend this surgery to anyone, ever. 

The fact of the matter is this--GASTRIC BYPASS SURGERY HAS A HIGH PROPENSITY TO LEAVE YOU WITH DISORDERED EATING SIMILAR TO THE DISORDERED EATING THAT PUTS THE WEIGHT ON IN THE FIRST PLACE.  I wholeheartedly agree with NAAFA's statement that this surgery is akin to forced anorexia.  All people need to attend to nutrition.  PERIOD!  Who gives a crap about how fat you are?  Fat simply means efficient.  Your body does what it's supposed to do, and it does it well.  Try to be as healthy as you can, even if you're a size 22.  If somebody comments on your weight, simply smile, shake their hand and say, "Fuck you, fuck you very much!"

I love you and miss you Susie.

For something different

Anyone who has read "Memoir of a Recovering Fat Ass" knows Cheesy.  He's my dearest husband who saved me from despair nearly a decade ago.  We've been together ever since.  Instead of discussing Fat Ass issues today, I want to write about watching the one you love nearly die.  Not from and accident as in the book, but Cheesy has been suffering from hack hernia surgery.  We found a doc to help this week but it meant more surgery.  Once again I sat next to Cheesy as he suffered immeasurable pain.  We usually get through hard times unscathed, but not so this time.

Today we had a fight-the second one in nine years.  I ran away.  I didn't know what else to do.  I can only absorb so much of his pain.  It hurts me too.  So I'm sitting at the (empty) beach blogging when I should be home to absorb more pain.  I love him so much, but we never fight so I guess I don't know how to handle it.  I tried to apologize once, but it didn't work.  What do people do to overcome a fight?  Any suggestions?

No diet expert here

Today I pondered the first paragraph in my Memoir.  As I have memorized nearly every sentence in the entire book, I do this often.  My first paragraph makes a confession-my failure as a dieter.  I'm not qualified to write a diet book.  My own diet fluctuates among extremes- from raw vegan (the absolutely the best diet for ME, probably not you), to living on chocolate and cheese.  Consistency in not my best attribute.  If I could maintain a consistent healthy diet, I could live to be 105.

The key is to focus on health, but life in the good ol' USA interferes, with it's pizza commercials and 4th of July picnics.  I encourage my readers to focus on health, not the numbers on the scale.  Now, if I could only practice what I preach.  Tomorrow's a new day. 

I wish all of you luck, strength, and perseverance.

Too long weekend

Most folks think weekends are too fast, but this one was incredibly slow.  I spent nearly every waking moment trying to transform myself into a graphic designer, with frozen Reese's Cups in hand.  I failed miserably.  I will hire a pro to do the job.
In fact, this has been a pretty messed up, failure ridden week.  I've not been able to work because my Jeep took a dump, and the Sheriff wants to take the clothes off my back to pay for a delinquint school loan (one that refused to consolidate and got lost in the shuffle).  Guess they don't know I buy my clothes at Salvation Army.  Why pay a shitload of money for jeans that will be runied within a year by thigh friction?  Once the crotch wears out, they're only good for rags.  Levi rags?  No way!  Unless I hit the jackpot and find a pair that fits me at Sally's, no easy task.  At $3.95 a pair, it's not a crying shame when the threads start to show.  

Everyone should write one

As I flip through the pages of "Memoir of a Recovering Fat Ass", as I often have during the ebook formating process, I often find myself flat out crying.  Whether it be joy or sadness, reliving one's life is bound to draw out emotions.  I'm glad I took the time to record my experiences.  Regular walks down life's paths are priceless.  If one is lucky, she will live until all she has are memories.  They say only the good die young, but the lucky grow old; I'd rather be lucky than good.  I will always have my memoir.  I will listen to it if I can't see to read, or I will scale it in Braille if I can't hear.  They'll probably have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.

I encourage everyone to write one.