People pleaser and worrywart

I’m very bad at keeping up with my own blog schedule. I pay for it; I should be better at updating it. Thing is, I update only at work and pay for the mere convenience of not having a terrible hassle like I had with the free blog hosting site,

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"You can please people some of the time,
but you can't please all people all of the time." – Anonymous

I should really do the whole “don’t fear man, fear God” thing. I’m trying. I’ve been throwing suggestions and ideas out at my manager with a “What’s the worst that can happen?” I swear, that needs to be my new motto or approach for life. People can say “no.” “Too bad.” I’ll disappoint or people will disappoint me. People can be rude and snippy to me, but in the end, what does it matter? I need to stop trying to curry everyone’s favor because not everyone is going to like me.

I’ve really been evaluating what I consider to be “pretty.” Really, what does “pretty” mean to me? Merriam-Webster aside, what is pretty? How would my dictionary define it?

To be honest, I’m not sure. I can’t look at myself because I don’t like what I see. Much of it comes from what society deems “pretty.” i.e. flat abdomen; slim, slender body; clear skin; non-bushy eyebrows; well-manicured nails; no excess weight.

When I look at myself, I see a black (derogatory reference in every sense of the word) female who has these crazy, ungroomed eyebrows, fat cheeks, big nose, excess weight, blotchy skin, unruly hair, fat all over my midsection, flabby upper arms, stretch marks — a big, overwhelming mass of cocoa-skinned blob.

I don’t like seeing “blob.”

I’ve never cared for my looks when I was younger (and skinnier) but never hated them so badly. Not like I do with this excess weight. And so I wonder — will 130 lbs. be enough? Will I ever exercise enough and control my portions enough that I’ll live to see that day once again?

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I go around in circles when it comes to my thinking. I think about the people who have immense power over me during my personal time. People who teased me in high school, my micromanaging boss, people I wish I had in my life, people whose lives I wish I could change, my mother, my father — who isn’t even alive. The perceptions I’ve created in my head, paparazzi, tabloids — things that don’t even affect me!

A major future goal: Trying out for American Idol. Believe it or not, not for the superstardom. In fact, I doubt I’d make it past the first round (I’m a decent singer but I’m no Christina Aguilera) — but I need to get over my fear of making a fool of myself in front of people I don’t know. And even if I did make it all the way to the infamous Randy, Simon and Paula, technically, worrying about those who teased me in grade school should be the least of my worries.


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