Discontent

I once had a male friend tell me, "The more I get to know you, the better looking you get."

Which...wow. He said this so sincerely that I couldn't take offense at the time. I'm not sure if even now I'm offended. I like to think that my sparkling personality was just shining through and...well, it changed my perfectly noraml, average looks to something attractive.

Yeah, that's what he meant.

These days, though, I'm not even feeling average. I'm feeling decidedly below average. And it makes me mean and sad and frustrated. Because I'm not being good to myself. And I've written over and over about how I need to treat myself like I'd treat a friend or family member. I've talked about being kind to myself, being respectful.

Who knows when that will actually happen.

I actually miss Marc a lot. His honesty was refreshing and I'm thinking if we were close friends today, he'd say something like, "Dude, you're still the awesomely cool chick you've always been but even your love of all things sci-fi can't make me over look the size of your butt."

And hearing that might make me go for a jog or pass on those peppermint patties. Or something. Then again, it might make me cry.

My aunt Lorry told me the other day, "You have to stop looking in the mirror and saying, 'You look awful, you fat, gross hog.' You need to start saying, 'Hey, I've been through a lot and I look damn good for all that.'"

Yeah, I'm going to try that one.

At least Olivia loves my squishiness. She loves to crawl onto my lap, plump up my boobs and say, "I love my squishy mommy."

That right there almost makes it all better. Almost. But for now, I'm going to have a Coke and another peppermint patty. And start that diet tomorrow.