October 1 2003 Picture me with my head in my hands.

                                     11:13 PM

October 2 2003 On Tuesday I decided I needed to get out of the house. The time I spent on the message boards left me wanting to pull my eyes out of my head so that I wouldn't be tempted to do that again. I figured a walk might be a better solution.

I went over to the Barnes and Nobel near my house. It may be the only book store I can go to and not end up with thirty books on my credit card. Strange but true. I can't get past the first table in Green Apple without picking up a few books but I can wander around B &N for an hour and leave with a magazine. And, given that I am unemployed, I thought it wise not to put myself in a place where I'd be tempted to spend money I don't really have.

I remembered that I got my copy of Wasted there and I lent it to someone who never gave it back. So I got another one. Marya went to the same college that I went to. We became pretty good friends. She's really smart and it was so much fun to talk to her. She moved and things happened and I haven't talked to her for a few years. I bought a coffee in the B&N coffee shop and read for a while.

Marya did such a great job of showing how women starving themselves becomes a loopy competition. She quoted a friend who said that, for an anoretic, eating lunch was a political act. In the first part of the book she describes watching her mother push food away while her father ate heartily. It really is a great book.

I intended to go out for a walk yesterday but my morning session with the want ads put me in a mood. I had a bit of a break down. So I read about reading Chekhov and read some Chekhov and tried to calm down.

And then I watched West Wing and the news and went back on-line for awhile.

Oh. Oh. Oh. I know this is just a time. And I'll get through it. And something else will be true. But this is just hard.

                                     8:35 AM

October 3 2003 Ya know, it's not that I don't find Arnold's treatment of women reprehensible. I do. Even on Oprah, when they were making him out to be the best husband ever, he made comments about not wanting to seem "whipped". Whipped? No one even blinked. I also have no problem believing that he admired Hitler, or that he made racist comments. His apology was disingenuous. He's a creep.

But I hate the fact that American politics is played on this field. I guess I could have a by-any-means- necessary attitude. Because if I wake up on Wednesday morning and he's the governor I'm going to be so freaked. But where are the issues?

This man has refused to attend all but one debate, which is, at the least, bad faith. The other day when he was asked a question in German he refused to answer in German. His support for English Only is, at the least, problematic. His access to media has been atrocious. His use of rhetoric profane. The things that he plans to do in the first 100 days are horrifying.

The local news went into a Curves and asked women what they thought about the groping. I don't want to minimize the groping. But is this the line on which political will for women is defined? Certainly a man who is obviously capable of sexual harassment should never be in a position of power. But what about the issues?

I don't really buy the polls. No one asked me, or anyone I know. But it is nerve wracking. And the money. There is so much money being spent on this I want the recall to fail. In a big way. Too bad I don't have a governor that makes me want to work harder on his (or her) behalf. This is just the most contemptible thing I've ever witnessed.

Code Pink is doing some actions.

Move On has a petition.

 And let's not forget: NO on 54!

                                     11:25 AM

October 4 2003 I roasted an eggplant, some cherry tomatoes, garlic and a red bell pepper and sauteed some mushrooms. Put all that together and added some artichoke hearts. Piled it onto a spelt pizza crust. Topped it with fresh mozzarella and a bit of parm. It all felt very autumnal. The smell of roasting vegetables. The comfort of the warmth from the oven. The ingredients weren't specifically autumnal. Just the feel of the day and smell of the cooking.

The bowl of fruit in my kitchen has been full of perfumed nectarines and peaches and plums all summer. Now it's full of Jonagold apples and pears. All the smells are different.

And it's a little bit cold. I keep putting on a sweater and taking it off and putting it back on. It's an old sweater, so thread bare in places that my shirt shows through. And the sleeves hang down almost to my fingers. It's just warm enough.

Today I'm going to make butternut squash soup. And that is autumnal.

                                     10:15 AM

October 5 2003 Maybe it's because I've been reading Kadare but suddenly yesterday I had to know where the Ottoman Empire was. The geography. I had to understand the geography. And then Byzantium. And then the Mongols. Where were they from? I'm still trying to figure it all out. All this early history of expanding and contracting empires is confused with changing names and differing scholars.

I read A Short History of Kosovo a few years ago. I should read it again. I had it out yesterday and I was on the Internet. Why? I dunno. I just wanted to know. I felt like there were things I was missing in the Kadare. I still do.

