:: Saturday, May 24, 2003 ::

Story

I wrote a story tonight. The first one I have written in forever. I feel full and satisfied.

I was thinking... if I end up an old fat lady (as I probably will), I hope I carry myself with grace. I hope I stand tall and walk with confidence, enter rooms with sass, swish of muumuu, Kathy Bates balls. I hope there's determination in my step, toothy smiles, big voice. I hope I'm a huggable fat lady, burying grandchildren in her bosom and laughing heartily at dirty jokes. I hope I have passion.

I hope I'm not self-conscious, limping, staring at my feet. I hope I'm not upset or embarrassed for who I am. I hope I fill the room with energy as well as mass.

If I'm gonna end up fat, I'm gonna end up fat and happy.

I spent the night in the bathtub, scalding hot, with a cold beer and my grade 10 journal. It's funny to read old journals. I find I end up feeling a sort of parental pride toward myself, cooing "look how much she's grown!" Because even though the thing is full of contradictions, pathetic ramblings about undeserving boys, insecurities, and everything else that appears in a standard 15 year old journal, there were some rare bits of insight I was almost proud of my 15 year old self for having:

"I guess you reach a height with love where if you jump and he doesn't catch you, it will hurt to fall"

"I have to stop priding myself on being a good person and actually be one."

"I know precisely dick about suffering."

Is it conceited to be proud of your past self? It doesn't feel that way, but maybe it is. Either way, I'd rather be conceited than insecure.

Hmm...


~song~ Nappy Roots - Po Folks

:: Katy 3:26 a.m. [+] :: ::