I want to be Aretha Franklin in the most macabre way possible: I want custom made gorgeous clothes for the “larger ladies.” I want to be so accomplished that no one (least of all me) cares what I eat.
I’m trapped in one of those stupid weight spirals where the more I think about healthy eating, the more I want to eat buttermilk pie. Dude. This is not easy, and let me tell ya, buttermilk pie is totally winning.
My mom tells me I’m not that big, but my grandmother calls me “chubby.” Family, mixed signals here!
I’m not really complaining about what my family says though. I’m complaining about how I see myself and how I think the world sees me, even though I’m making it all up in my head.
The silver lining is that I am actually exercising more. I let my arthritis really sideline me for a while, but I’ve found some things that work for me and my body.
Peace out, I’m off to eat something healthier than re-heated pizza.
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