The big bugging thing

I'm lost, and since I am very very lost, staying away from here isn't going to help. So it's going all on here. I know what started it. I was at my mum, watching Maury Povich. Usually my mum thinks it's a dirty programme because it's all about babies and who fathered them, and people behaving rudely. I like it anyway. But today was one of those days when mum kept mum. If I could give a title to today's programme, I'd call it Pain. There I was thinking I must be one of the unluckiest girls in the whole blue marble when I see I'm not. I see people in a much worse position than myself. And it suddenly became extremely scary. Maury had people twice and three times my weight on his programme. I never thought it could be possible. But it is. And I could feel the pain, the helplessness and the hopelessness. They could barely move, one girl was just 12 years old, she could have been my daughter. We might not have shared the same weight, in the rude sense that I could pass for a top model next to them. But it didn't make me better. They cried their tears, and I cried their tears which were my own tears in disguise. It happens that their weight is going to cause them their life. And I cried again. They recounted all the abuse, all of which I know about. I know all about that at a 100+kg (no I don't want to write the actual number down because it will stare at me in the face and haunt me). I can just only begin to imagine what it must be at a 400+kg. Oh God, poor people, they cannot even take a bath by themselves. And it made me scared, because it could have been me, it could really be me. The problem with us big, overweight and morbidly obese (ok that's it out of my system) people is that we actually have a slender sexy person inside screaming to come out. I have been a pretty sexy 60kg vixen and I know how the world changes out rightly. Something happens to us, we become sad, we lose all confidence, we hide and we don't care about kilograms anymore. We turn to food. And during the consuming we feel we can conquer the world, only to be thrown into massive guilt immediately after. And we get sick because it is an illness. But while people will not stare and laugh at somebody in a wheelchair, they will do it to us. And we hide and think we're the only ones. Somehow people start thinking we're lazy, stupid, with a brain the size of a pea. Do not tell us that we are beautiful on the inside, because we automatically think that we must then be very ugly on the outside. It is not all our fault. And I am trying to be brutally truthful. It's one hell of a circle. We do not let ourselves go as is the common thought. We just see no way out and as the weight piles on it becomes difficult to do everyday things like exercise. And it suddenly makes us so scared that we are scared to show off our other assets. We keep ourselves to ourselves and that's it. I've been lucky. I've had my little people who do not care if they cannot join their hands around my hips when giving me a hug. They think I'm normal, some think I'm pretty. But they all wave to me. And we might think little people do not think as sophisticatedly as we do, but they do, probably more. I can see the unspoken understanding when I accidentally drop a whiteboard marker. I can see the silent respect when my laces become untied. I can see how these little people want to help. They are no angels, they can be a handful, but oh God am I grateful that they are in my life. Little people can break all the classroom rules, but their little love goes a long long way. And justly so, because it's got to go a big big way. And I think I've just found myself again. Thank God for little people. And big people.

The addictions

I'm on my own again, desperately soul searching. I don't know what to do about dog feeding today, I am not intent on another fingernail breakage happening. If I lose my claws I will lose my magic, my witchcraft. And that is what protects me from a lot of things including my sometimes volatile temper, although I haven't lost it for a long long time now. I actually cannot remember when it last happened, it's been so long. And I think that it's a good thing too. I do get angry, but I never lose my temper anymore. Sometimes it's just not worth the effort, at other times I've grown to know myself so well that losing my temper is something which brings out the real bad in me, and I don't want to see my bad self which has lurked in the shadows for so long that maybe it had died a natural death seeing that is has been standing in freezing temperatures. This growing old, I'm becoming like mulled wine, and I so long to be like Scotch. Not that I'd know the difference, I'm so ignorant when it comes to bottles. I just arrange them prettily having no idea what is what. I could be the world's greatest Muslim judging by my no-alcohol policy. It is so strange, I have such an addictive personality/personality disorder. I cannot buy chocolate or I'll eat it all up in a flash, I always have a dozen pack of cigarettes because I cannot bare to think what would happen to me if I ran out. I am addicted to shoes, jewellery, eyeglasses, perfume, cosmetics. And by addicted I mean really really addicted. I live in a constant struggle to organise and end up disorganising everything. I would make a terrible housewife. I am thankful there never was a house-keeping G.C.E. or I'd have failed miserably. I think I'm also addicted to clutter although I desperately try to change my ways. But it's not happening. I cannot write very much today. I'm sort of unsettled and upset, because of a T.V. programme. I need to find myself again because I'm lost.

Got to go...

I love the bright lights, the stage, the performing of whatever sort. So, if somebody want to stage any form of production, I'm in. And one school which I go to (madonna that makes me sound like a schoolgirl, and no, no dirty ideas here) has The Jungle Book on its menu. Perrrfect. I like menus and I like Jungle Book. And I also love Bagheera, seeing that that is what I named my black cat after. But something has made me tick. And it's got to go. I've seen enough Holocaust projects dangling on the notice board. Most inevitably end with a, "And Hitler died by etc etc etc." Why is that so important. I'd write "And finally the son of a bitch died and left everyone in peace". I could also write "And the bastard died and may he rot in hell." I don't care how he died, the important thing is that he died. I don't care how his Eva died, the main thing is that she did too. But it seems the method is so important that it's in almost every project book. And we try to shield the little people from so many less harmless things, and yet we throw this in their face. And to people like me, it matters. Now I do not in any way like Hitler, but throwing the way he died so liberally? Little people can have parents, relatives who died by the same way. And they weren't bad people like Hitler, at the very least if I cannot judge Hitler as the person, I can judge the horrid things he did. As for Jungle Book, the final lines have got to go. We Maltese people sometimes have horrific phrases for things which are otherwise harmless. Forgive me, this bitch is sometimes a sensitive one.

Smileys and Frownies

A man who usually behaves quite rudely in my regard somehow was very polite today. Maybe it's the aftermath of Valentine's Day. Or maybe he's cooking something up, something so rude that he couldn't do the rude behaviour as well as the rude acts since they would be overwhelming for the actual wimp that he is. If only we adults were taught how to behave ourselves first, and then pass it on to little people. A man without a smile. Now it's occurred to me, I have never seen him smile. He's not really bad and cruel either, perhaps he doesn't have much of a life, or perhaps he's sad and if he is I would forgive the lack of the smile. A smile could go such a long way. But some people think that smiles are for silly people like me. Could be. My mother always never smiles too, and in contrast, my dad is one smiley person. Perhaps, just to suss people out, we should all draw a round circle (since I cannot draw to save my life), give them a name and see if they deserve smileys, half smileys, nothing at all, half frownies, or severe frownies. And I think the person I'd stay away from would be the one without a smiley or a frownie. The ones with just a blank canvas. Or maybe I really don't know what I'm saying, and what I am saying is a lot of silly old crap which somehow makes sense to me. I'm not saying we should smile like idiots all the time. If our face was made to manage both smiles and frowns, then I guess sometimes we have to give the frownie some respect too. Our face is a big sum of a lot of muscles which work according as to how we want them to work. It's just a thought.