Sep. 16th, 2013

itsallovernow: (No-Kerne)
I've been working on a series of essays, one of which turned into a rant against those people who inevitably post on any article that suggests being overweight is not a sin against humanity about how it is "IN FACT A SIN AGAINST HUMANITY YOU EVIL PEOPLE LACK DISCIPLINE AND ARE A DRAIN ON DECENT SOCIETY."

I know it's pointless to rage about them. It just...I hate being told what to do. And I hate, and have always hated, the idea that ANYONE thinks they have a right to an opinion on my body and my choices, if those choices don't effect other people. There's something about the tone of those folks that makes me insane in a different way than the normal ignorant, opinionated assholes do. It's that feeling of...the superiority of the disciplined, I suppose. The "I don't overeat, or indulge, and I exercise, how freaking hard is that?" smug superiority of those who think that its a justification to be an asshole about someone else, the last vestige of allowed judgement. It's old ground, but it never fails to boil my blood.

As a writing exercise, however, it's ending up more rant than exploration, and then becomes equally pointless. I can only say "fuck them in their fucking face" so many times before it lacks impact. And possibly couth.

Our relationships to our bodies are so complicated - the love and hate, the acceptance and rejection, and while I don't think that men have it any easier, there is the doubly challenging feeling as a woman (for me as a tall woman in addition) of feeling like I take up too much space. Like I'm somehow using more resources with those extra inches. Writing about those feelings is equally complicated - there are so many layers of identity and identification, wanting to always side with those being oppressed, decried but never wanting to be completely identified with them, and the shame in that dichotomy. The work it takes to acknowledge that shame, identify those feelings, and boot them out the door.

Which is to say that I'm back-burnering that essay for awhile to finish the sports vs. sports narrative piece*, particularly appropriate as football season has started and my husband has literal dreams of the Eagles finishing well this season and sinks into depression at their defeats, and I look at him in bafflement and then conjuring up the feeling of a terrible episode or a recent cancellation and remember that sports fans are people too.

*Sadly, the sports piece desperately underutilizes the word fuck. It's like it's not even my writing.

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