and I don’t look like I think I do
Which is to say, how I used to, I think. It’s the extra few pounds and the 37, even though everyone says I look about 26. (When I was 21, I looked 16. 30, 22. The age gap is spreading.)
There’s a Seinfeld where Elaine says, “Is it possible that I’m not as attractive as I think I am?” That’s me. And I need to stick to the me I THINK I am, for some reason.
I WANT to just be happy with myself the way I am. I KNOW I should be. I believe every woman’s magazine should change to focus on loving yourself instead of always feeling like you’re coming up short, instead of insisting you need to be better and something else and there’s always another makeup or ab-flattening tip.
I don’t even read those magazines. I haven’t since I was about 16, except Details, and that only till about 19. I realized recently: When we love someone, our Other, we forgive him/her all his/her “imperfections,” love them because of him/her and love him/her for them. Why are we so different with ourselves? Why are we so hard on ourselves? We’re good people! THIS SHIT DOESN’T MATTER!
When I was 15 pounds lighter, I still thought I needed to be different. Here I am now, wishing to be back there. Now is never good enough. Here is just the first invisible step to Oh That Will Be Better. And then, THEN, someone will love me!
Yeah, it might come down to that, Goddammit. Stupid need for approval. Stupid arid empty no-luck, not-even-bad-luck Life of No Men. Eh. I’m not going to whine about it. I just can’t believe I’m at 37 and here like this. These years just got stolen away out from under me. Let this be a lesson to you all (i.e. the three of you who will actually read this): DON’T WAIT! For any of it! A life lived in fear is a life half-lived! LOOK AT ED!
This moment of harsh self-visual-evaluation has been brought to you by the unforgiving eye of iSight.
That said, I’m really quite fabulous.
