I haven't written much here in the past few months. Life has been hectic and I haven't much to say. Or rather, I've had so much to say that there hasn't been room to say it. I am overwhelmed with thoughts and feelings.
Life is surreal at the moment.
I have grown tired of the world. A year ago when I thought about the future, I imagined being some place where lots of people and action was happening. Now I dream of open spaces where no one is around for miles. I dream of taking care of animals and seeing only my husband. Something has shifted in me.
Or something in the world. I'm not sure.
It is raining hard in Victoria. It doesn't rain hard often here. It rains, but usually a light rain, a rain that barely gets you wet. But the wind is blowing and the rain is coming down hard and I feel compelled to run outside and feel it just to know I'm still alive. I'm awake because the wind against the window keeps waking me up. I can't sleep because the storm disturbs me even though I know I'm safely inside.
I watched the American Experience documentary about Joseph Kennedy and his sons. In a few days it will be the 40th anniversary of the assination. I was six years old. All I remember was that I got to stay home from school, my mother was crying and there was a parade on every channel on television. I didn't understand JFK's death until later, but I remember when Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy were killed. I remember it vividly and even at the age of 11 I knew that things were different and might never be the same again.
I flipped channels and there was Arnold being sworn in as governor with Maria and the 200 year old Kennedy Bible. My first thought was that all the dead Kennedys must be rolling over in their graves. Then I remembered Joe's hatred of the Jews and Jack's womanizing and Bobby's relationship with McCarthy (that's Joe, not Eugene). Then I remembered that the Kennedys were not all that special in the world of politics. Suddenly Arnold didn't seem all that strange.
I am not welcomed in this world. I cannot watch 10 minutes of television before fat hatred appears. I cannot travel or go to a theatre or even visit a doctor's office without having to negotiate an armless chair in which to sit. I live in hostile territory and my body marks me as an object of hostility. Homer Simpson becomes a food critic and everyone in Springfield gets fat because Homer shows them how good food is to eat. I turned it off. That is the fear, isn't it? I am hated not because of who I am but because of who others are afraid to be.
No wonder I sit up at night when the storm is raging, feeling the dread and wishing I could at least be out in the storm. I belong no where. I do not belong.
I can't stop crying. It is like the rain is in me and it won't quit. The front has stalled and I don't know where to go or what to do next.
No wonder I dream of a little mountain cottage where I can play with animals and forget about people. I've never met a dog who judged me. My cat thinks my fat makes me extra cushiony for her sleeping. When you are good to animals, they are good to you. Not so with people. People can choose to hurt you no matter how nice you are to them. And, they hurt you for absurd reasons like they don't like the way you look or they decide that you are unworthy of their attention.
Oh don't mind me. I'm the smart, poor, fat woman babbling to herself in the corner of her blog. The low pressure system will move along eventually and brighter weather will be seen again.