From One Fat Chick to Another: An Open Letter (whatever the hell that means...)

Dear Ladies (and the occasional wandering eyes of gentlemen),

Once upon a time there was a little baby girl, and for some reason or another she grew and Grew and GREW into an enormous, unhealthy woman.

She blamed her state on everyone else:
Even though no one was force-feeding her like a goose.
Even though she was perfectly capable of lifting whatever five pound object was in her home (a large jar from a failed DIY project, one of her many cats).
Or put on a pair of shoes and walk outside at a brisk pace.
With slim exceptions, such as the bleak hours of the night where one secretly admits to the Sandman their folly- her unhealthy state was, unequivocally not her responsibility or fault.
She blamed all men for not seeing her inner beauty.
At times, people were mean to her about her weight, so clearly she had the right to be mean to others, considering she was the victim and all...

For hours she'd stare zombily at social media sites.
She posted quotes by amazing people, as if to live vicariously through their minds (although most were dead, so it was more retroactive...) but never acted on anything that inspired her.
She ogled pictures of faraway places and beautiful cultures, but decided the mountains looked too steep for her, the oceans too deep.
Her favorite thing she COULD do, however, was mock ugly pictures of celebs.
Or wait sneakily, like the villainous cat from 'The Great Mouse Detective', for someone to post something, anything to sink her teeth into.
With a whole list of retorts she'd been holding back since middle school (because kids are judgey assholes at that age) finely crafted through the years- she was a warrior of the comment section!
The touch pad her sword and the 'delete' button her shield.
Titles like:
"Blah blah FAT SHAMING blah blah"
and 
"REAL WOMEN HAVE CURVES!"
and
"Insert Generic Comment Here About How Every Womyn's A Goddess And Men Are Pigs."
and
"Health Tip Only Meant For Already Healthy People But The Blogger Is Trying To Raise Their Viewership, So They Make It Seem Anyone Can Do It!"

To these, the woman would tear vehemently at the article and posters, with the ferocity she'd show a German Chocolate Cupcake with a truffle in the middle.
She cheered and shouted out, and wrote how true it was her curves were that of a woman- men SHOULD love her the way she was!
With puffed chest, she'd look down upon the kingdom of her feline masses like the Goddess she was meant to be.
She'd repost the health tips, as if everyone but her should be doing them, because, after all, they'd never have known it without her.

She'd tear down the people she longed to be like and raise up those that were just like her. 

There were times she'd watch a woman or girl she considered much fatter than herself walk by, hand in hand with a universally hot guy.
Sometimes it was a hot woman with a balding, pork-bellied man.
She wondered how it was possible (and not in a good, self-respective way).

At some point she may have found love.
Maybe they were both just settling because neither wanted to 'die alone'.
He may have accepted her weight, maybe not.
In those bleak, Sandman hours maybe both wished they were lying next to their ideal instead.  
Maybe he was just like her and content to talk about all the things he'd like to do as he binge-watched Netflix with her for the rest of their lives. 
She may even have had kids; fat chubby bastards, just like their parents- after all, monkey see monkey do.

What I do know is that she was always tired.
Her skin was always oily.
Her hair greasy despite all the fancy shampoos at Sephora.
In her thirties, without any sort of disaster or infortuitous circumstance, her body began to ache at the joints.
First her knees.
Then her hips.
Next to rebel were her arches.
She began to have 'pains', like her nerves twitching in odd places.
Paranoia set in about heart attacks just in time to get diabetes.
The electronic chair helped her get around, despite everyone always being in her way.
She wasn't very kind at this point either.
The world owed her.
She watched from her chair as women twenty years her senior still laughed and moved around, unhindered.
She died eventually, like we all do.


And that was her life.
She never went on an adventure because she knew she couldn't make it up the mountain or across the river.
Certainly not without help.
Certainly not without embarrassing herself and having to admit she couldn't make it.
Admitting it out loud.
And she never found the person she felt she deserved, unlike that bitch, Savannah down the street, still outside everyday doing yard work. 


My morals of the story are these ladies:

-Weight has nothing to do with health.
-Our health is the only true thing we have control of in this world.
--Thus: Your health is your responsibility. No one else's. Only yours.

-Healthy people want to spend their time with other people who care about their health.
--It's not that our personalities are necessarily lacking, but we can't blame others for finding value in one's body when we aren't showing we do as well.
---Healthy doesn't mean a size '0' or being able to run a triathlon while skipping: it's being able to physically do all those things you want to do, and only stopped by physics, genetics and anatomy. 

