Secrets From A Fat.. SO?!

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Words to live by #5

My Best Feature by Sara Nachtman

I asked my friend this afternoon,
As I gazed into my refection,
What she thought of what I saw.
She said, “Images are usually misconceptions.”

I started to put down my appearance,
Wishing I was thinner, or taller.
She looked at me with understanding eyes,
Saying, “Superficial wishes only make you smaller.”

I knew she was right, but who was she to talk,
For she was every guy’s dream.
I tried to point this out to her,
She replied, “Apperances aren’t always as they seem.”

“Tell me five things you admire in yourself,” she said.
And I knew my troubles had just begun,
For I could see the hurt in her expression,
When I couldn’t even think of one.

I could not think of a single feature I liked,
And I could feel my stomach slowly start to sink
So I turned to my friend and simple said,
“Well, what do you think?”

“I think you’re looking at it all wrong,” she said.
“And I wish I could make it clearer.
It’s what inside of you that makes you beautiful,
And not what can be seen in a mirror.”

She said, “You’re the most loving person I know,
And I hate to wash you fall apart.
If you want to know what makes you beautiful to me,
Your best feature is your heart.”

Words to Live By #3

We are always afraid to start something that we want to make very good, true and serious.
– Brenda Ueland

Words to Live By #2

Trust enables you to put your deepest feelings and fear in your partner’s hands, knowing that they will be handled with care.
– Carl S. Avery

July 22nd 2011

Today has been my first day off in a week.  It feels wonderful to have two days off in a row again. I feel like I almost live at work. I know there are people who I work with who are putting twice the overtime that I am and I wonder how they deal with it. I love the hours I’m getting but it’s exhausting, mentally and physically. Chris gives me a back rub almost every night because of how tense I’ve become. I feel extremely lucky to have that support system, of having someone who will be there to try to help heal me both physically and emotionally when I’m struggling to just get through the day. I realize that sometimes I lean too heavily on him for that support, and I realize that I can’t have my cake and eat it too. I can’t preach that I am an individual who wants her freedom and expect to be emotionally coddled all the time. Because I’m afraid that if I rely too heavily on his support without learning how to also deal with things myself, if we were to breakup, that I would repeat history all over again. Still, that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the benefits that come with being a couple, like cuddling, kissing, free cooking and back rubs.

I woke up late this morning. I had a meeting with Ms. J, my future apartment manager but I kept hitting the snooze button on my phone. It wasn’t like I hadn’t had enough sleep, I had over eight hours, and my body felt physically ready to get up. But my head wasn’t. Emotionally I was still tired and kept forcing myself to go back to sleep till the very last possible moment. I called Ms. J to apologize that I would be over an hour late and rushed to get ready. I try to not to get resentful at Chris for being the one to have to constantly wake him up because, it reminds me of Tony. While Chris is generally easier to get out of bed, and less grumpy, I start to feel like his mother when I have to give “ten minute” warnings and I start to get resentful. But I try to remember the way I look at him every morning before I get out of bed. I remember how peaceful, how adorably cute he looks, and how my heart smiles that moment before I tangle myself out of bed. And I try not to get frustrated or feel like his mother when I have to give 10 minute warnings.

I was locked out of the bathroom and was halfway dressed. My bra was on the bathroom floor and I hadn’t put on any deodorant. But I was wearing the new jeans I had been aching for months over to buy. They don’t quite fit, I need to lose like ten more pounds to really fit them but not only could I squeeze into them, they made my butt look great. In the mean time, I missed a call from Ms. J, letting me know that she was able to find the name of the creditors I’ve been trying to hunt down all week. So while Chris was in the shower, I googled till I was able to find a number. I waited till Chris was done, got dressed and finally after some pacing around Chris’s apartment, finally got the nerve to call the creditors.

I argued on the phone, trying to sound reasonable and fair at the same time. I did my best to not sound like I was arguing or accusing them that they were in the wrong and like I was just trying to understand while getting my point across. The guy read a report as if I trashed my old apartment. Which I didn’t! He said there was $700 charged in new paint alone which I’m quoting “There goes your deposit”. He added that there was also new carpet, and went on further to accuse that because I had had a cat, that there was urine spray I was unable to detect. I wanted to scream that my cats were litter box trained and that I always kept it clean! I was angry but realized that by arguing with him, I wasn’t getting anywhere. Instead I gave him my information on where and how to contact me. I was firm that I wanted an itemized report mailed to me. And when.