But Lynn stopped by. It was her birthday, which I had remembered. But I was surprised and happy to see her.

I had the a fore mentioned butternut squash roasting in the oven. And an onion and some garlic. All of which is in a bowl in my fridge waiting for me to make it into soup. (And thanks to -cough- Dru's -cough- none too subtle suggestion -cough- I may write about the soup on the recipe blog.)Because Lynn and I decided to go out for dinner. We talked about life and missing Renee. Which we do. SO much.

There are so many birthdays. I was a little bit late for April's birthday. But since she celebrates for a week I feel like I got there in time. Today is Susan's birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!! Let's just keep the party going. I am sipping my green tea in a toast to all the lovely birthday grrrls.

I wrote a poem in my head last night. That only happens once a year. Or less. So I'm going to see if I can remember it. Right now I'm listening to Larry talk about the recall and trying to remain calm. But it is so scary. Maybe I'll just go back to my history lessons.

                                     10:11 AM

October 5 2003

I used to look at the mole on my eyelid

the thickening tissue at the base of my neck

the twist of my little toe

and I’d think

that’s why.

But

maybe not.

Maybe perfect eyelids and necklines and toes

remain untouched. 

I’d feel the Tsunami of acceptance,

the sand moving beneath my feet

the overwhelming slap of the wave

the suffocating gulp of salt.

This love is not requited.

It feels like failure.

Failure of plot line and character and faith.

But

Maybe not.

Maybe it’s just that we all dream love and longing

In different tones.

Because I have to find a way to stop

hope.

And not relinquish

possibility.     

                                     12:01 PM

October 6 2003 I'm a bit stunned by the news today. Not too surprised by the idiotic response of the boy prince.

My mind is full of maps.       

                                     9:39 AM

October 7 2003 You meet the nicest people in your referrers. I noticed this blogger was stopping by and I checked out her site. She began her blogging with a post about women boycotting the diet industry. On Saturday she posted about the Amnesty campaign to urge Slovac authorities to investigate the charges of forced sterilization of Romani women. Lots of great linking.

OK. I woke up tense. Ready. I am worried. Because no matter what happens the state is divided. This is the first of three scary elections for me. I can vote for mayor today. But I'm going to wait. I'd like to vote for Matt. But there's some duplicity in that, because I want Tom to be the mayor. I do realize that I can't have it both ways. I'm working on it. I probably will vote for Bustamante. Which makes me a little bit sad. I would like to vote for Camejo. I did the last time.  It was the Paul Wellstone quote about politics being what we dare to imagine that made me do it. But I am scared. Fear is driving my imagination.

And if I think about that too much I'll vote for Camejo. And try to imagine a more interesting possibility.

Kristina and I are going to look at Chagall and not think about what's going on at the polls. Or try not to.

                                     8:09 AM

October 7 2003

The horror.

                                     10:55 PM

October 8 2003 Yesterday was a study in contrast.

Kristina and I arrived at MOMA to find a line around the building waiting to get in. It was free day. And it is a popular exhibit. It took quite a while before we could even get in and, once we were in, there were four, or more, people in front of every picture at all times.

You see Chagall on posters and greetings cards. But when you see the real work, the thickness of the paint, the texture of the brush, so many details that flatten out and disappear on a poster, it is very moving. Chagall is all about relationship. There aren't many images of individuals. Everyone is in relationship, to the partner, the community the spirit. So my eyes were filled with pleasure and expansive ideal.

But then there was the people. People bumping into me, walking in front of me, standing in front of me making it impossible to get a deep view. Many had those tape things that the museum does, which I think are cool, but it meant that they would stand in front of a painting for five minutes - not really looking at it (I mean really not looking at it. Staring off into space.) - listening to the tape. People were just not aware of each other. There was one woman who walked in front of me so many times I almost hit her.

And it made me feel bad to hate them so much. I mean looking at the great love pouring out of the paintings and feeling the affection for humanity and then getting bumped and bashed and pushed as if you don't exist. At one painting there was a woman who had positioned herself in front of a painting and was just ... there ... for a very long time. No one else could really get a good look at it. While I understood the desire to stand in front of each painting for an hour or so, I was aware of the six people pushing up behind me waiting for their minute. So it just wasn't cool.

