(no subject)

I'm not a huge person...I'm fat, but kinda solid...five foot six inches tall...and I like to think myself graceful.

Till I'm over at someone's house. But not just *anyone*'s house...someone I like (as friend, family or more)...then, I feel like I'm eight feet tall, that my arms are ten feet long (Each) and my feet have suddenly ballooned from their normal size 8.5 to something that would be a bit snug in a traditional clown's shoe. I feel clumsy and as if I'm going to knock over the *most* Precious Thing in the entire place, even if its on a top shelf in the back bedroom that I don't even know about, much less have ever been in.

And, if I've brought anyone with me (like my SO or my kid), I constantly worry that they're going to do the same thing, which will make the person think badly of me, and then I'll never see them again, oh, and they'll tell everyone *else* how much I suck and how badly I screwed up their house.

Which is why I don't go over to people's houses much, and when I do, I tend to either sit on the floor or somewhere hopefully not near anything fragile and *stay* there till we leave.

I don't think this has happened...oh, I've knocked stuff over, and I've been embarrassed when Sam did something I thought people would hate (but, either they're lying to me, or I'm far too nuts when it comes to her interactions with people I want desperately to like her) and so on...but I don't *think* anyone hates me or won't invite me over any longer because of things like that.

Though, I'm still upset that I haven't been able to find a new squeezy cow for R...who knew the damn things were on the endangered species list?

I know, I've got a lot of work to do when it comes to my interactions with friends...and just because someone seems cold or doesn't seem to be my biggest fan that second, it doesn't make it my fault, nor does it always make it about me.

That's the newest thing I have to learn...it isn't always about me, everything isn't my fault and I'm not the most sucky person on the face of the planet.

Sometimes, I wish I were a big ol' drama queen...then I could weep in public, pout at will (and *mean* it), flounce off when I heard something I didn't like that could even be *construed* as relating to me and have people trying to make me feel better all over the place.

But it just seems like so much *work*. And its really not me...I'm the "Go into my bedroom, deal with whatever (or work on putting it away until I *can* deal), take some time for myself and then go rejoin the world" kind of person. Sometimes, I wish I wasn't...but I am.

Some day, I'm going to *Stop* making melodramatic statements in my journal and shall make more than one happy entry in a row.

I'm glad you're here...I'm glad you're willing to read what I'm writing, even if I do repeat myself ad nauseam. I'm glad that no one seems to have given up on me. Thank you.

I'm lucky in the people who've chosen to join me in this life.

(no subject)

I'm not a huge person...I'm fat, but kinda solid...five foot six inches tall...and I like to think myself graceful.

Till I'm over at someone's house. But not just *anyone*'s house...someone I like (as friend, family or more)...then, I feel like I'm eight feet tall, that my arms are ten feet long (Each) and my feet have suddenly ballooned from their normal size 8.5 to something that would be a bit snug in a traditional clown's shoe. I feel clumsy and as if I'm going to knock over the *most* Precious Thing in the entire place, even if its on a top shelf in the back bedroom that I don't even know about, much less have ever been in.

And, if I've brought anyone with me (like my SO or my kid), I constantly worry that they're going to do the same thing, which will make the person think badly of me, and then I'll never see them again, oh, and they'll tell everyone *else* how much I suck and how badly I screwed up their house.

Which is why I don't go over to people's houses much, and when I do, I tend to either sit on the floor or somewhere hopefully not near anything fragile and *stay* there till we leave.

I don't think this has happened...oh, I've knocked stuff over, and I've been embarrassed when Sam did something I thought people would hate (but, either they're lying to me, or I'm far too nuts when it comes to her interactions with people I want desperately to like her) and so on...but I don't *think* anyone hates me or won't invite me over any longer because of things like that.

Though, I'm still upset that I haven't been able to find a new squeezy cow for R...who knew the damn things were on the endangered species list?

I know, I've got a lot of work to do when it comes to my interactions with friends...and just because someone seems cold or doesn't seem to be my biggest fan that second, it doesn't make it my fault, nor does it always make it about me.

That's the newest thing I have to learn...it isn't always about me, everything isn't my fault and I'm not the most sucky person on the face of the planet.

Sometimes, I wish I were a big ol' drama queen...then I could weep in public, pout at will (and *mean* it), flounce off when I heard something I didn't like that could even be *construed* as relating to me and have people trying to make me feel better all over the place.

But it just seems like so much *work*. And its really not me...I'm the "Go into my bedroom, deal with whatever (or work on putting it away until I *can* deal), take some time for myself and then go rejoin the world" kind of person. Sometimes, I wish I wasn't...but I am.

Some day, I'm going to *Stop* making melodramatic statements in my journal and shall make more than one happy entry in a row.

I'm glad you're here...I'm glad you're willing to read what I'm writing, even if I do repeat myself ad nauseam. I'm glad that no one seems to have given up on me. Thank you.

I'm lucky in the people who've chosen to join me in this life.