I'm probably 20 pounds from being considered "normal" for my height and build, and almost 30 pounds from being what I consider my fighting weight.
The plain fact is,when I'm happiest I'm lightest, and when I'm miserable I'm heaviest.
Oh wait. There was that time I was miserable - I was working full-time, taking care of an infant, and was completely at the service of a semi-invalid spouse following a (botched) surgery - and got down to a size 2/4.
So apparently my weight fluctuates with any emotional extreme.
After all, I've lost one dress size since moving into my own place. When the divorce is final, this likely will increase.
|Google says this means hope. OK, Google.|
But the thing is, Drummer Boy doesn't seem to care.
He loves me as I am.
I have little to no experience with being loved as I am. From my father to my almost-ex-husband, I'm used to being loved in accordance with how greatly I please someone.
It's been tough.
Yet Drummer Boy, for some reason, loves me warts and all, whether I'm being good or bad.
I feel so unworthy of his love. Yet I depend on it, every waking moment of my life, to get me through my current trials.
Thank you, Drummer Boy, for loving me as much as I love you.
Nah. You can't possibly love me as much as I love you. My love for you is endless and all-abiding.
By the way, Drunkards...I love all of you. No matter your flaws or your weaknesses. I've got your back. Thanks for having mine. <3 p="">