Mortaine’s Blog

I’m sitting here with the sunlight coming through the window at a sharp angle. It’s hitting my right eye. Even though I don’t have a mirror in my cubicle, I know what my eyes look like. When light hits them like that– off to the side so I’m not blinded and squinting, but directly enough to really saturate the iris– my eyes turn golden, and are very pretty.

This message brought to you by Me Trying Not To Hate Everything About My Body & Appearance Today.

Mph. I hate being in pain. First, my body is punishing me for exercising yesterday. Can I point out that, at the very least, I did enjoy my workout yesterday, so at least the punishment is not completely without reward? Okay, good.

Also, my body is punishing me for being female. Men are a parasitic blight on the human species who don’t deserve our suffering. This kind of punishment is completely without any kind of meaningful reward.

I had hot chocolate this morning after I got to work. Normally, I’d have had tea, but since I stood there for 4 minutes, staring at the tea and the cocoa and thinking “I would kill a wild animal for chocolate right now,” I decided to go for the cocoa.

I just dropped the jazz piano course; I couldn’t do it, with the 30 minute drive there and back at lunchtime. I swear, traffic is just totally f-ing me this week.

I am trying to get some work done today. Meh. I’m not being terribly successful.

Also, I need to figure out some low-point lunches to bring to work or obtain while eating out at restaurants. I think I’ll make that my task for next week: bring lunch two days next week.

Watch my spiral into self-doubt and hatred….

The “XXXL” sized women’s wetsuit matches a dress size 16.

I can’t even comment on this, it hurts so much. There’s no way I can dive in the Monterey Bay without a wetsuit, but do I see wetsuits in my size? No.

It’s just like camping clothes (one of these days, I’m going to take a flamethrower to REI’s women’s apparel department). And just about everything else for working out– they either overcharge for clothes that have to be made in small batches (why? It’s not like overweight isn’t the biggest health problem in America), or just don’t make them at all, so they’re not available.

And of course, the message I keep receiving when I look at the sizing chart for something like a wetsuit? If you’re not 120 lbs. at 5′2″, then you don’t deserve to SCUBA dive. If you’re not a ficking pencil, you don’t deserve to enjoy the outdoors.

Like it’s any big fucking surprise I’d rather hide inside instead of go out, with that kind of message being reinforced every day, by the ads, the outdoor apparel companies, and (god help them) the men who, I swear, hurt their necks to glimpse a thin woman walking by, but are utterly revolted by the idea of beauty in a plus size.

I hate the world.

Update: Well, except , who pointed me to these people, who make custom wetsuits (and even do alterations for weight loss, though I wonder if they can do those all the way down to size…)

And except and who gave me pep talks.