No no. Not quite malnourished. My thickness will tell you otherwise. It is mainly my breasts. I could write about my boobs for days. I somehow got blessed with very large boobies. Breasts, boobs, boobies. I was a C in high school, DDD during and after pregnancy. Now… about a DD.
I hate them.
Like really I do. I know I should be grateful because you foxes are out paying the big bucks for what I got under this tee shirt, but I will pay the same amount to get them reduced or permanently chopped off my body.
The reality is my back hurts, I have indents in my shoulders, poor posture, and trouble finding clothes that fit. I am five foot tall and I can’t wear anything flow-y because I immediately resemble a cupcake or circus tent with at least two elephants, 6 acrobats, and a clown that juggles bowling pins frolicking around in the tent. Yes, I look like that sometimes. I want to look dainty and woman like. Not frumpy because I am a penguin. What is sad is that I lost a considerable amount of weight and the ladies are much smaller than they used to be. Dainty I say. If I wear tight clothes, I look much better but whore-ish. I look so provocative and I feel like the public thinks I am a woman of the night. So I choose frump over sexy. Siiiiigh.
So I don’t know why I chose to pursue aerospace engineering. I mean I do. But sometimes I am tested. Like this week for instance, I had a CAD assignment. I had to CAD an airfoil. It took days. I didn’t sleep and I only ate the eggs-rice-soysauce combo for dinner. I swear I didn’t shower for like three days. I didn’t sleep. And I had a friend that lives four hours away working on it as well, remotely but simultaneously while I was working on it. I didn’t know this was possible but now I do and that is nifty for my life. Trying to be a rocket scientist, single mother, and decent human is hard work for sure.
Every day is a panic attack. I love my S7, but honestly the alarm is complete bullshit. It doesn’t wake me up. Consequently, I miss my 8am at least once a week. I have a pretty lit biological clock, but when you pull all-nighters constantly, the biological clock does realize that my body needs more than 2 hours of sleep and shuts it’s face. This is detrimental. To top it off, I have to take Mister Daren to school before I start my day. I try to get him there before 9:30am. The morning teacher hates me. I know she does. I am not religious, I am not consistent at coming in early. I don’t think it matters what time he gets there, but I think she assumes he slept when I come in closer to the 10am mark and that he won’t take his nap. I don’t think it matters that I am agnostic and Daren goes to St. Paul’s Episcopal. But she hates me. Who cares if my little human slept in? Who cares if I seem irresponsible for coming in late? Were you up until 4am solving a four page differential equation, Miss Morning Teacher? (God I am the worst. I still don’t know her name after a year and a half.) But she is just a sprinkle on my ice cream mountain of panic every day. 15 hours Tuesday and Thursday is brutal AF. I can barely keep up with assignments and I am constantly forgetting shit. I know I am overloading myself but if I don’t, I get very sensitive and vulnerable. Ain’t nobody got time for dat.
Like right now. I really should eat. My stomach is in this cramp of hunger. Hunger Games happening in my stomach. But I had to file my taxes and my bed is just soooooo lovely and enticing. I don’t want to get up. But I must and I will in like five minutes. Or right now.