The Dreaded Intro Post - Little L

Ooo. Blurry! Ah well. 

Hey, y'all. How's it going?

Me? I'm doing fine.

As I write this, I'm cooking up some delicious pulled pork (I hope...it's a new recipe), oven fries, and some chicken gravy from homemade chicken stock. I'm starving and the yummy smells are killing me. KILLING ME.

You can call me Little L. Little because there's two of us, and both our names start with L. Since he's taller than me, that makes him Big and me Little.

Pleased to meet you.

I'm not actually little. I'm of average height, and I'm overweight. And I'm okay with it.

I mean, I'm not totally okay with it. It's affecting my health, and I'm trying to undo it, but it takes time, and I don't hate myself for being fat. I don't really care that I'm fat. I just want to be in better shape, and better health. If me being fat makes you hate me, well, I figure that's your problem. Doesn't change it, and your opinion on my weight and body type doesn't matter to me. Your loss.

I am awesome.

It took me a long time to become awesome. Even longer to realize I'm awesome. But there it is.

I've been writing for a while. I was a journalist for a minute. Then I got a job running a blog, and got promoted to EIC of their e-zine. They even paid me to post on Twitter and Facebook. It was fun for a while, and then it was decidedly not fun, and so I don't do that anymore.

I've also worked on the floor at a plywood factory. I was a salesclerk for a little Earth-friendly shop and a big box bedding store. I ran a kitchen in an adult living center. I was a cashier at a southern grocery store. I did a stint as a file clerk in medical billing long before all that stuff was handled online, so I spent my days on the floor in a file room combing through insurance claims. I liked that job least of all. Who wants to push paper all day? Not this little gray duck.

Through it all, the one constant has been writing. I like to tell stories. I prefer writing fiction, but I like writing about myself, too. It's cathartic. And the thing I like most about the internet is that if you go looking for them, you can find people going through the same things you are. For me, that makes those things a whole lot easier to carry.

So in a sense, this is me looking for my people.

Of course, I've already found my person. Big is the most amazing man I know. He works hard so I can be a housewife chasing her dream of writing. And he recently moved us to a beautiful house in the country so I can do it in peace. We always won the asshole neighbor lottery in the city, and it was quite literally driving me insane.

Hey, by the way, I'm insane. They say I'm not supposed to use that word because it's chock full of stigma, but I like it. I feel like it fits me. And fuck stigma, anyway. Stigma comes from systemic ignorance, and I'm all about bucking the system.

I'm diagnosed with chronic clinical depression, extreme social anxiety, and borderline personality disorder. A few shrinks have suggested other things, but these are the ones that seem to fit me best. I have panic attacks over the dumbest things, and fixate for months on conversations with strangers I will never see again. I've got a touch of OCD, and it manifests in the weirdest ways; like when I was twelve and I kept a thesaurus under the cedar chest at the end of my bed and couldn't function if someone borrowed it and didn't put it back.

I'm not violent. I've never really been the hitting type, and I stopped throwing things when I was a teen. Got tired of breaking my stuff. These days, I just scream and cry a lot when I'm frustrated or anxious.

I've got problems with food choices. I am a full-on foodie. I swear my tastebuds get bored and revolt if my food is flavorless. This is at least half the reason I'm fat. The other half is not having a whole lot of motivation to get on the one piece of exercise equipment we own (an elliptical) for a few minutes a day. Yay, mental illness!

I walk when I can, but it's not really safe to walk on my street because it's a major highway, and Walmart truck drivers like to text and drive (I've seen them).

Excuses, excuses. I'm working on it. Just like I'm working on everything else. Maybe one day, I will be a fully functioning, "normal" human. Probably not, though. I figure normal's overrated, anyway.

We go hiking at the lake down the road when the weather permits. I inherited the most beautiful flower garden, and am trying to learn how to care for it. I can't wait to put in a sunflower patch, and a veggie garden next year. I love camping, and knitting, and crafting, and cooking.

I love music. All music. If it has a good melody and beat, or touches my soul, I'm hooked.

I like the mountains more than the ocean, but I miss the ocean so much.

I love sitting in my flowerbed, rescuing it from all the weeds and insects that try to take it over, looking up at the hill and watching the farmer drive by in his tractor. This city girl's definitely gone country.

I cuss like a sailor. I'm blunt to a fault. I'm incredibly opinionated. I stand up for what I believe in. And I'll call you out on your bullshit with the hope that you'll call me out on mine.

But those things just let you know where I'm coming from; they don't define who I am. There's so much more to me that I hope to show you with this blog. Some things you'll find here are my favorite recipes (written by me or others...I'll give credit where it's due), frank discussion of mental illness and my struggle with my weight (spoiler: they're related), life as a new resident in rural New York, the current political climate in these United States, gardening, and the day-to-day minutiae of life as a housewife trying to be a writer. Sit and stay awhile. Who knows? We might have more in common than we think.

💜

P.S. The pulled pork was awful. Sad face.