I decided to wear the dress to work, but threw an oversized cardigan over the top, buttoned to the neck. Added ten pounds, easy.
My ex mother-in-law dropped by the office around noon. (Something they don’t tell you when you get divorced: if your in-laws liked you and you didn’t fuck their son/daughter over in the divorce process, you’ll never be rid of them.) I hadn’t seen her in a couple months and her eyes widened when she saw me. Gave me a couple up-downs. All she wanted was to bitch about her other daughter-in-law and to see if I’d go to the dog park with her. Our pups used to be best friends. I wonder if they miss each other.
She poked my ribs a couple times during our goodbye hug, but didn’t say anything about my weight loss. Something I am extremely grateful for. I don’t know why, but people commenting on my size makes me really uncomfortable. Always has. I think it’s probably my subconscious screaming at the thought of being contemplated. I would be happiest if I only existed to those in the same room. Then, poof, I would disappear from their memory banks until the next time we crossed paths. In their mind I would always be the same, never changing. Always the same weight, same haircut, same job, same marital status. I really hate the thought of my faults and accomplishments rolling around in peoples’ brains, slipping off their tongues and weighed on the ears of others.
I suppose this is why I have the constant urge to run away. To find a new life where I am a shiny novelty, then run away again once the tarnish peeks through.