aurges a child, with a neighbor family on the other side of the wall, Lou stretched high as he could and chirped, “Big fat Fay; Little skinny Bill; Pee-pants Roberta; Grouchy Sandy.” to the fat mother wife. I can’t write music, so I can’t sing the tune to that for you. But it’s been something about him I’ve always remembered, and mimicked at seemingly (to me anyway) appropriate times. It seems intimate. I look forward to expressing my love for you to you – instead of being mad all the time. What a drag. What a drain. But you give me a glimmer of hope. We’ll see how it goes. All I know is that I spent the happiest 5 – even 6 – years of my life with you. You’ve “made me happy” as no other human. You put up with my moodiness and you listen and consider (usually) what I have to say. But when you drink, it’s all about you. Now I don’t think much of myself, but I do like a little respect, just like anyone, as a human, or creature, deserves.
Exclusion freaks me out. I’m claustrophobic. I’ve tried to face it by making myself stay in an uncomfortably full elevator. I can actually do it most often now. But the last few days I’ve had to claw my way out 3 times. The last 2 times I was hep to it so I
Why are there faux pauxs? I don’t get so much of this life. I feel so disconnected.
We’ve never been this fat together before. We’re both overweight. Granted, him more than I, but I’ve got a big rubber fat roll on my belly – and I had abs not 10 years ago! – So in a way, we’re experiencing each other in a way in which we never have before. It’s awesome when you look at life from different perspectives.
I was a nasty little girl. I mean I must have learned stuff way before my time that I have no recollection of. Was I molested? I’d hate to just imagine that something happened and it all be a ruse, but something must account for it. Or maybe I was just “advanced”. At about 5. It was those books Hazel kept down in the bottom drawer of her dresser in their bedroom. I’d found then. I could read. The horrible perversion that was there. I know now that it was probably really literary pornography – in a very ill way. What does that do to a child? Do you have a memory of seeing a butt pressed against the top window of a hangover camper – the driver & his passenger (the parents) totally unaware? That was probably my young butt. Maybe that’s why I have such a big butt. It bumps into things and I’m surprised. If any ones there, I have to joke about, ‘oh, I guess I thought I could get by that!” I remember once my mother, Hazel, and I, went to see “Conan the Barbarian” starring, of course, Arnold S (I don’t want to bother spelling out his name, you know who I mean – he was kind of hot at one time – in a (hheee) barbaric sense - Writing is so cathartic. So relaxing and fulfilling. Satisfying. I really do wish I could do more. But it’s those urges I need. Plus a little help from my friends.
