1. I’m tired.
2. I’m monumentally grouchy.
3. My dad sent me photos they took on their vacation. Some are of me. And I’m pissed.
This is so stupid, but when I was little, I used to hate how my grandma seemed both so big and sturdy and yet also had this way of moving around with her whole body, but especially how she holds her hands and arms, that makes her seem so delicate.
How can something be both big and sturdy and seem also so delicate? It’s just not right. I assumed the delicacy was an affectation on her part, a way to make herself seem fragile, even though her size would never ordinarily make you think that about her.
And I really loathed that about her, that she would fake being weak and girly so as to make up for being fat.
But you know what, folks? I hold myself the same god damn way. It’s not conscious or intentional. Shoot, I want to look like the kind of girl you should not try to pull any crap on, but I look like a girl who will giggle when you squeeze her (and I will!) and whose hands flit about her like excited pink birds.
I’m convinced that life will eventually make you eat what you hate and so here I am learning the hard way that I’ve been wrongly hating something about my Grandma that a.) she couldn’t help and b.) that I do, too.
I feel kind of shitty.