-Choosing to spend the amount of time ALL of us do on Social Media and Netflix, letting those hours slip by unnoticed, is a fault.
--If you have the time to spend doing all that, you can equally chose to improve your health with that time.

-A "Real Woman" has two X chromosomes. And then there are those that want to have two X chromosomes and guess what? They can be real women too. The more the merrier! So knock the rest of that crap off.

-Being happy with one's self isn't usually followed with verbal hostilities about someone else.
--Shrinks call it 'masking' or 'projecting'. Recognize yourself.

And most importantly:
I want you all (myself included) to live an amazing, healthy and happy life filled with all the potential you could possibly achieve.
So please, let's all drop the ego, the act, and the excuses and get our own asses out there.
That's my New Years wish at least... 


Sincerely,
Dust in the Wind

Snipet of Constance: Ch.4- Blazing Along the Watery Trail

   In lieu of another 'Contemplation of a Fat Girl' this week, I have been working on the story I've been creating. This is a bit from the latest chapter of Constance. Sorry it's not perfect, I haven't gone over it a dozen times yet, but as I am also not perfect... You get the drift, right?  

 ...

          “Would ya look at that.” She smiled. “Day’s almost over with nothin’ major.”

            The words exited her mouth accompanied by a low rumble. They looked around to see if it was something inside the shop causing it. There wasn’t. The sound was getting closer and louder. Joanne tapped her foot against the floor; she could feel the vibrations running through the wood counter top under her fingers. She pursed her lips. Of course, nothing about this week was going smoothly. Yes, more people where bound to come in, but her windows were beginning to rattle and that annoyed her. Joanne’s ears perked; the distinguished sound of revving engines became more apparent. Sam could tell something had suddenly clicked in her mind. She gave a wicked grin, reached under the counter and pulled out a shotgun. Sam took a concerned step back. The devilish look reached her eyes, shimmering brightly. She gave him a quick pat on the shoulder.

            “No worries sugar. Just going ta teach some old dogs a new trick.”

            She walked out the door and into the middle of the road. Sam followed her, but she motioned for him to stay on the sidewalk with Constance who sat in front of a stoic Pravar, posing with a drawn bow and arrow facing the ceiling. In his Native American garb and wood paint, Pravar reminded Sam of the character on the wrapper of a tootsie pop. If the wrapper had that character on it, he used get another tootsie pop for free; but that was a long time ago and no longer applied. Sam and Constance covered their ears, the rumbling of the engines becoming deafening. Over the hill and past a small cloud of dirt, a gang of motorcycles poured into the Hollow. The muscular man at the head of the pack, leading them, wore a black leather bandana over his head with matching knuckle gloves and a tight leather coat with short fringe up the arms, leather chaps covered his faded blue jeans. Black goggles and a black and blue bandana covered his nose and mouth, giving him an intentional air of foreboding. His chopper was elegantly curved but simple, painted raven black and dark silver with streaks of deep green flowing down the sides, the stainless steel frame blued. The seventeen others riding behind him were all clad in leather, each of their cycles equally customized. They slowed their pace as they came upon Joanne. She raised the 12 gauge at an angle in the air, bracing the butt against her hip. She waited until they got closer.

            “And fire.” Sam heard Constance say, ears still covered.

            Boom!

            The sounds reverberated through the Hollow. The group stopped instantly in the middle of the road and shut off their motors.

            The leader sat and looked at the woman who now had the shotgun slung over her shoulder, one hip jutted out to the side, her stance wide. Joanne stared them down with a sense of expectancy. The leader kicked out his stand, dismounted, and began walking towards her slowly.

            The men behind him tensed.

            “You,” she started as he came closer, “Should know better by now... Dan.”

            A light, exuberant laughter came from behind the bandana of the doomish looking man. He threw his head back and gave a whoop. With a couple giant strides, he pulled down the cloth over his mouth, grabbed Joanne around the waist and picked her up with a slight twist. She giggled and wrapped her spare arm around his neck, snagging his goggles off his head. His pale green eyes were lost in his smile as he kissed her roughly before twirling her around, the shot gun lodged awkwardly between them. They laughed like foolish children. Constance sighed happily and leaned over to rest her head on Sam’s shoulder who watched them nonplussed.

            “I love it when Dan comes into town. He puts Joanne in such a good mood” she looked up at Pravar.

            He gave her a wink before returning to his pose.

            Dan turned and waved for his friends to park their bikes, the tension from the moment before gone.

            She looked behind him and nodded to the two men who rode to the flank of Dan.