Despite my awareness of the difference between the painting and the posters (and in spite of my current economy, or lack there of) I bought myself a small print of Lovers in a Red Sky

and Chagall's autobiography. There's something about the print that feels like an affirmation to me. I need an affirmation. 

Kristina, being the overwhelmingly generous person that she is, took me to lunch, brought me a book that she knew I wanted and shared my conflict about the experience at the museum. I came home and took a nap. Woke up. Listened to the news.

Sigh.

Kant said something about "the communal possession of the earth's surface." We are all in this together. And I do love my fellow humans, despite my frustration with them this morning.

This is a victory for style over substance, empty rhetoric and most of all money. Millions of dollars were spent. People are homeless, hungry, uneducated, unemployed, sick, in great need. And millions of dollars were spent to elect a man with no articulation of the issues. And I understand. I understand the frustration that people feel. I understand how tired they are and how much they want a strong leader who can make change happen. But this is a toxic mimic of strength and leadership.

George's ballot looks pretty much like mine. Mine had a weird arrow thing to fill-in. The Bay Area did not elect this guy. But that's cold comfort. There is some comfort in the no on 54.

I'm looking at my little print of lovers in a red sky and trying to hold onto my faith.

                                     9:43 AM

October 9 2003 First scary election down. Second one coming up. The SF Weekly did their usual hack job of writing about the Matt/Tom issue. It's not that they don't bring up some issues that need looking at but their tone is just always so smarmy. They also have an interview with Matt. The SFBG did a better job of thinking on the page. So the left is split three ways. It's hard to feel like that isn't a problem.

Sigh.

I never used to have Fox Network and I wasn't feeling the lack. Now all the news channels are in a cluster and I have Fox. I can't really watch it. I've tried. It's just too dumb. But I pass it going from MSNBC to CNN. Ralph was on yesterday. There's something about that. Ralph wasn't on the other two news stations. So I guess Fox has it's moments. But the news on all three stations was too stupid yesterday. After I'd heard more than one man say that because Arnold was a famous movie guy the women who were assaulted by him probably had been flirting and really wanted what they got. And more than one woman say that even if it was true it wasn't a big deal, and more than one person say that they voted for him because they liked his movies, I turned off the radio and TV and went for a walk.

Came home and put on music. Karen gave me a disc of Jubilant Sykes and Kobi gave me a disc of Marc Johnson. Both very soothing. I made tuna salad, blanched green beans, peeled carrots. Tried not to think about it all.

I have two friends, both named Tom and I talked to them both yesterday. It's been awhile. So it was funny to talk to them both in one day. It felt like it should mean something. I asked them to read Avoirdupois and one of them did. I keep checking for new comments. Being the praise junky that I am.

So I'm talking myself off the ledge.

                                     9:02 AM

October 10 2003 I was watching the news last night. Arnold was talking about his transition team. The news guys are talking about how he's reaching out to the bay area. The list of folks he tapped was a list of right wing, conservative cronies and ... Willie Brown. Willie may look like the guy who represents the "other side" but if you've lived in SF and watched him sell the city to development and big business you know he's not that alternative.

I got an e-mail from a friend asking the rhetorical question, "when did I become the kind of person who cares what goes on in the government?" And I remembered the eight years of the Reagan administration during which I ignored it all. It didn't have anything to do with me. I looked for my world in guru books and rock-n-roll. And maybe I need to find some of that distance.

If you read the article about Arnold and his "team" you will read him say that he knows what the people of California want and that's the direction he will go. It's the language of the abuser. I know what you really want. It's difficult to have distance when there is someone this frightening in office and when he got there because people liked his movies. This is not the benevolent father who want what is best for his children.

Ah well.

This is the weekend every year during which the Blue Angels buzz my apartment. The noise is nerve wracking.

And I don't feel good. So. Not a cheery girl. No balance. Just yucky.

                                     9:30 AM

 October 12 2003 In part because I'm struggling to fend off depression and in part because I had some bad physical juju the last few days, I slumped in my chair, remote in hand and zoned. There are so many shows about making things over. Houses, gardens, wardrobes, attitudes, pretty much everything. I watched a truly obscene amount of these shows.

It's not that I don't have books to read and I have three cool movies from Netflicks just sittin here. But I just felt so washed out emotionally and physically. All I could do was stare while people painted and planted and made things pretty.