I was fuming. I’m surprised I wasn’t shaking. Chris could see how upset I was. “It’s just not fair!!” I wanted to scream. I know life isn’t fair but I more felt taken advantage of. I wrote a quick email to my ex Tony and hustled out the door to catch the bus. As I was leaving the door I realized more than anything I wanted my mommy. I wanted my mommy the same way a five-year old does. Except, I mostly just wanted her to tell me that everything was going to be okay, that I could fight this, and that I was strong enough and that the bad guys wouldn’t win. Instead I got the opposite. Both my mother and my god mother told me I should just roll over, pay half of what the complex wanted, that I didn’t really have a case, and leave the other half for Tony to deal with. To just pay my half and let the rest be his problem. It was everything I didn’t want to hear.

I realized half way out the door I had forgotten the deposit money and had to retrace my steps. I told my mom I’d consider their words and would just wait till I got the itemized list. It felt pointless to disagree until I knew more. But it was very demoralizing. I’m a fighter naturally but having both Chris & my mom say the photos I had weren’t the right kind of proof, made me feel like my chances of having a case to ridiculous. We got on the bus and continued to talk about the outrageousness of it all. I walked into work, said hello to as many people as I could without feeling like I was flaunting my day off, my freedom, in front of them. I talked to Brett and a guy from Home & Electronics I had never met before while waiting in line. We talked about the game “your team” and my idea about converting it into a website. I felt shy the whole time I was there and acted like my butterfly self when I get shy, talking and flittering out before conversation get very far.

I smiled friendly at my coworker who helps me cash my paycheck and write a money order. Sometimes I wish I could talk to them more privately to prove to my gut that they are a genuinely nice person despite the controversy I’ve heard. I want to believe that they are genuinely nice and that my intuition isn’t off. It’s just so hard believing that this person is a jerk when the sources, to me, aren’t all that reliable. Oh well, I’m not one to believe gossip and rumors. I said goodbye and left the store.

I got a hot chocolate and cinnamon coffee cake at Starbucks to pass the time with Chris. I had told Ms. J that I would meet her around tweleve-thirty and felt bad about arriving early for a time I wasn’t sure she was okay with rescheduling. I teased Chris on the sugar intake in his coffee and finally nervously danced around Chris enough to go drop off the deposit money order. I retested the “short cut” to the apartments and knocked on the door. After not even five minutes, Ms. J opened the door to let us in.

I handed over the deposit immediately and apologized again for being late. I didn’t go into details why. I didn’t think it would look good to simply say “I didn’t feel like waking up.” Not knowing what to say, I apologized again, but this time for the whole application/old debtors disaster. We talked about that I felt like she appreciated my honesty and hard work for trying to get this resolved. I mostly just felt relief that I wasn’t being chewed out and denied application. I felt relief that she didn’t think I was just some bad person who went around trashing apartments and lying. Instead I felt warmth, understanding and compassion. She made me feel like I should fight this, and that she would give me time to fight the injustice. She gave me advice on what I could do, from an apartment manager’s point of view, and for the first time gave me confidence.

We eventually moved on and I tried to make sure that I had all my questions answered. I made sure I understood what would happen on August 1st, and how the deposit would be used to be taken off September’s rent. I shook her hand, thanked her again and Chris & I left. I had the biggest smile on my face when I left. It felt like everything was coming together despite the setback’s I was feeling. I felt like I didn’t just have Chris on my side but Ms. J’s too! We walked back to the main road and went into the used Card Shop to pick up the Becket. Tony had clearly indicated with his silence, even recently, that he did not care about ever having his baseball cards returned so I figured I’d price out the 200 odd baseball cards in my collection.

I entered the card store like a cowboy enters the saloon in a western movie. My boobs were my spurs and every male head (which was everyone in the store) turned as the door closed behind me. I definitely did not blend in. The walls were filled with inch to inch Magick game cards and the store screamed GEEK! I asked Chris to help me find the magazine and practically ran out of the store. Not that I have anything against geeks, I just felt really out of my element and uncomfortable. I didn’t want attention. I just wanted my baseball book and to get out of the store.

