Those who know me know that upon any diagnosis of Alzheimer's or dementia, I will probably do myself in. Please don't argue that such a fate won't matter because I won't know any better. My family will know better. I'll forget where I put things and then cry and get angry and lash out and then regress and eventually turn into a husk of a person that doesn't even remotely resemble the person they know. I know that happens. My apologies to anyone who deals with a degenerative mental disease. I don't mean to trivialize your experience in any way. But I won't put anyone I love through that, because I love them. That's that, let's not get maudlin about it.
This morning, I read on CNN.com that a study published by The Archives of Neurology reveals that "an increased presence of the hormone adiponectin can increase the risk for loss of brain function and Alzheimer's disease". Holy shit. This means that if you are a fat bastard, you've got a very good chance of losing your mind when you're old. Maybe even before you qualify for any discounts.
I know I have to lose weight. Quite a bit, too. Strangely, I've always carried it well, but realistically, I won't be able to carry this ass through to my eighties. I keep reading about studies and theories and test subjects and everything now points to LOSE WEIGHT OR YOU WILL DIE FOOTLESS, FAT AND CRAZY. Shrug. I'll do it. Get off my back already.
It's interesting to note that the list I compiled on New Year's Day contained nothing that drew any parallels between weight loss and happiness. I think this is because the two are not necessarily related. None of the people I know who obsess about their weight are happy. None. None. Many of them are skinny. I know for a fact that the primary motivation for weight loss for the majority of them is not health. No one wants to be skinny so they can chase their kids. That's horseshit. People want to be skinny because... I don't fucking know. Why do people, overall, want to be skinny?
(I almost hesitate to bring up the whole competition between women, mostly because I don't care about women who compete against each other over ten pounds or the popped-collared loser in IT. But I DO bring it up because I don't understand it. I don't understand it because it's ridiculous. It's ridiculous because the vast majority of the time, there is no valuable and / or tangible reward. If you want to look like everyone else because you think it's easier, I get it, but it's only easier for a little while. In the end... okay. Christ, I dunno, a box of fucking Barbies is a box of Barbies, and sooner or later a little kid comes along and pulls out a Barbie that has had her hair cut and is wearing Ken's pants. And the kid decides that she (or he) likes playing with that Barbie more because that Barbie looks different from the rest. If you're a Barbie, you want that little kid to pick you out of the box and play with you, or it's a sad and lonely fucking existence in a box of vapidity. So if you haven't already cut your hair, climb to the top of the heap and wait for a snot-nosed mouthbreather to come along-)
Look at me, I've strayed.
I'm going to let you in on something I know for a fact:
Some people just hate fat people.
I deal with some of these people every single day. I meet them in the cafeteria. They eye what I eat. I once squeezed past a guy and he exaggerated the movements required to get out of my way. Other people are very nice to me, especially when I haven't seen them for a while. They don't speak to me often. They're very busy people. They think I don't notice any of these things, and that I will just process our interactions the way I process my interactions with other people.
If you've never been a fat person, then there's a peculiar brand of hate you have never experienced. It's backhanded. Kids are unceremoniously and unabashedly cruel to fat kids. Adults are another thing entirely. Besides the aforementioned avoidance behaviour, very few grown-ups are honest about their contempt for overweight people. They're sneaky and coy. When caught and confronted, they're defiant and defensive. Because you're fat. You made them hate you.
I want to make something absolutely clear: I am not bitter about this. I can't be. I have nothing to be bitter about. No one else made me what I am. It doesn't matter how sad or bored I get, not a single other person is responsible for what I eat. Granted, I grump a little at what the man buys sometimes (he's got a really sweet tooth), but in the end, what I eat is what I eat. I love food and that sucks, man. All kinds of food. None of this berry counting bullshit for me. Many people resent food because they love it. I have no room in my heart for hate. Baby Jesus wants me to love, and I love food.
Food is not the enemy. Food is a target. Rather than take any responsibility for what makes us unhappy, or turn inward to figure out what it is we can change about ourselves to become the people we want to be, we project all of our hatred and resentment onto food and what we see in the mirror. Appearance is a superficial concern and in some pockets of society it's what we use (often the only thing we use) to assess the worth of another person. This mangled system of weights and measures is why, for example, we're all surprised every time we find out a celebrity is not the shining bastion of humanity we thought they were.
I don't know what anybody thinks when they look at me, but I know I have a job I love threatening to turn itself into a Career. I have a man I adore (eight years in July) with a good heart and a strong work ethic. I've got two smart and funny kids with genuine personalities, friends who aren't flaky (and a few of them, too). My parents are still around, my sisters are doing all right, my nephews are growing and they're all big and strong. I've managed - somehow - to hang onto a Best Friend (hi Tara!). As I mentioned before, I'm a bit of an asshole. And I've got a big ass.
Thanks, Baby Jesus!
Aw. XOXO!
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