I'm not terribly critical of these shows. Some of them are kind of cute. Whole neighborhoods get together to make a backyard beautiful for a family who didn't get to have a honeymoon. Neighbors do a room in each others homes. People fix up places for their significant others. There's a show called Monster House in which five men form a construction team of sorts and race to do some reconstruction.

Phew.

There's also shows in which people get told how to dress and act on dates and put on make up. I can't watch those for too long.

I've always had this idea of improvement as an inside job. I'm always trying to be more aware, more informed, more able to hold complexity. But I'm not immune to the way external improvement makes a person feel. The first thing I did yesterday, when I could stand up, was to clean the bathroom. And even when it comes to appearance I know that a new haircut, or outfit, (or pierced nose,) can make a person feel very cute.

Heh.

I can't really imagine letting someone else decide how my apartment is going to look. But once, for my birthday, some friends of mine made me a little pot garden on the back deck of a place where I lived. They did my laundry and just cleaned up the place while I was at work. It was very sweet.

I feel better today. Physically at least. Which is good because I wouldn't want to be tempted to watch another day of those shows. There's a turn around for me in which I start to think about how we live in an uncertain world and the media does all it can to keep us afraid and uninformed and then they teach us to comfort ourselves with consumerism and stay distracted and we elect action figures to be the governor and ... well then I'm right back in the depression that slumped me into the chair.

Having said all that, I wish there was a show where a group of bloggers could show up at Dru's house with paint and pizza and have fun making things pretty. There are bloggers who really understand how healing beauty can be.

And I am kinda curious about this show. I did have quite a crush on Micky Dolenz back in the day.

                                     9:25 AM

October 13 2003 There's a guest blogger at Ampersand. Barry is working on his new house. We could all show up at this house to help. I'm still under the influence of my day of watching home decor shows.

One thing that did move me on those shows was watching people cry because they didn't think they would ever have a beautiful home. There was one show on which they spent fifty thousand dollars on one room. Most of the people are just average folks who struggled to get their house and they live well but they don't have the time and money to make their homes look like pages from those magazines. Not to mention that they live in their rooms. I'd like some of the shows to go back and see what the rooms look like after they've been lived in for a while. And it all seems to come down to intentionality. Many people put their homes together with no real intentionality.

But wait. I wasn't going to post about all that. I was going to post about something the guest blogger at Amp's place posted. It's an article in which a woman talks about being fat. Some of it is very good. I do like the paragraph that is pulled out on Ampersand. She covers lots of stuff in a relatively short article. It has the feel of someone who knows that they aren't going to get very many chances to tell their truth so they have to get it all out at once.

I just need to say that I am a very fat woman. I do not avoid looking in mirrors. Maybe I used to. I can't remember because I've been doing the work of seeing my body differently for quite a while. Sometimes when I look in the mirror I think I'm a babe and sometimes I think I'm a monster. Most of the women I know (and many of the men) have the same experience. We are always being told who looks beautiful and who does not. I don't see women who look like me in the beautiful list. So I look in the mirror. With intention. If I don't love what I see there I don't know how I can expect anyone else to. And I think loving what see comes from a choice that I make. I choose not to measure my beauty against a media driven standard. It bugs me when I read that fat women avoid mirrors. Look in the mirror my sister. See the beautiful expression of physicality that you are.

It isn't as hard to buy clothes as it used to be. It is still hard to find clothes that fit well and don't cost a fortune. Because fat bodies are not all the same. Some of us are short, some tall, some carry their weight in their bellies, some in their butts, in their breasts, in their thighs, in their arms. We are all a little bit different. Fat women who were sick of not being able to find clothes made their own great  companies. And the clothes are a bit more expensive but they are well made and they last longer and they aren't made in sweat shops. And the models in their catalogs are fat. The truth is that even Lane Bryant does a better job than they used to in terms of having models that look like the women who wear the clothes. The catalog is still filled with thin women but there are clothes that are relatively cheap and cool. Fat women can and do dress well.

But maybe I'm nitpicking.

I do think this women did a great job with this article. I think Paul blogged it once. Over at Amp's there's the classic comment (although it does seem to be from a spammer) about fat people causing insurance rates to go up.