Chris & I walked to the bus stop and waited for the bus heading downtown. I felt relieved and ecstatic. In my mind I had accomplished so much. I had finally contacted the old apartments, gave them my contact information, gave the deposit to Ms. J and had figured out everything I needed to accomplish what I needed for the move. And I had the Becketit. I felt so accomplished I could scream in happiness! I emailed Tony back after seeing a response and promised to let him know more as I did. I was happy and bitter at the same time. Happy that everything was being resolved and bitter that I was the one who had to do all the work because Tony was sitting pretty, not ever having to worry about where he was going to live or how our debt affected only my life.

I didn’t have any other plans for the day but I didn’t want to go back to the apartment and do nothing. After talking out some ideas, I decided to take Chris to the Chinese Gardens. I hadn’t been since my first date with Mr. Monkey early in 2010 and I really felt cheated out on the experience then. We had been both so nervous that first date that we spent most of the time just focusing on each other and kind of ignoring the experience around us that I felt robbed of getting to knowing the history of the Chinese Gardens. So I took Chris, hoping to get into a silly touristy vibe.

We found the gardens after wandering around, mostly trusting my instincts and we found the place without having to ask for directions. I don’t know why I have to be the one wherever I go, whom ever I’m with, has to remind people “let’s just have fun”, “let’s just be spontaneous!” Because once Chris saw the place, he became hesitant. Yes, it was a little over priced but not by much. Especially not after I heard there was a tour group in an hour after we arrived. I really wanted to go. Chris, not so much.

I was able to get Chris to have some fun by slowing down and taking photos after his sour pus attitude at how much money I spent and how small it was compared to Charleston. While I do think he had fun wandering around and taking photos on our phones, we were pretty much done after a half hour. I wanted to stay for the tour group but I could tell Chris was really bored. And there’s nothing more enjoyable than listening to someone complain about how bored they are. Trust me, I know because, I can be one of those complainers lol. But I digress. I took Chris to a cheesy tourist store across the street, specifically not the one where Mr. Monkey bought me the tiny stone turtle. We browsed and I made mental notes of everything I wanted to buy when I had money to spend.

Call me a cheese ball but I really like buddha statues. In almost every statute, you can find Buddha smiling or laughing. And let’s be honest, who doesn’t like a bald happy fat man? Or maybe I just feel like I can relate my outwards appearance, minus the baldness, to Buddha. We rounded the corner to the House of Louie for lunch. Their lunch special wasn’t as good as August Moon on 23rd, but I didn’t think it quite deserved the fit Chris threw over the sweet n sour chicken. I didn’t think it was inedible. Or maybe it’s just my taste buds are just aren’t refined enough, to just eat whatever’s in front of me. I still felt like it was a waste of money, my money to just not eat the majority of his meal.

I went to the bathroom and looked at my clock, it was a little past the hour and had missed the tour by a few minutes. I paid and for a lack of knowing what to do, directed Chris to the direction of Pioneer Square. And together we got lost in the magic of the square. We wandered around in different locations, first up by Nordstrom and watched people playing chess and a street performer’s playing the cello. Then we wandered to the opposite corner by the court house and played Your Team for the majority of the time. We didn’t sit still in any location for very long and after awhile I began to get tired.

After what felt like the 20th lap Chris convinced me to to wander a little north west by the art museum where we found and watched for a few minutes some ballet dancers while they warmed up/performed for a show later that evening. I don’t know what I was expecting. I was having fun just exploring and wandering but I sort of wanted a final location/destination in sight. Not seeing one forth coming and knowing Chris wasn’t really up for what I wanted to do, going to Powell’s Books & seeing Harry Potter, I just convinced us to go home. We continued to play Your Team all along the Max and rested my head on his shoulder.

We stopped off for a slurpee at 7-11 before we went home. I felt guilty because I’ve been secretly not trying to drink soda and I felt like I was cheating with a coke slurpee. I beat myself up the whole way back about it and even more so for enjoying it. But after halfway back, Chris made me stop and to just enjoy the occasional treat. I knew he was right. I felt like even though my day wasn’t perfect, that I had fun and felt super accomplished for getting everything I had done. And that’s all we can really do, is take it one day at a time and try to do as much as we can.

Where Does the Good Go?

