“Fat people have opinions too“. Not a diatribe against discrimination of fat folks (although those are fun to read, too), but something so much better–an account of a woman’s development of a self-assurance and self-confidence that is hard and long in coming.
It’s something I still don’t have. I still can’t look at myself in the mirror without giving myself a critical eye–how much more weight I need to lose, how many hours I need to spend in the sun to get my skin to be where I want it to be, etc., etc. I still flinch and twitch in overreaction and hypersensitivity to physical contact–my body is not one to be touched casually without my mental balance being upset. It’s something I’ve learned to cover with a funny high-pitched squeal for comic value, and I am getting better, but I am always acutely aware of violations of my “space”. Why? Because, of course, if you touch me, you may feel what my clothing covers, what I dislike so much.
I’m better than I used to be in terms of the harshness of my self-criticisms, but I’ve got a long way to go before I’m really comfortable in my own skin and don’t feel a need to change how I am (because this surpasses my physical state) to be okay. But I don’t know that I can even define what “okay” is, for me. I just “know” it’s different from how I am currently, which I also know is ridiculous. But, alas, intellect and emotions don’t always mesh smoothly.
Continue reading Growing into one’s skin
…when the guy you know with a truck is going home this weekend. And when the seats in your car don’t lay down.
I may very well be storing this damn deck (dismantled) in my room for a few days until Matt gets back with his truck and we can move it into storage. This thing has to be out of the sellers’ room this weekend, and we’re taking it down Friday afternoon. Hope Bridget doesn’t mind…
Continue reading It’s really hard to move eight-foot long pieces of wood…
So today I wrote on Luke with a marker. Or attempted to.
This resulted in a scuffle in which I found myself being sat on and attacked with a dry-erase marker. I shoulda gone more deliberately for the back of his knees, since I lacked the advantage of weight…
At any rate, when I was able to come up for air, my right wrist was rather bruised, and I had marker on my face and arm. Shortly after, I noticed that both wrists and hands (where I’d been grabbed, not where I’d been written on) were itching furiously and turning red and swollen. I had to wash all the way up my wrist and arm to stop it.
More than the bruised wrist (ow, ow), the damn allergic reaction will stop me from directly attacking again. Who the hell is allergic to people?
Continue reading Allergies to friends?
I got the damn research position.
“What research position?” you ask. The one I carefully avoided mentioning in the event that it didn’t work out, or there wasn’t enough money in the grant, or, or, or, anything.
But I fuggin’ got it. What money the NSF grant doesn’t allow (the money is being split between me and another student), the Chemistry Dept. (headed by my current chemistry prof, which may have gone some way in my favor) will provide such that I get the full salary stated on the NSF grant.
Oh my friggin’ god.
So, I will return to Charlotte the last weekend of May (for all the people asking) and immerse myself in analytical chemistry, which I need to know, but haven’t had the class yet. Dr. M knows an environmental chemist up at UNC I could correspond with, should I find myself in that region of the state. Which is highly likely, given that that is where a buddy of mine will be, and that their library apparently r0x0rs various types of s0x0rs. Or it should, for such a big-name school.
Continue reading Giddy, giddy, giddygiddygiddy…
Evidence as to why I mos def need to be wearing some damn gloves in lab:
It’s hard to see, but it’s splattered across my palm and runs all over my fingertips. I’ve been told this will linger for several days, but isn’t hazardous. How entertaining.
Continue reading Look, Ma! I’m silver-plated!