Hey, y’all, do I look okay in this shirt?

Yes, I know that it’s one of the four T-shirts I’ve been wearing over and over for the past few weeks, and that it probably doesn’t look any different tonight than it ever does. But hardly anything fits, anymore, and now I think I might be popping out of this shirt too.

I keep starting this long post about weight. And eating disorders. And horrible, the-patriarchy’s-to-blame, gut-wrenching self-loathing about the weight I’ve gained, that makes me willing to overlook all the awesome, amazing, astoundingly wonderful things in my life in favor of sitting here berating myself for the way I look. Don’t think I don’t know how fucking pathetic that is. Don’t think that I haven’t spent the last 25 years of my life fighting this. Don’t think, please, that I don’t know better. I do. But I look in the mirror, and it almost makes me want to call off my plans for tonight.

Did you see that “almost”? That “almost” is the only thing that keeps me, in these moods, from jumping in front of a bus. Thank goddess for that “almost”.

But you know what? This isn’t the post about weight, though that one is coming soon. This is the post about how I’m going out anyway, to meet the Wrangler at the bar, and I figured that since the SoapStar and the Squirrel are now all lovey-dovey, maybe Bad Idea would be bored and lonely tonight, so I called to see if he wanted to meet at the bar. And he was all, I’m going to the bar now, maybe I’ll see you later. And then he just called back and said, okay, want to meet me at the bar at 9? Well, what do you think I said? Hint: my semester just ended; I gave myself a deadline of Monday to come up with a work plan for the summer; I haven’t been drinking as much as I think I’d like to be; it feels a lot like summer; and I’m in–to quote MaggieMay–a dangerous mood. I think those reasons have Bad Idea written all over them.

Besides, how is Bad Idea ever going to become Horrible Mistake if I don’t meet him at the bar?

Wish me luck. Or…something like luck, but with a dangerous edge. And I look okay, right?

Update: 1:30 am. OK. The vibe with Bad Idea was good, but the new job means that he’s going to bed and waking up way too early. The Wrangler went off and left us for awhile, and Bad Idea spilled all kinds of things to me (have I mentioned that, for whatever reasons, strangers and friends all like to tell me things that they don’t tell most people? Usually, that’s okay. Sometimes–often, really–it’s kind of weird. Especially, I have to say, when it’s Bad Idea telling me about the SoapStar and the Squirrel.)

So then, anyway, Bad Idea had to go. And it seemed to me, at the time, like the best idea to leave with him, but I couldn’t think of a remotely cool way to suggest that, so here I am now, later, going to sleep and regretting my not-so-forward-ways.

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