People Are People, and Weird

Who thought it would be a good idea for people to share other people's LiveJournal entries and comments on Facebook and Twitter? That is a very very bad idea, and if you do that with my journal, I will become predatory and frightening. This shouldn't even be an option. It is creepy. No.

I still feel very good. I have done a workout and some stretching. And I need to stop trying to please my mother in my head, my mother who wants me to lose ten to fifteen pounds because she is a health nut, because the first time I weighed more than a hundred pounds was when I was twenty-six, because my mother will tell me that excess fat is unhealthy. I need to shut that voice up. I also find it hard to talk about my weight and body image with friends, because they just see me as beautiful and don't give a shit if I weigh ten pounds more than the stupid charts want me to weigh, and if I mention my weight among a group of people they will stare at me like I am crazy, and then I will feel guilty.
Never mind. The point is, I am doing things for myself, to feel healthy for myself, and for nobody else.

I was once called a terrible feminist because I noticed that there was an amazing amount of misandry alongside all the misogyny, except no one wanted to talk about the misandry. I don't understand people. Why can't we all just be happy that we're people? Female humans and male humans have many similarities and certain differences, and are equal in most ways and different in other small ways, and the point is that they are humans and are people and they shouldn't try to outdo each other just to prove a weird bunch of points that are more subjective than objective. Gender is fluid and multiple and full of wonder, and sexuality is fluid and multiple and full of wonder, and for fuck's sake, we are all just human beings, so please stop trying to attack each other for stupid reasons.

Whatever. I don't have a point.
I'm going to go do things.

Weightless

My cats adore me no matter what. My friends love me for who I am. I really should quit being annoyed at myself.
Repeat. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Various small pains are poking through here and there. I am irritated. Stupid fibromyalgia. Stupid cerebral palsy. Tamanu oil massage, here I come.

I feel like I'm floating on the edge of something massive and unknowable.

Also, herbs work for me, but I love my pharmaceuticals too.

I keep contradicting myself: I want to curl up and cry; I want to jump around and yell; I want to roll around on my awesome hybrid bed and squeal with glee; I want to hide in a corner, legs drawn up, waiting for the pain anvil to drop again because I know it will no matter what I tell myself or what others tell me; I want to be positive and negative and optimistic and pessimistic and idealistic and realistic. I want everything.

Whenever someone smiles and tells me, "You must look beyond the pain! You must not anticipate the pain, because if you do, you will allow it to control you!" I want to screech and throw things. Because that is not how fibromyalgia works. Fibromyalgia is not a temporary deal. Fibromyalgia doesn't care how happy and full of sunshine you are. You can have all the surgeries and radical treatments and positive meditative outlooks in the world, and fibromyalgia will be crouched in the corner, grinning and waiting and tapping its claws against whatever material your floors and walls are made for. Tap tap tap, here it comes. Tap tap tap, you thought it was over. "Don't think about it or you will let it take you over," they say. "Ignore it. Look past it. Force it away. Stop letting it..."
Stop letting it what? Stop letting it hurt me? Stop letting it exhaust me? Stop letting it debilitate me? How, pray tell, do I accomplish that? If such a feat had been done, we would have a cure for fibromyalgia. A real one.
Besides, who ever said I was letting it do anything?
I don't know how to compare chronic pain to temporary pain anymore.
As much as I meditate and exercise the symptoms away, they come back. As much as I think happy and sunshine and optimism, I still have daily symptoms. I live through them. I shrug them off when I can. I smile and laugh and give my symptoms the finger and I work with and through my symptoms. My symptoms are part of my life, but they do not define me. They never will. But I really do not want to hear that all I have to do is be positive forever and my problems will end. I do not want to hear that I bring my symptoms on myself, opening my arms wide and shouting "Okay, pain and tension, come find me, I await you!" I don't do that.
The last few days have been wonderful. My bouts of pain and tension have been mild. That is the best I can ask, the best I can expect. I can't see the future; I don't know if it will get any better. I just hope.
Thanks for listening.

Eyeliner

Random question regarding cosmetics.

Dear people who wear eyeliner on a regular basis: Do you mostly wear black liner, or do you prefer a different color? Why?
I ask this because my mother -- a former fashion illustrator and makeup artist -- has always told me that black eyeliner was best, since it created the illusion of thicker longer eyelashes. I'm not sure about that. I love browns and plums and grays. Black is harsh sometimes.

Eh. Just wondering.

(Also Bare Minerals and Tarte make amazing eye makeup.)