Fat and Sassy

Dearest of my dears,

Here's the deal pickle. I have always loved even numbers. The even numbers, have always seemed more attractive to me. And what am I now? An odd number. 1. Just one. I went out to lunch after church, you know, the normal, with mama and daddy. My sister and her family.

We have 7. Another odd number. Hang out with Landa and her crew? Again, 5. Even another odd number. So, maybe, I should start a hot love affair with odd numbers. They seem to pay more attention than the even ones.

I looked down the pew this morning. You guessed it. More odd numbers.

Which spawned, what about the forgotten? You know who. The ones you assume that are just pleased as punch. Because they are alone. Because, they have so many pressures. Real or imagined. Maybe they don't live alone. Maybe they, live in a full house, but somehow feel left behind.

Or, the misconception on being on your own, like, something must be wrong with them. You know, mentally. Or, if she would just lose that weight.

How 'bout liftin' people up for a change? That's a great idea.

What about calling someone who is just on your mind?

These lepers, that we all assume that are the ones with issues.... Do you know how many times I have heard, such phrases as, appreciate what you have. Healing takes time. You can do it.

Well, for one, Godblessed right I can do it. And have done it. And will continue to kick ass, but not take names, the ones who you have said ass kicked, are the ones you forget. To move forward.

You want me, to appreciate what I have? Fuck you. With that said, you are the type to bitch at whoever you live with bc they didn't do whatever you wanted them to do however you wanted them to do it. Fuck you sir.

You know the part in the bible about being a willing servant? That's me.
I get aggravated. Sure.
But, I can smile when I do things I don't want to do.
Do you really think I love it when Champ can't hold his bladder? No, I can't get mad at him. He has a tiny bladder. He has very special medical needs. Do you think I get mad that I can't just tell him to get down just because I'm laying on the couch? I'm too lazy to get up? Never. Cause, my boy could get hurt. He can't hear, and that's not his fault. Anyone else would have beat him half to death. I see him for what he is. Special. He takes such a measure of patience that Job couldn't measure. That's why, he's mine. I can handle major levels of intensity.

Healing takes time? It sure does brother. I'm not scared of it. Or the process. Sometimes it's the waiting.

Listen, all I'm getting at is, I am not the type to take for granted. Understand?

I am exceptional.

I embrace a kind of honesty, that shatters people. Why? Bc, there's nothing like in the world to be able to face how you feel. And know why. There's nothing like feeling relief.

Like drinking the biggest alka-seltzer out there.

Here's my question, my sweet, why not reach out?

1. The rejection. Cool. I know that bitch. Push ya down the steps in your heels, she will.

2. Embarrassment. You know what, Pal? It's fleeting. The last embarrassing thing I did?
I don't remember. It was that earth shattering. ( It usually turns into an endearing memory.)

3. Pride. Didn't think I would mention it? Mine still has guns blazing. It does it's best to act like
A1 steak sauce, it just tells you it's that important. ( A good steak doesn't need steak sauce.)

4. The pain? Ok, this is where I slip you the dry wiener. (Thank you Steve. More on that later.)
You can recover. You can battle that Ogre.

It's the not knowing. For most. Like Shelane said last night, your boobs look good. She did say that, but she also said, Paula, if I could just know, I would feel better. My heart sank lower than low. And I could empathize with her.

All I could think was, how I wanted to just get in bed with you and fall asleep. Not with Shelane. The one I wish that were reading this.

Pastor Bob rang my chimes as if I were Gomer Pyle and the Sargent had put a metal bucket on my head beating it with a huge spoon.

He said, there's nothing wrong with being different.

What? I lifted my head off of Rachel's shoulder. ( my sister)

Being different is something to strive for.

Wow.

Last night, I woke up with a charlie horse. It was so painful, I mean, I tried to wake up. It hurt, really bad. So badly, I remember talking out loud. I was still asleep, I was in that state of sleep that you feel as if your eyes are covered in super glue. It made me wonder, I may be sleeping hard, but, my body is in full force. Active. Can you get a charlie horse from sleeping?

Rachel, also brought up a woman at church that has encouraged me my entire life.

She said, Paula, she suffers from anxiety and depression. That's why she hasn't been here to church for the past few months. Or gone to work. My lip quivered. I busted out in tears. My heart went into the depths of hell when she said that. I understand. Relate. Empathize. Not to discount, you know the possible forgotten? I could hear my heart beating in my ears. That's why I had to lay my head on Rachel' s shoulder.

Being dragged behind a team of horse's would have made me feel better.

Tenderhearted. To the hilt.

The tears layed in my eyelids. And just like little suicide bombers, they crashed down.

I hate anxiety. I hold mine in. That's when I pay.

I beg myself to stop it.

I went to the alter this morning. I said one little prayer.

Please continue to lift me up. And show me how to lift others up as well.

That's my burden. For you.

Is this is like a goose feather filled pillow? Comfy, but the feathers poke you?