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Snippets, ten

Here are some short pieces based on things that have happened in my life recently.

Barbie

Barbie (the move) made me think about my Barbies that I think are currently sitting in a closet in a large basket with other tub toys. What had they meant to me? Had they taught me bad things or good things? I don't remember Barbie ever being the thing to give me body image issues, I think that was more TV than anything else. What should I do with them?

I can't remember the last time I played with my Barbies, but it was probably in the tub. Barbies are plastic so I could play with them in the tub, which was a huge perk. It was also likely before I had the Sims as I used my Sims in much the same way that I had used my Barbies: to imagine stories featuring visible characters. 

I also definitely had Kens, but my ratio was off, and being a heteronormative child, I had the Kens cheat (this was often the cause of drama in my stories--though I often stopped the story before the Kens had to make a choice between their wives and mistresses all of whom had children). 

My favorite Barbie of all time was my friend's Soccer Barbie because she could move more like a human (she could sit, hug, and kick) and my favorite Ken was Olympic Skater Ken because he could also move more like a human. I can't find a picture of my favorite Barbie that I owned, but she had tan skin and dark hair, and a green and black dress. I realize that's not very specific, but she was the prettiest to me.

I think I did act out other stories with my Barbies and Kens, but I can't remember them now. I don't think I often pictured jobs for either my Barbies or Kens (no, not even beach). Perhaps I wasn't focused on that for my future, or perhaps I just didn't project those dreams onto my dolls.

Cleaning

Why do I dislike cleaning so much? Why do I put it off for as long as I can (and often longer than I should)? Why is the satisfaction of having things clean not enough to motivate me? I really don't know the answer to any of these questions, but my apartment has gotten a bit out of control. I took out an immense amount of trash yesterday having played chicken with my bin for as long as I could. I also scrubbed my toilet because it shows dirt early and often. I wish sometimes I shared my place with someone, but no roommates I've had in adult life have ever cleaned up common spaces (and a few rarely cleaned up their personal messes). Hosting motivates me to clean, at least somewhat, but I wish I cared for myself in the same way. The drifting piles of Hoban's fur, tumbling around in the wind the fan makes like tumbleweeds is enough to make me cringe, but not enough to make me sweep or vacuum. It often takes a sink full of dishes to make me actually do them.

Stomach

My stomach has been getting in the way more and more lately. I'm not naïve, I know this is because I haven't been eating healthily nor have I been exercising. But it's hard when clothes don't fit like they used to, causing the lip of the chub rub shorts to roll over themselves and pool under my stomach, or when I hit things that I didn't used to, like my expandable desk. People tell me that I'm more than how I look, but I also want to like how I look. I spent time crying over it this week in therapy. Maybe I was crying over other things too, but how I look has been something I've cried over for literal decades. I used to tell myself that it wasn't so bad, but now it is. I remember I used to lie on my back and my stomach would sink beneath my ribs, but now it protrudes significantly over. There are other changes in my body too, but I don't want to go into them just yet. I mostly notice my stomach anyways.

(Prompt by Kimisha Cassidy)

"IMG_4272" by Ekaterina Stepanova

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