Fat people don't raise insurance rates. Insurance companies raise insurance rates. If you want to be mad about the high cost of insurance be mad at them. They created the BMI. In 2002, when the surgeon general decided to change the definition of who was fat, much of the population became fat over night. Who benefits from that definition? Hmmm. Insurance companies?  Could be.

Many of the fat people I know don't have insurance, pay more for it when they do get it, and avoid doctors. Why? Well. The reason is in the article. This woman was told by her doctor that her stomach cramps were because she was fat. A week later she was in the emergency room. I've heard this story so many times. Is anyone worried about the quality of health care for fat people? Or are you just hoping their doctors get them to lose weight?

And there's another truth in the article. This women has low cholesterol, low blood pressure, low blood sugar and a heathy heart and lungs. She's just not getting the fat = unhealthy thing right.

When I was reading the article I thought about Avoirdupois and my hope that it will be published. I am doing things to try and make that happen but I don't want to talk about them. I feel superstitious. Like talking about it will jinx it.

Heh.

I hope lots of fat people start to tell the truth about their lives. And I hope that more of them stop apologizing. In one paragraph this woman is accepting that her body is just different and in the another one she  is crying about buying "fat lady" underwear. And I understand. I've shed my share of tears.

So now can we stop crying? And celebrate? Can we just do a little booty shake and say - oh yeah! Enough with the never ending and market driven sense of improvement.

                                     10:53 AM

October 14 2003 I went to bed feeling kinda snarky and woke up feeling ... well ... still snarky. Snarkier, in fact.

If you want to talk to me about my health let's start with the fact that Insurance companies don't insure fat people. We're too much of a health risk. And let's talk about the quality of health care I get when doctors routinely begin with telling me I'll feel better if I lose weight and may not see past that assumption long enough to diagnose a potentially life threatening illness. Let's talk about the idea that many fat people don't go to doctors for regular health care because they don't want to be treated the way they are treated by doctors. Let's talk about how safe I am when I'm in a car. After we have that conversation we can talk about how much I eat and exercise. It might be an interesting conversation.

Does this all sound like I'm abdicating responsibility for my health? I should just eat less and exercise more and then I'll lose weight and be healthy and that's all it's gonna take. Big news the other day. Diets may make kids fatter. Not news to anyone who is, or was a fat kid. There was only a wink and a nod to the metabolic changes that occur with dieting. Most of the blame is placed on the kid who can't stay on the diet. And the negative health impact to a person's heart from weight cycling, can we talk about that while we talk about my health?

But the conversation isn't really about my health. It's about my character. I haven't done what it takes. I haven't gotten with the program. I am guilty of the great sin of having an appetite.

Let's talk about how your bad attitude about my body impacts my health.

I don't want to feel this snarky. But the health stuff always puts me in a rant. People pretending that they care about my heath when all they want to do is prop up their bias bring out the snarky in me.

Recently I saw a show on which people who had lived into their hundreds were profiled. And there was a woman who smoked. Would I use her to make a case that smoking isn't bad for you?  No that would be reductive, oversimplified reasoning. But she does make me wonder. She had a group of sisters and brothers who were all in their nineties. Watching them laughing and talking with one another, it seemed to me that being surrounded with love and acceptance might have been good for them all.

Apparently intelligent people aren't interested in size acceptance. Who knew? I would think that intelligent people might think that the value of a positive attitude is a good thing. But if you don't like the size acceptance people, you're really gonna hate me.

                                     10:28 AM

October 15 2003

                                     7:10 AM

October 15 2003 Every year on Gay Pride weekend I like to this article based on the work that Peggy Mc Intosh did on white privilege. For a variety of reasons I thought about it today. I'd like to read something like it from my average sized friends. I'm not really the person to write it. But I know that for many of my averaged sized friends the idea of fat as a political identity is new. So I'm just going to write what I wish I could read.

Everyday as an average sized person ...

I can be sure that people aren't embarrassed to be seen with me because of the size of my body.

If I pick up a magazine or watch T.V. I will see bodies that look like mine that aren't being lampooned, desexualized, or used to signify laziness, ignorance, or lack of self-control.

When I talk about the size of my body I can be certain that few other people will hope they are never the same size.

I do not have to be afraid that when I talk to my friends or family they will mention the size of my body in a critical manner, or suggest unsolicited diet products and exercise programs.

I will not be accused of being emotionally troubled or in psychological denial because of the size of my body.

