When I was a tween, I had this recurring dream where I was driving on the side of a mountain alone with a little kid. In the dream, I was a grown-up woman and the kid was my kid. And we were going on an adventure. We were living in Mexico. We were in Greece. We were in the desert. We were high up and there was a sea below and it was joyful.
I also remember dreams about flying. I would always fly low to the ground, swooping and hovering.
I have had no such dreams since I was a child.
When did I give up on myself? Why do I think I need to be with someone else and not myself? I think I am happiest when I am on my own. I think I'm going to become a dog lady. I got a dog. I am a lady. I think I can be a dog lady without being a lesbian (not that there's anything wrong with it - that's a Seinfeld joke). Dogs are safer. They don't criticize. They will follow you anywhere if you have snacks. They like hiking.
I always thought I would be alone and I always thought I would have kids. I never ever imagined a man in the picture with me. I couldn't then imagine any man would ever want to kiss me, let alone love me. Is there a part of me that still believes I am unlovable? And that the love of my lovers has all been faked? Like a sci-fi movie of emotions? I still see that vision of myself with my kids, alone.
In Fat is a Feminist Issue, she writes that fat is a way of walling off the world. Perhaps this is the reason I've gained 15 pounds? Perhaps I am living on brownies and peanut butter M and M's to keep men away? I would like to keep everyone away. I pretty much want to sink into my couch and never leave. The brass ring is always just out of reach. But I'm better on my own. I don't like to share my cake.
Flying shmying.
But what about that adventure to Mexico with my kids? They are with me. I am not alone. But that's different.
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