So as I walk to work, still puffing and wondering if I’m still alive, I contemplate having the energy to share with everyone the ideas had for this site and for all my others. But so far, they are but ideas, because my energy levels are so low, I have no inclination to do squat diddly.
Today at work we, as a staff team had a clear out. A ton of crap, rubbish, old wood and stinky shit from the garden needed to be lifted onto the lorry to be disposed of. It was hard work and I sweated more than anyone. Not because I worked harder, but because it was so darn hot and lifting a little finger these days causes an outbreak of sweat.
All the other stuff paled in comparison to this one piece of work. I researched therapies, read up on the new fangled trend of ‘ARE YOU OBESE?’ websites for you and your child. They have www.fortheadultfatfucker.com and www.foryourfatbastardchildtoo.com Fucked isn’t it? Suddenly, years after myself and Rachel decided to go for funding for body image, the nation seems obsessed and we are now flooded with all these other peeps doing the same thing. It hurts my head.
Part of me wants to learn more and the other part of me wants to shove more food into my mouth. I am full of hatred for me, for the way I look and I am in the process of finding the help I need. In the next few days I shall set up the video cam and film me like this, if I can keep it up, I shall sell it to the first fat cunt TV station that wants to follow me to New Orleans.
I’m so tired, so fat, so unhappy and so very in this world because of ME! Life will move on and be created once again, just not overnight.
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If you find that you have the urge to leave a comment on my blog, then do it as though you are entering my home and sitting in my living space.
By that I mean, no spitting, shitting on my floor, throwing litter, racist, bitch bugging behaviour. I have no issue with swearing, but I will put my foot down if your comment is just a rant or bitch.
If you have issues about fat people, then fuck off! you shouldn't be on here. This is my space for my tantrums, not yours. I'm not a whimpering fat brrd who sits in a corner rocking back and fourth. Behind a keyboard or not, I BITE!