I’m  sorry I haven’t been writing much this month. I know I don’t owe apologies to anyone for that but I do feel as if I’m not only letting myself down by not writing, but the people who have been following me. I feel as if I have put myself on hold. I feel stuck. And if I’m being honest with myself, I haven’t put much of an effort into writing either.

I’ve had certain thoughts on my brain, thoughts I can’t really develop in blog form. So instead of writing out these thoughts and feeling a therapeutic release after posting them, they become blocked. Like a car stalled in traffic with now a huge pile up behind it. And I know that buildup, that mess, is my fault. There wouldn’t be a buildup of feelings if I would only stop walking away from the scene of the car wreck and instead pull myself under the hood and dealing with them.

At least I recognize that I’ve been running away. Maybe not so much only in blog form but in conversations to people as well. I’m used to holding back words and having unfinished business with friends or old lovers. Blogging has sort of been a small release from forgiving myself to unfinished business. Because in my head, I replay words I’d speak, sometimes shout, and even sometimes words I’d even like to yell.

For instance, I would tell one friend that while I love her dearly, that I wished her all the happiness in the world and genuinely consider her a good friend but, almost every time I talk to her, I want to curl up into the fetal position and cry. How every time I see her face, I can only relate it back to him. I would let her know how much I want her happy, support and be friends but how much talking to her hurts me. I would let her know I don’t want to be that person, someone who can’t let go and be genuinely happy but it’s hard. And I’m trying.

I would confess to an ex boyfriend that I have missed the bond of friendship that I thought we had while we dated. A bond I thought was stronger than anything in the world. I would confess to completely handling how things ended wrong, but that I was only a kid. I didn’t want to break your heart and honestly… I messed up. I would confess to feeling too over protective on who you dated to over compensate that guilt for how I handled things. I wanted you to date the Princess you always thought I was, but never actually was. I confess to wanting that bond to stay intact, to not let anything change – again that nievity- and still be your best friend. Because I honestly still needed a friend. I confess to getting angry because I felt like you abandoned me when I needed your friendship the most. For so long I reached out whenever I was in need and you were always there to grab my hand and then all of a sudden, you weren’t. And I was scared. And alone. I’d confess to still missing that bond and still wishing you were in my life. I confess to feeling conflicted to wanting to leave you and all those ugly feelings in the past to still wanting that utopia ideal of us being friends. Because deep down I confess to still caring. I wouldn’t be writing all of this if I didn’t.

And there are other confessions I’d make to people but those are the ones resting most heavily on my mind. But like Sara & Tegan say, Where does the good go? What do you do with the left over you? I have a million other distractions on top of this. I’m worried about if I’ll ever get to go back to school and how I’ll afford it. I’m worried about getting everything finalized together for finally moving in with Deyvn & Jack. I’m worried about having to fight back on an old apartment bogus charges that I just found out about. And then… I’m afraid of the reality of living with Deyvn & Jack. Right now it’s just a dream, a fantasy. But last night I just sat down and imagined myself in my new home and realized, shit! I’m scared! Everything is going to be permanently different and while that’s exciting, I’m also terrified out of my wits. It’s surreal. It’s like waking up the first morning after arriving at summer camp and realizing, damn! I’m not at home anymore!  I’m worried about getting everything ready for this move and I’m scared at the after math.

So where did the love go? I’ve let myself get so caught up in my insecurities instead of dealing with them that I’ve let them built them into a mountain! But just by writing down these feelings, make them easier to dig myself out from. And I think I need to process my feelings in a daily format for a while. I’ll do both, write in article style like I have been, where I have a point to make but mostly will be uninteresting nonsense as I confess to every whim I can jot down from my head. At least I’ll be writing in that journal style for awhile. Because sometimes you just realize that what once helped you before, isn’t providing that same emotional strength. So here’s to new “growth”.

The Cost of Being Fat

Everything has value even the things Discover declares priceless. Because all things have worth. Nothing is priceless. And whither you label something priceless or worthless, what you label has value within itself.

So with that logic, what is the price of being fat? What does it cost and what is the value of fat? Like a bad house in a good neighborhood, does it’s equity decrease?  When I sit here and think about my life, the cost of being fat has run me up more than my food bill. Being fat has cost me my health, my happiness and my wallet. I have sacrificed memories and experiences all because of my weight. I’d say that’s a pretty high bill that I’ve accumulated. And while I wouldn’t necessarily say it has decreased my value, it seems to have decreased the value of my life. But how? I’ve always prided myself to be good with money but… how did I get into such a debt of fat?

