there’s a weird in the air.
like the undeniable, artificial, white sugary scent of halloween candy, pitchforking all senses as i skulk up and down the aisles of my local, big-chained grocery store, white knuckling purchases of pepsi, cheetos, and other ALS-unfriendly buys on her list; there’s a distinct waft of bizarre and unwise permeating my world.
do you have a weight window?
you know like a pocket of pounds you allow yourself, both up and down, where either your baggy, loose-fitting, billowy shifts start constrict scuba suit-like, or your skinny, leather pants get so slack you start toting baby kangaroos around in them?
i allow a very altruistic window. in the last three months it’s become more like a double-set of wide, ceiling to floor, french doors.
and i give myself permission to adjust. it’s the accommodating, wanting to be liked, please-don’t-talk-shit-about-me-behind-my back-but-if-you-do-i’ll-still-love-you, nature within me.
all this much to the dismay of my matron of honor dress that needs to fit by october 27th.
i’m surprised it’s not working too!?
thank you raquel for letting me know i’m no longer a “maid of honor,” but the aforementioned “matron;” as if i didn’t already feel betty white status with my newly acquired night sweats: a pajama & sheet-changing, 2am occurrence that “puzzles” my doctor and does not turn my husband on.
i’m now going on my fourth night of sleep where i dream this cat is mine.
mine, as in i live with and work for her, butler-ing to her every feline whim and fancy.
she only eats whole foods wild-caught salmon, insists i read her sylvia plath poetry, and barks like a baby fox when i scratch behind her ears.
paging dr. freud.
what’s most abnormal and sci-fi out of all these askew situations is that i couldn’t be more jolly green giant.
santa claus belly and sweaty, sleepless nights aside, i am the most content i’ve been in decades.
i told you it was in the air.
you may now proceed with the shit-talking.