I Dwell in Possibility

"Live as if you liked yourself, and it may happen" Marge Piercy "The seven of pentacles" According to the societal standards of beauty, I am an abject failure. For years, I walked around, beating myself up in my head because of my fat body. Every day I looked in the mirror and was never satisfied. I obsessed about everything I ate, especially when eating in public. Unlike many fat women, I don't have any horror stories of ill-treatment from strangers, or potential romantic partners, or employers, but we know these exist for many, many obese men and women. When I look around me at women on television, in movies, in magazines, in advertisements, and in almost every representation, I see more benchmarks of beauty that I do not meet. That I will never meet -- not because I am slothful and uncaring -- but because they are meant to be unattainable. Long, thick, glossy hair. Wrinkle, blemish, and pore free. Perfectly proportioned body, boobs and booty. Cellulite

Like so many of the “personality inventories” that roam the internet, this is one I saw in a magazine somewhere, I know not where, but it intrigued me enough to sit down and think about mine. Music has been a part of my life always – before I knew what it was, before I knew my own affinity for it, music and songs were there. “You Light Up My Life” Debbie Boone (1977) This is not the first song I remember; that would be John Denver’s “Country Roads” (1973? 74?) which I have a vivid memory of hearing (and maybe singing?) while playing on the floor at my grandparents’ house in Wellsboro, PA. “You Light Up My Life,” which was a monster hit, all over the radio, was the first song I remember deliberately trying to learn the words to, to sing the tune, and to understand the meaning. I remember sitting on the swing set in my parents’ backyard at the house on Irvine Place and singing the words over and over again until they were committed to memory. “Ode to Joy” Beethoven This th

I did not send Christmas cards this year. Parent and sibling exceptions. They got special cards. Oh, I purchased them -- boxes of adorable sparkly cards at Target -- and I already had some that I've squirreled away for future use in a box at home, along with a cute package of make-your-own cards as well (mostly all purchased at some after-Christmas rock-bottom sale price). Oh, and some nice free cards that came in the mail from some organization or other. I love getting cards, especially from friends and family, even those that are just pictures. I'm one of the last relics who also sends cards for birthdays and babies and sympathy and just because. Not many people reciprocate, but that's fine; I don't send cards in order to get more back. I like the old-fashioned and tactile nature of cards. This year, the spirit was willing but the flesh was weak, and I was totally exhausted from the semester's end and still needed to do Christmas shopping. Something had to