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Feeling BetterWell, I’ve done my eating and drinking and will hopefully spend the next few nights hanging out with friends.  I’ll skip the poetry this time around because it’s kinda pointless.

Shai took me to the Bear, and we ate well.  I felt a little better after eating their awesome American chicken salad, and having a frozen strawberry margarita.  Good stuff.

Earlier tonight, well last night, while I was walking, he called.  He didn’t say anything important, but asked me to call him when I was done with the walk.  I did, and he didn’t answer.  So since the pub was near the end, I stopped in to leave his gift there.

The barmen were baffled, but tucked the box into where one of them keeps his stuff.  He really liked the necklace when I showed it to him, and he’s a biker.  So if Warren doesn’t get it, he will.  He’s really cool, and I’d be proud for him to wear some of my work.

So now begins the next chapter…the last step in regaining my full identity.  Warren had the chance to be there to cheer me, dear me, but he’s chosen to be one of those guys I’m going to laugh about when I’m really a former fatty.  If I wasn’t doing it for my physical and mental health, that laughter might be worth it alone.  I’m beginning to understand why some ignorant women starve and worry.  Since they don’t know how to do it properly, they’re not doing it for their health really, but for their egos.

I never was that jealous of the beautiful people.  They get a lot of perks but also catch a lot of hell.  However, that hell is worth it in a way, especially if someone is as beautiful on the inside as they are on the outside, which is kinda rare.  If they are unicorns, then people who screwed with them when they were vulnerable are themselves screwed.

I see myself as someone who was vulnerable for awhile, and got shit on mercilessly…almost reflexively by people who hate beauty.  When they see one little flaw, the pounce on it like rabid dogs and try to destroy or diminish the beautiful person’s gift because they are jealous or maybe because “when the cat can’t get to the milk, it says the milk is sour”.  Hypatia told me that one.

It’s going to be interesting.  I wonder what flaw the rabid dogs, or rather sheeple, will pounce on when the fat is gone…probably my age.

To that my answer will be as Yoda’s, “Look you as good as me when my age you are.”

My luck though, I’ll have some horribly disfiguring accident or something.  Then they’ll pick on me for having one leg or burn scars.  Cretins.

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