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Hooray for Boobies & Other Fat Lady Tales

✏ 38 year old cis female ✏ Fat ✏ Married ✏ Crazy Cat Lady ✏ Opinionated ✏ Swear-ey ✏ All caps silliness ✏ occasional pretendy writer ✏ LJ immigrant ✏ Journaling since 2006 ✏ Ex chatroom /forum role player ✏ Now on Tumblr ✏
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"You find someone to carry you."

Life is difficult, for everyone. We each struggle day-to-day with our issues and problems. We have bills. We have loss. We have joy. We have love, we have each other, or we have just ourselves to lean on. Financially, it’s tight for a lot of people I know and love. They’re struggling to come up with mortgage payments, car payments and groceries.

Imagine, however, this: you’ve always struggled. Your whole entire life has been a struggle. A struggle to get out of a place that poisons you. Away from a situation that may have broken you. Imagine the strength and the self-will, the pride it takes and breaks—to get out on your own and find your way. Imagine that, now you have a loved one. You have a child. You have a friend that offers you a home to rent and while things were never, ever perfect—you think, “Finally. A step in the right direction. I can do this.”

And then imagine everything that could go wrong, does go wrong.

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My thoughts have constantly been with Rebecca, Rebecca's family, Gini and Ferrett today. (Read: In between grocery shopping, in between petting cats, in between paying bills and in between stressing out over a septic system--in between, in the little cracks of something good, I think of this little girl I have never met and I think of her family and I feel an unforgiving fist-lump at the bottom of my throat. I feel tears and frustration: that I know my tears don't DO anything. And that I HAVE to do something. No armchair or social activist posts will help.

And so, I have made up my mind.

I can't cure this. I can't do anything to help the family where I am. I can't comfort them so far away.

But there is something I can do. There is something YOU can do to hasten the dream that someday childhood cancer will be a myth:
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November and December are the most beautifully difficult months.

In November, I begin listening to Christmas songs, because I love Christmas. It's the one holiday in the year I feel like I can do things for people who might really need them. I send cards, I write notes in them, I hand tinsel and watch, enchanted by the way the lights are reflected and become glowing in each piece.

I hum Christmas carols well after and into January. I put my tree up as soon as I can.

To me, my thankfulness for having what I do, the friends I do, my family now translates into the spirit of thanksgiving AND Christmas well.

But there is a small cloud across the moon of my holidays.

My mother died on December 11th. As October passes, this quiet feeling of missing a giant limb from my heart begins and grows.

I have a difficult time not crying during some Christmas songs.
"I'll be home for Christmas," wrecks me.
Remembering my family as I was a little girl around my grandmother's tree--and I feel that strange prick at the back of my eyes and the heat-burn of tears down the middle of my throat into my chest. I see beautiful lights, and feel sorrow mingle with each twinkling of them.

It's a hard balance. I will laugh and be enthusiastic and wear my silly hats. I will talk about gift giving and share amazon wish lists and send cards. I will smile.

But I will do it all without my mother. With the distinct, inescapable fact that she is dead. That there's no return from that. That there's no way for me to show her the tree, the house, our new cats. That there's no way she will ever see Disney's Christmas celebration. That, she's dead. There's no coming back from that. I can't call her to apologize for the things I have done. I can't tell her I am sorry I didn't take her last hospitalization seriously and didn't press to speak to her, maybe just one time.

That I didn't have one last Christmas with her.

So my stomach churns, but I smile crooked, a mix of sadness and hope when I hear a carol and see the decorations already out in the store.

My husband waits patiently for any tears. My cats know something is off already.

Christmas these last few years has become such a reflection of everything I have, had, and should have learned to keep. It has turned into a beautiful sorrow that I embrace willingly every year.

Because I'd have it no other way.
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Within 30 minutes of my first, real no foolin' play session back at The Red Dragon Inn earlier this month I:
  • Had a character read my characters mind without permission.
  • Read something I had put in actions and use that in their RP in a very, very, very god-mode-y way.
  • Watched thought sniping abound (from a player that does nothing but thought-snipe since The Dawn of Time Anyway)
  • Been filled in that the Bat-shit insane is still bat shit and insane. And in some cases, worse.


Where are all my sane people at? Tell me you haven't been chased away :(


Check out the new post on 2phatgeeks:The Beautiful, Calming sounds of a crazy fat man. Now for your phone!
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Hello internet & my wonderful Deamwidth/Live Journal family. I know that in some cases, we are strangers—but I would like to ask you a favor.

My father-in-law, Mark A. Pence is currently in the hospital a bit under the weather. Could you help me cheer him up by sending him an e-mail and saying hi? You can send email to him by going here: send it to Mark Pence, Room D531 at Holmes


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May 2017

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