Saturday, November 28, 2009


I've been in a right mood lately. Hot then cold hot then cold. My temper is flaring up to the point where I think my head is going to burst into a gelatinous mess of red hot lava, pouring down the slopes of my shoulders like a lazy volcano.

The doctor is testing my hormones and my thyroid. But I know it's not my hormones. It's my eating addiction - all that crap in my system making me crazy and my thinking fuzzy and my levels riding high then dropping down so fast. Awfully fast.

I have put on weight again, every week I grow another centimeter, and as such my bosom is positively heaving against my shirts. I am showing extra cleavage but it's not sexy. It looks like a fat man's arse crack showing through his shorts - I am repelled by it.
But others are not. I have noticed this. They gawk and they stare. Even my women friends - they look down at the flash of white padded softness and I feel self conscious and betrayed.
Don't look at my tits, love, I want to chide. It shits me.

So today I have dressed with a button up cardigan. Only I left all the buttons on it undone, but for the top one. The cleavage one. Everyone can keep their damn eyes to themselves today. I've also painted my eyelids in green shimmer make up so hopefully my eyes will be interesting enough to look into.
Everyone can just go to hell.

I hate having breasts that are out there. I hate the matronly feel of them. The way all my clothing decisions are based on what will cause me the least amount of attention. People make jokes about them to my face, which is only somewhat better than turning and smirking the way some husbands do as they look at their wives - cor, she's got a set on her, eh?
I know what they think.
Perving assholes.

I'm sorry I'm angry, and it sounds coarse and hostile to read. You might feel uncomfortable. But I'm uncomfortable and I really think people should keep their bloody eyes away from my chest. Even my friends. Especially my friends.

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