Mom called to ask me if I was watching the television? My sister ran in the Boston Marathon today. Thankfully she was not harmed. I only knew this from Sis’s posts on Facebook. So when I got Mom’s call, I assumed she was terribly worried about her daughter. I immediately replied: “It’s ok Mom, Sis and her friends are safe!” I couldn’t believe what I heard on the other end of the phone. Her response was to tell me about a Food Network show where she learned that the famous biscuit lady from some restaurant in Nashville had passed away. She didn’t acknowledge my sister at all just immediately went into this story about the biscuit lady.
This is what is important to a morbidly obese food addict. How can you talk about a Food Network show when your daughter was so close to such a dangerous situation?
Wish I had something witty and clever to write. Wish this depression (that’s back with a vengeance) would lift and that I could have my sense of humor back. While we’re at it, I’d like my sense of self back. I want to be comfortable in my skin again. At the very least, I wish I could fake it enough as to not worry my family. The last thing I want or need is for them to worry about me.
Where’s the hope? Where’s the way out? I’m gonna have to go back to the place and thing that drove me into this depressed state in the first place. Why can’t I just deal with it?
On top of that my husband’s company is being moved out of state and since we are not able to sell our house, he will be out of a job in June. He tells me don’t worry, that God will get us through this. I hope so.
I was probably about 12 years old and was playing on our front porch. All of sudden, my Asshole (Dad) pulled up in his car. He sat in the car for a while and I wondered what was taking him so long to come into the house. Suddenly his car door flies open and he runs into the house wearing only a napkin that had been strategically taped over his frank and beans. He didn’t give an explanation but years later he told me the story. whether it is true or not who knows. Continue reading
My mother was a nurse who worked for over thirty years on the night shift at a local nursing home. She worked 11 at night til 7 a.m. My Asshole Dad would move out whenever he met a new woman and would often wait til Mom left for work to clear out his crap. One particular time stands out in my mind. I had hurt my knee while driving his motor scooter (yes that’s right the asshole owned and drove a motor scooter) and that night it was really bothering me. Mom set me up on the couch with some pillows before she went to work. Now our tiny living room belonged to my father who would lay in the middle of the floor blaring baseball. To this day I can not stand the sound of a baseball game. Continue reading
So one day, The Asshole (My Dad) decides to take all three of his children out for a bike ride. Not a typical bike ride but more like a 2 mile trek with 3 kids under the age of 8 and one 3 wheeler bicycle. You know, the ones that the overweight old people in the trailer parks ride. He decided to walk and let my 8 year old brother drive the bike with my sister and I in the big basket in the back of the bike. Now my Asshole Father is a thinker who had no time to wait for us so he walked ahead and occasionally yelled for us to keep up.. When he walks or drives he is often lost in thought so pretty much anything can and usually does happen around him. (I wonder what the hell the Asshole was thinking about? Probably how to get rid of those three screaming kids that were trailing him). Apparently an 8 year old can not be trusted to drive a fat person’s bike that is 3 times his size along a busy blvd. At some point, he lost control and I being about 4 years old ended up with my head and half of my back bent backwards out of the basket watching as cars were coming at us in all directions. We must have been in an near an intersection because I could hear the screeching of the tires and see headlights surrounding us in what seemed like all directions. At this point The Asshole was still walking down the sidewalk and never even turned around. We screamed for him and at some point he realized that we were no longer following him. He walked back to us,asked my brother what the hell he was doing (as if my 8 year old bro tried to kill us for the fun of it), pushed the bike back onto the sidewalk and we were on our merry way. Good times, good times indeed.