I can go home from meetings, classes, and conversations and not feel excluded, fearful, attacked, isolated, outnumbered, unheard, held at a distance, stereotyped, or feared because of the size of my body.

I never have to speak for size acceptance as a movement. My thoughts about my body can be my own with no need for political alliance relative to size.

I can be sure that when I go to a class, or movie, or restaurant that I will find a place to sit in which I am relatively comfortable.

I don't have to worry that if I am talking about feeling of sexual attraction people are repelled or disgusted by the size of my body. People can imagine me in sexual circumstances.

People won't ask me why I don't change the size of my body.

My masculinity or femininity will not be challenged because of the size of my body.

I can be sure that if I need medical or legal help my size will not work against me.

I am not identified by the size of my body.

I can walk in public with my significant other and not have people double take or stare.

I can go for months without thinking about or being spoken to about the size of my body.

I am not grouped because of the size of my body.

I will never have to sit quietly and listen while other people talk about the ways in which they avoid being my size.

I don't have to worry that won't be hired for a job that I can do because of the size of my body.

Anyone want to help me with this?

                                     11:14 AM

October 16 2003 Yesterday I was thinking about my average size friends and my list. It occurred to me that many of the average sized people I know would have a hard time identifying as average sized. People would say things about the fact that they have to be careful with their diet and they exercise because if they didn't they would get fat.

I got news for ya. You're never gonna be as fat as I am. You don't have the DNA.. If you can skip desert and walk around the block and maintain a size that is thought of as average you are an average sized person.

And then I thought about the notion of average sized in a world where the cast of friends is portrayed as average.

I could hear lots of "I'm not average sized. Look at my hips."

I saw an infomercial the other day for some thing that is guaranteed to give you a flat stomach in two weeks. There were women who I would describe as average sized complaining about "their pooch." The little bit of belly that they had. One of them grabbed her belly with a look of shame and contempt and said, "I just can't get rid of this."

Her body. She grabbed a part of her body. With shame and contempt. And said.

I just can't get rid of this.

Part of me hoped that I'd see a pile of comments on my post yesterday. Part of me was afraid to see any. Some people will always hate fat people. Take out the word fat and put in a word that describes an attribute of physicality and see how it feels. Color of eyes. Size and shape of nose. Color of skin. Height. Gap tooth. It shifts, doesn't it. Some seem ridiculous. Some seem worthy of a revolution. Why is that?

Can my list be used in an advertisement for Weight Watchers or any diet product? I guess. Because that's where it all pivots. I can lose weight. So if I'm discriminated against I have to take some responsibility for it. Because I have the power to change it.

But I was writing as if I were an average sized person who was noticing the ways they have a kind of privilege in the world. That's a very specific kind of contemplation. It isn't about what could be. It's about what is.

All the yeah buts are equivocation. And I understand that. When I take a moment to hold the ways I have privilege in the world based on my skin color my heart aches. I don't want that truth. I don't want it for me and I don't want it in the world. I feel myself wanting to lessen the pain of that awareness with a laundry list of ways I am also oppressed. I am a woman, working class and fat. See. We all got something.

Yes. We do. We all got something. It's a dog eat dog food kind of world.

But I'm talking about this specific kind of oppression. And I'm talking about now.

And I'm talking about me. Your fat friend.

I've been thinking that I need to stop writing about this. I'll lose readers. I better write about the mayoral debate, or my laundry, or how I cooked what I cooked, or anything else. I imagine people clicking away thinking - gee, I really like reading her but I hate when she goes off on this fat revolution stuff. I really like her but I do think she should lose the weight. And that isn't about her appearance. I love her just the way she is but I worry about her health.

Not that I don't value and appreciate the deft response of my fat sister Kell. Shared rage is a relief. But I know she can help me with my list. I just keep wondering if any of my average sized friends can hold the idea. The media isn't going to end discrimination. And I can talk about weight based discrimination and fat hatred and some people will nod and mumble about how it's a shame. And others will tell me about how I can change. Most will just click to the next more interesting thing.

                                     11:01 AM

October 17 2003 This flurry of posts began with the Ampersand post. I think I read a comment there once that Ampersand was like a dorm room where all the kids hang out to talk about everything. It's true. It's a really smart blog. Radically feminist. And conversations in the comment box can go on for days. Barry wrote one of the best pieces on fat that I've ever read anywhere. The discussion there on the article seems to have wound down.

