I hate my body. I’ve hated my body for the past twenty years. I’ve never been a healthy size. When I was a young girl, I always had to shop in the “Grown Up” section. I didn’t ever get to enjoy the teen girl clothes that were in style. Even now, at 31, I still feel like I don’t have nice attire. I walk into a store and the small amount that I have to choose from reminds me of something my grandmothers would wear. I poke and pull all these extra pieces hanging from my body and this constantly makes me wonder if this is the only reason I sit alone on a Friday night, because my body wasn’t good enough for that last guy I had sent a wink to.
When will our countries join together as one? Will we ever agree with each other? That one dude on one side has an opinion about Topic A so then it seems the gentleman on the complete opposite side of the world has to disagree with him, just to piss the first guy off. So then a war must begin. Bombs must be dropped, innocent people must die just
Another Friday night has just passed me. My couch was my only companion. The Lifetime movies were ever so entertaining, though. They seem to be my new addiction. I can never take my eyes off of who the new abuser seems to be or why this woman feels she needs to be putting the moves on another woman’s husband. These movies seem to only focus on three different issues: domestic violence, wives trying to figure out why their husbands left them, and a teenage girl falling in love but needing to lose her virginity. I can never be drawn away from them. If I have no plans for my Friday or Saturday, BAM, Lifetime Movie Network here I am. You have a new addict.
A third attempt at my surgery is vastly approaching. I still have that feeling deep in the back of my mind wondering if it will be worth it. Will chopping my stomach in half really work? I know that I’ll still have to work my ass off to get all of this fat off of my body. I know that as soon as this happens, I won’t be waking up and being a size two the next day. The hardest thing I’ll have to work at is to stop drinking all of this cola that I just cannot seem to give up. I worry, too, that if after the first twenty pounds falls off so quickly, how much longer it would take for the rest. I worked hard before, but once I had hit a certain point, it all seemed to stop. That’s what worries me about this surgery; will it be worth it?
I haven’t worked in almost four years. I have no legitimate reason. I can’t just use my excuse that I haven’t found the “perfect career”. I don’t feel that I am cut out for anything in this world. I wish that I could achieve my goal to be the legal assistant to the best damn lawyer out there. I would even be happy being the greatest office assistant this state has ever seen. Yet, I sit on my couch, sending my resume to office after office yet receiving nothing in return. When I do get the great opportunity for an interview, the nerves inside me begin to move around, awakening all of my anxiety and filling my head with even more negative thoughts about myself. As if there was anything positive floating around in there.
Will I ever be a grown up? Will I ever have a job? Will I ever find my husband? Will his name even be Bob? And those previous four sentences were all sang out loud. For, lately, my life has been a musical. I feel that all of our lives are, in some way, is a musical. All emotions and problems can be done away with or solved just by the swinging of our hips. I sing along with the radio. I am the proud member of a fantastic karaoke group, who I get up on stage in front of then show them that I am the greatest rapper there ever was. So no, I don’t think that I will ever be a grown up. And given how my applications have been getting filled out these past three years, I don’t think I will ever have a job. When it comes to a husband, I’ll just look over how I’m doing on my third dating site attempt. After that’s all finished, I’ll just go sing it all away.