To simply admit that eating is something out of my power to control is hard, to say the least. Because I’m the sort of person who is used to expecting the unexpected. For instance, there are many aspects of my life where I’ve just grown accustomed to not having control over. I can’t predict the weather, but I can bring my jacket incase it rains. I can’t foresee transit not running on schedule, but I can plan ahead to leave the house earlier than I have to so I am not late for work. I can’t control when I will get sick but I can take care of my body before and during a cold. I can take tons of cold medicine and get lots of rest so I will be healthy. I can’t control other people’s moods, but I can control them from affecting my day.

And admitting that I don’t have as much control over something as simple as what food I put in my body, leaves a very bitter taste in my mouth. Because I like to think that I am strong and, in many ways I am. I am strong enough to know that I am resilient to bounce back from all the mistakes I make. It’s not making mistakes that I’m afraid of because I know I am good at learning from those. It’s just hard for me to admit that I’m helpless. It’s hard to admit that I am helpless over resisting the temptation of food.

Because when I want to eat something, I either rationalize said food or I’ll just say, “hell with it” and eat it anyway. There is no middle ground. I can go a few days without a single soda and finally say “Oh, just one won’t hurt.” Then I’ll be thrown back into the same repeative pattern. I realize that half the battle is just recognizing this behavior, but it doesn’t make me feel much better. Because I pride myself for trying to be happy with my body and who I am, and most of the time I am. But being comfortable with who I am is still a new process for me.

And part of being comfortable with the new me is admitting I have flaws and tendencies that are not… pretty. A part of accepting who I am is admitting that I am helpless over my addiction with food. And a part of my addiction to food is just admitting to bad and reoccurring habits so I can take responsibility for my actions.

So please, without judgement, I admit to the following…

  • I admit to have spent more than $200 for only two weeks worth of groceries.
  • I admit to drinking a twelve pack of soda within two days.
  • I admit to avoiding formal events IE: Prom, dances, graduations, because I was embarrassed about literally having nothing formal to wear and being too embarrassed to shop for it.
  • I admit to not wearing the following clothing: shorts, dresses, bathing suits, skirts and any shirts with less than a three-quarter sleeve cut because I was self-conscious about my body.
  • If you are a woman and are, or have, ever been skinner than me, I have envied you.
  • If you are a woman and are, or have, been prettier than me, I have envied you. 
  • I admit to comparing myself to every girl I see.
  • I admit to avoiding people and letting people get too close because of being fat.
  • I admit to laying on my bed to try to zip up jeans that don’t fit, and cried over it.
  • I admit that every time my pants went up a size, to be in denial and blame the pant maker.
  • I admit to blaming a store for not being able to find anything in my size or not having a good selection.
  • I admit to eating food in my mother’s fridge simply because I knew it would go to waste if I didn’t eat it.
  • I admit to binge eating food to cover emotions I didn’t want to feel.
  • I admit to glaring with hatred every time has ordered water after I have ordered a large coke.
  • I admit to coming close to hating a person each time I see someone eating just a salad for a meal.
  • I admit to being jealous of every weight loss success story I hear. And like catching the bouquet at a wedding, I hope it will happen to me next.
  • I admit to eating after I’m full, just to clean my plate.
  • I admit to kissing men, just to feel attractive.
  • I’ve made the same New Years Resolution since I was fifteen. To lose weight.
  • I admit to being paranoid, wondering if people have gossiped about my weight.
  • I admit to taking diet pills as a teen because I thought they would be the ‘cure all’ magic.
  • I admit to trying to find my best angle in the mirror to hide body flaws like my chin, stomach and butt.
  • I admit to standing next to bigger people than me so I will seem skinnier.
  • I admit to destroying all photos of myself I deemed unflattering.
  • I admit to avoiding my photograph being taken because I was ashamed of my apperance.
  • I admit to using food simply as an activity.
  • I admit to spending hours at work just thinking about food. About what I was going to eat next, for dinner that day and brain storm ideas for meals for the week.

