I bought a standing desk

I’m standing at it now. It’s the kind that you can move up and down depending on your mood.

I got it so I can start the long, hard climb out of fat-asseddom. (Again.) I sit all the time. Sedentary life sucks. We all know it. The least I can do is force myself to stand some while I’m working. Right? Yeah.

And that’s all I’ll say about that … probably

The responses I’ve gotten to what I wrote about Charlie Brown’s Sad Thanksgiving for Fatties have been really interesting. Whole lotta solidarity coming from the ladies re: the weight crazies. I’m so thankful that there are people who will reach out to connect about such a very personal issue. BUT. I hate that the need is even there. I hate that there are other people fighting this same fight, routinely winding themselves into knots of shame over how much space they are taking up in the world. I want to make it go away for you, and you, and you, and you. All of you.

I talked to my dad last night, and he told me he hadn’t meant to upset me so much by his comment. Which, yeah, I know, which is why I had initiated the apology sequence by leaving him a note last Friday morning saying as much. And then he went on to ask me if it had been “that time of the month” and when I said “it’s always ‘that time of the month'” meaning I am fucking crazy ALL THE TIME HAVE YOU NOT NOTICED THE GENES YOU ALL GAVE ME, he told me not to wear my feelings on my sleeves. Which is an interesting thing to tell a person who comes from a family of passive-aggressive people who often feel slighted at the least little thing.