Nurse Ratched and Redheaddread blogged the story that Richard told me about. And Dru blogged about them blogging. And April added to my list. There has been this flutter of blogging about fat politics. Some of which was on blogs that don't normally talk about it.

And that's the part that keeps bringing me back. There are so many blogs devoted to progressive thought. And often when I see this topic come up I see the reticence with which people engage. The words that are used hit me like ice. The line that is drawn around how fat makes me cranky. Sooner or later someone is going to start talking about the horror of the morbidly obese. And the health issues. And the reasons.

I think there are as many reasons for why people are fat as there are fat people. Yes there is some crap food in the world. We aren't as physically active as we might outta be. And there all the theories. But at a certain point the why of being fat isn't the most important thing. The fact that there is rampant bias and discrimination and hatred directed toward fat people is clear. Fat progressives need to look at their internalized oppression. Thin and average sized people need to look at their attitudes.

When Edward Said passed there were a number of shows about him. I was listening to one on KPFA. He said something about a group of people. I don't remember exactly who. But they were a leadership council of some kind and he said, "all of them fat." And the audience all began to laugh, as did he. This was a group of progressive, lefty, intellectuals. And they laughed about people being fat in the middle of an other wise high minded discourse.

I'm not going to stop writing about this because this is my life. But it does sometimes fill me with dread.

The other day I received a rejection letter from an agent who was looking at Avoirdupois. The rejection was full of compliments. "Your submission was better than most we receive. You have a unique and well-developed voice which is very rare in what we do." But they can't muster the enthusiasm for the project. It hit me the way all the conversations with men who have reacted me felt. "I love you very much. Just not that way."

I know I can't go there. Rejection is part of the deal. Writers are rejected. It happens. But there was something in the way it was expressed, lot's of superlatives and then ... no. I can't help but wonder if it's about the subject matter. There's no way to know. Short of asking them. And I will let it go. But it hit me hard. I've been reeling.

I look to the blog world for a lot of what gets me through the day. These are hard days for me. And this was a particularly hard week. So, as always, and maybe more than at other times, I have really appreciated the supportive comments. And I have been more than undone by the less than supportive comments.

I'm just a bit too tired.

                                     12:57 PM

October 18 2003 Depression is so tedious. There is a part of me that is always watching. Watching while I slump into the chair, remote in hand. Watching while I make a peanut butter and banana sandwich for dinner, because cooking is just too much to ask. This after four hours of trying to talk myself into cooking. Watches while I sit in front of the computer screen with all the links to publishing houses from Kell's comment open, and stare. Watches while I try to remember how to make tea. Watches while I go on line to look for the sinks that I just saw on TV. They're very nice aren't they?

I am adrift. I can feel my eyes, bloodshot and dry from bouts of crying. I can feel my skin, which seems tighter somehow. I can feel my stomach struggling to digest the peanut butter and banana sandwich.

What to do. What to do. It's all so tedious.

There's a restaurant space that's empty right now. In a neighborhood that I like. I spent hours the other day imagining the kind of place I would have there. I would know what to do ya see. I would know exactly what to do to make a restaurant. I would work all day. I am so good at it. I know what to do.

This writer thing is harder.

All the time I spend slumped in the chair now, all the time I spent looking at the computer screen, all the time I spend trying to remember how to do the simple things, cook dinner, make tea, all that time is lost. I am not writing. I am not even reading.

But I can talk about it. And I can write this post. So I'm still OK. Right? There is part of me always watching, making notes about the how bad it is. But I'm still OK if I can write it down. Right?

So I ask myself, what can you do? It's almost noon. Maybe a shower? Make the bed? Wash the dishes? Carry the trash downstairs? Check the mail?  Take a book to the park and read?

Kant said, "Enlightenment is man's emergence from his self incurred immaturity. Immaturity is the inability to use ones own understanding without the guidance of another."

Seems a bit strident. But it makes me feel like I'm not fully mature. Not in terms of writing. If you handed me some money and said, "Go make that restaurant." I would flip into hyper drive. I would know how to use my own understanding of the business to take action. And it seems like I have some understanding of the actions I need to take action on the writing. (Send more stuff out.) But I am not getting it done.

It's all so tedious.

                                     11:17 AM

October 19 2003