I’m almost positive I’m leaving things out, and I’ll make sure to add them as I go. I know just admitting to these tendacies won’t make them go away. Instead, I promise instead of trying to suppress these addictions that I will feel them, as much as they make my skin crawl, and feel them. I promise to build a support network so that when I am feeling jealous or craving a trigger food I will tell someone. Because I realize, I can’t do this on my own anymore. And the only way to get healthier is by letting myself get sick. The only way I can get stronger is by letting myself be weak. It’s a logic that feels a little queer to me but, I promise to try.

Stereotypes Killed the Humanity Star

If you read a book or wear glasses, you’re called a nerd. If you play sports, you’re called a jock. If your vocabulary is less than grammatically perfect, your called ghetto. If you’re a girl who likes to flirt, your considered a tease. If your blonde, you’re IQ is assumed to be around the average of a child’s. If your fat, you’re assumed to love cake (which is true).

I feel like I’m constantly trying to fight a losing battle of the stereotypes. I feel like I can’t be nice without the stereotype of, fat girls are nice. I feel like I can’t eat a burger without being judged. I feel like I can’t eat a cup of fruit without the curiosity of people wondering if I’m on a diet. I feel like because I’m not openly promiscuous, that I’m considered a good girl. When in truth, I am all of those things, too an extent.

Stereotypes have been around forever. Like cavemen are hairy and only speak in undistinguishable grunts. Romans have obscenely large noses and heathenism lifestyles. Victorians only worried about their personal stature. Woman in the sixties, always burned their bra.  If you had aids meant that you were gay or a junkie. There is much truth to steretoypes but they’re not the whole truth. A black person can love soul food but that doesn’t define their entire existance. For most of my life my hair was blonde. Does that mean I’m never aloud to pick up a book? I don’t think so.

I just don’t see why it has to be that black and white. We each are our own person. I could sit here and preach to everyone to be yourself. And while I know that story isn’t older than the Bible, it doesn’t mean you should be treated like an after school special of Full House. But I do ask a challenge from you  and I am curious to see who will rise to the occasion. I can already proudly say I already know a few people who are already this waaah -ducks as a box of moive theater popcorn is thrown and a heckler yells Get ON with it already!- Alright Alright! Sheesh!

I challenge you to go out of your way to get to know someone you see everyday, but don’t know much about. Especially if you don’t think you have anything in common with them. People are always wondering how I’m friends with so many different types of people and the only answer to that is, I don’t care about stereotypes! I don’t think I’m excluded to be in anyone’s social circle. I kinda just pull up my chair, sit next to you and pretend like we’ve been friends for ages. I know that whatever lays on the surface, something deeper and more beautiful remains. I know that things aren’t black and white and can’t ever stay so. The thing I love most about people is that I am constantly being proven wrong about what I thought I knew, most of the time in a good way. Sometimes I’m proven wrong about a person in a disapointing way, but not usually. And even then, I can accept the flaw(s) that just make them human. I may not like it, but I can accept it.

If their one thing I can teach myself, it’s learning how to accept myself. If their is one thing I can teach others, it’s accepting humanity.

My Love’s Too Big For You, My Love

My two favourite artists at the moment have to be Natasha Bedingfield and Ingrid Michaelson. As I was finishing up yesterday’s entry on letting your inner freak shine through, I was inspired. I was inspired by all the things I love about my friends. While listening to Natasha Beddingfield’s “Happy” and Ingrid Michaelson’s “Sort Of” I was inspired to write this post. It’s not done but when is it ever really complete?

I love being out doors on a bright sunny day no matter how hot or cold it is. I love it more when I’m out in nature, walking, hiking, splashing water with my feet in a creek. I love the way I can’t exactly fit as a city girl or country girl. I love walking downtown Portland late at night. I love feeling the stillness of the city is all for me. During the day I love the hustle and bustle of people getting on and off the Max by Pioneer Square. I love standing in the entrance of Powell’s Books and feel like I’ve come home. I love wondering the store for hours and filling my arms with more books than my arms can carry.

I love the smell of curry and spices. I love indian food and I love sushi. I love the smell of BBQ food. I love the smell of vanilla, fresh flowers and candles. I love how sunflowers stand so tall and proud. I love sitting outside and watching people. I love pushing the elevator button and I love the ding the bus makes when a stop requested (Unless of course I’m running late). I love watching acts of kindness strangers do unto others, like one stranger buying coffee for another stranger. I love that moment when you can sense other people’s troubles and hypothetically extending your arms out to comfort them.