            “Jeremy. Dave.” She nodded at them with a bemused smile. They placed their goggles on the top of their helmets.

            “Good to see you again Joanne.” They said in unison before walking their bikes off the road.

            “Y’all ‘re the loudest bunch.” Joanne chided Dan.

            He smiled, his pearly white teeth flashing in the sun. He set her down, arms still around her.

            “I just wanted you to know I was here” He teased, giving her one last kiss on the forehead before returning to move his bike from the middle of the road.

            “An’ now so does everyone in’na state.” She shot back.

             Joanne gave a contented sigh and walked back into the Mercantile.

            “All right all right.” She waved a dismissive hand at the group on the sidewalk, although she couldn’t hide her smile. “Fun’s over, back ta work.”

            Constance grinned at her and with assistance from Sam, got up and went back into the Lodge. Sam followed Joanne who was already placing the gun back in its spot. She glanced up at Sam.

            “Sorry if I startled ya sugar. Normally don’t pull this out ‘cept for when Aire drags a couple coyot’s in from the desert.”

            Sam shook his head.

            “It’s all right.” He replied.

            “If ya don’t mind helpin’ these gentlemen out. They’re a harmless group, won’t bite.” She said with a slight smile.

            “Well I might.” Dan interjected, striding through the door. “But only her.” He grinned.

            The others filed into the shop behind him, several whispering quick apologies for the noise and paying their respects to Joanne as they walked by.

            “And how’s my favorite cowgirl been?” Dan asked, leaning on the counter. Having taken off his leather bandana, his sandy blonde bangs swept in front of his eyes.

            Joanne propped herself up against counter behind her.

            “Been dandy.” She replied with a warm smile, “What brings you boys out here? Already that time a’ year?”

            Dan nodded.

            “That it is. Annual run for the club. We got some great weather for it too. It was barely misting when we left Berkley.”

            Some of the guys hooted in agreement.

            As Joanne and Dan bantered, Sam looked at the motley crew. He noticed some were the quintessential ideal of what one would suspect a biker to look like- tattoos covering their arms, wind burnt faces and long unruly beards- however others looked like they could be perfectly at home on Wall Street, trading fortunes and eating caviar off the slender belly of a human sushi bar.   

            “It’s rare for someone to be here that I don’t know.” Dan looked was looking at Sam. “New resident?”

            “Ah, this one’s a bit stranded until we find ‘im a safe way home.” Said Joanne, an apologetic look in her eye.

            “Oh? How’d you get stuck here? Not that there isn’t any place better to be stuck in.” Dan asked Sam giving a quick wink to Joanne, Sam drawing his attentions to the conversation after directing one burly man to the swirly straws.

            “It’s a long story.” Sam sighed.

            Dan chuckled. “Aren’t they always?”

            Sam nodded.

            “The long short of it,” Joanne interrupted, “is Sam here needs a ride back ta school in Los Angeles.”

            Sam nodded again.

            “Before Rose figures out I didn’t make it back to the dorms and alerts the National Guard.” He said with a wince. She’d probably try it too, he thought

            “Dorms?” Dan raised an eyebrow, looking Sam up and down. “Isn’t there an age limit?”

            He looked at Joanne. She put up a hand with a slight shake of her head; as always, she’d tell him later.

            Sam gave him an odd look, not understanding what he meant. ‘I’m only 19’, he thought. Joanne gave Sam a quick smile and asked him to ring up the sales of a couple of Dan’s friends as the others still milled about.

            Joanne and Dan talked in lowered voices for a moment down the counter, Joanne quickly recounting what she knew and the how and why Sam was currently stuck there.

            “Oh, I see.” He said. “Well Sam, I’ll tell you what. My friends and I are riding to Corpus Christy in Texas. I’m heading back here after that. If you haven’t found a ride in three days, I’ll check your friend’s machine. If I can’t make it work, I’ll take you home myself. Might not be optimal, but it’s better that nothing.”

            “Thanks, but there’s no need to take me home yourself.” Sam started.

            “It’s not a bother.” Dan interjected, “I have to head back in that direction eventually anyways.”

            “I’m sure yer students are happy ta get rid of ya.” Joanne teased.

            “Nonsense! I’m have an awesome class! And they have a teacher who rocks. It all works out in the end.” Dan laughed.

            At Sam’s quizzical look, Joanne added.

            “Dan here is a tenured professor of Cultural Anthropology at Berkley.”

            Dan puffed out his chest in jest.

            “A rockin’ professor.” He insisted. ”I had them put it on my doctorate even.”

            Joanne rolled her eyes. “Yeah yeah.”