plummyhead

In the past year…no, actually longer, since the October before last, I have lost about 30 pounds, using LA Weight Loss. They helped me to figure out how I was eating wrong and helped me to eat right. So I fit into a size 6 (US) and would love to fit into a 4. I am very short, so this is really not unreasonable. I have a pair of “wish pants” in size four. I keep them around to inspire. I will fit into them SOON! I was talking with my ma the other day and she said, “You’re really a success story!” That made me feel pretty darn good!

And I really hate it when people feel obliged to point it out, which is every day. Really, not a day goes by that someone does not make a personal commentary on my stature. I wish it didn’t bother me; I have mastered all the snappy comebacks, but it actually hurts me inside and I wish it didn’t. I could have a lot of worse things wrong with me, and really, who says there is anything actually wrong with being short. I have adapted well to my surroundings and there is very little that I can’t do. I can even play basketball, although granted, I’m no NBA recruiter’s dream. I sometimes feel a tremendous surge of anger when someone mentions my height, call me “shortstop,” or informs me “good things come in small packages!” How condescending is that!? Or better,“dynamite comes in small packages…” For God’s sake, who was the mental giant who came up with that one? I just want to know why it is okay for someone to say,”Gee, you’d better get a cherry picker to reach that,” as I am hanging their IV fluid or reaching up to get them a warm blanket, but if I were to say in return, “Well, Mr Smith, we might just have to have the doors widened for ya, since you seem to have had an extra twinkie or 10 today…”people would get up in arms. But I never would, because it is lame to point out a perceived flaw on someones exterior. Do the people who comment think the recipient of the comment is NOT aware that they are short/fat/skinny/missing a limb? Anyhow, obviously, I have a long way to go on this one. I want to feel chill about it, when someone asks me if I am a legal midget. Just Not saying anything doesn’t count—I want to not feel angry about it.

I have been working on a song for so many years that I hum it when I drive, I sing it in the shower, it is a loop in my head that is crying to be recorded. The song had transformed over the years, starting as as a poem about (trite, I know) an unfortunate relationship, and the pain it caused, even years later. Then it developed, as the second verse came along, over the years, to talk about how it has effected my relationships now, and not in such a food way. Now I am trying to finish it, as I work on the part where I have come full circle, have regained my sense of self and am whole again, in spite of the pig bastard who had destroyed all that years ago. My husband (obviously NOT the perpetrator) has encouraged me to record it for years, and to learn the guitar so I can really make it a whole piece. It’s about time I finish this thing!!