I love when I first walk into work, head phones on, and see whose already there. I love when I get off work, calling out each cashier’s name and wishing them goodnight. I love that moment when you can make a customer really happy. I love when I can make my coworkers smile. I love sitting in the break room and being silly with coworkers, giggling over nonsense.

I love the butterflies of a first date or just before when you realize your about to kiss someone for the first time. I love it when the kiss is everything you expected. I love receiving back rubs and I love giving them. I love cuddling and I love being told I’m loved. I love telling people that I love them. I love it when I’m surprised with a hug from behind. I love the way genuine smile lights up a face and makes their eyes twinkle. I love laughter and I love laughing.

I love listening to random “Indie” bands or songs nobody has ever heard of (like the reference title). I love winning against racing video games. I love being competive and good winners. I love memorizing lyrics. I love meaningful quotes. I love playing Sudoku till my brain hurts. I love math and numbers and I love how inexplicably beautiful the english language can be. I love the french language as well as Russian, Japanese, and Italian. I love putting makeup on and curly hair.

Not Ready to Make Nice

– We InterruptYour Regularly Scheduled Broadcast with an Important Message-

I’d like to start off that I am deeply upset that what I’m about to write even has to be written at all. I am very disappointed to all said parties involved. This is not the article I intended to post and “today’s” article has been postponed for tomorrow. Which pushes back the two other articles I spent all day working on today by two days as well. *Head bang in frustration* I could not say anything. I could slink back and cower because I’m embarrassed about what I write but the truth is, I’m not! I think this whole mess could have been avoided if people would stop acting like their in high school and start acting like a adults!

I don’t really feel like reiterating yesterday’s blog, I thought I had made myself perfectly clear. I’m a writer and sometimes I don’t realize when I cross a line. So if you have any problems with my blog, if they make you upset in any way, I would really rather hear it from you. Or simply just don’t read what I write! I would rather it not have to come to that, because I do like the people in my life being involved. This whole blog is a process. It’s a process of changing of how I view life, how I view myself, and those around me. I’m learning how to be a better person. I’m growing up!

I just don’t want if anyone winds up finding themselves mentioned in this blog to be hurt. I rather you come to me personally with your concerns, no matter how embarrassing or upset the situation is. I rather hear, “Sarah, I know you didn’t personally mean anything bad by what you said in so-and-so article, but what you said really upset me.” To me, that’s the mature way to handle a situation. I don’t want to hurt anyone and I rather have that awkward talk so issues can be wrinkled out. If your too embarrassed to say it too my face, than text or email it too me! My number is always on Facebook to be reached. If you don’t raise your issues, how am I ever to know? I’m not a mind reader! I can’t make everybody happy, but I think it’s possible to reach a compromise.

What I can’t respect is cowardice and running away from your problems. I can’t respect having my arm twisted and pulled from behind to have “a talk” with someone who shouldn’t even be involved! It’s just not professional. I’m not implying that I’m perfect either. Accidents and I make mistakes. But I own up to them and stare them down. I am constantly trying to fix my flaws. My flaw is that I talk too much. I put a little bit too much trust into the hands of many instead of few. I’m owning up to my mistakes, but what about yours? Take a good look in the mirror. I just can’t respect cowardice. I can’t respect running away from your problems.

As easy as it would be here to sit here and play the victim, I’m not going to. I know I hurt people as much as they hurt me. If I embarrass you, or have, I’m sorry for embarrassing doing so! And I feel horrible for that. I’m not sorry for what I write or how I feel. I’m not sorry for being upset or disappointed when situations aren’t handled right. And that is as close to an apology as anyone is ever going to get. I pride myself for being a friendly, talktive person, but that luster feels like it’s diminished. If you come to me and talk, I’ll talk and be nice to you of course. Because I’m tired of  (excuse the pun) always being the bigger person! I’m tired always being the one who goes up to others to smooth things out. No! Not this time. I am open to reconciliation and awkward talks. But not for once in my life I am not going to pretend everything is all fine and dandy. I am sorry, truely. I really did not mean to hurt anyone. And I hope someday you’re the one big enough to come forward.

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