Twinkle toes!

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I'm into heavy grooming today. I'm slathered with good-smelling lotions, for one thing.

Gave myself a facial with lemon juice, followed by lotion, for another.

Manicure came next. No polish, mind you; I have pragmatic hands, with very short nails. But the cuticles are pushed back, the nails are filed. I put chapstick on the backs of my hands, where they crack and bleed.

I even did my elbows and heels!

So, next it was time for my poor feet. Nails trimmed, cuticles pushed, callouses scrubbed.

I found a tiny bottle of silly nail polish one day while trash picking. It's blood read, with glitter. So, I put it on my toes. The red's transparent, so it actually made a deep, rosey glow, with occasional shots of glitter. Quite nice, actually.

I've been nice to my feet over the past, twenty years. I no longer wear shoes that cramp or pinch, just to be fashionable. So, my toes are naturally spread apart, and don't require wads of cotton between them, to dry polish without smudging.

Porkchop thinks they stink, and is sleeping with his nose as far from my feet as doggedly possible.

I exercised a bit, too, to get the kinks out from yesterday, mostly.

I'll never be pretty again. I know that.

I was much more beautiful, as a young woman, than I knew at the time.

But I can look nice, anyway. I can look like I thought about my grooming, anyway. And I can do it without looking ridiculous.

And, I can do it without spending any extra money, and very little extra time.

I'm also letting my hair grow out. It's very pretty, the way it curls. I get sausage curls, at about the length it is now: just below the shoulders. Being 3 races is good for hair.

I'm actually watching Martha Stewart today, just because. It occurs to me: I'm really no fatter than she! She's stronger, though. And my poor belly! It's just because the muscles are damaged and weak, really. If I take my time, and exercise consistantly, I can improve the poor, abused thing.

I need to be kind to my poor belly. She's not the enemy. She's the effect of neglect, poverty and abuse.

I've been too angry with my body, without even knowing it. I feel betrayed by her. She got weak. She became laughable.

But she didn't want to, and I didn't want her to, either. It was just circumstances.

We can change. She can be stronger.

I have no delusions of being flat and taught like a thirteen year old.

But I can be healthier. When my belly's weak, she can't support my breasts too well. The breasts pull against my back muscles.

So, my belly is a priority. She's affecting my health and posture.

My toes look cute! LOL Big fat lady, with cute toes!

I have pretty feet: sculpted, angular. They're much more defined and slender than other parts of me. I even have short fingers...

I'm just a stumpy, little thing. Even my nose is too short. I inhale rain!

So, it's a time of reevaluating EVERY thing! I'm doing an inventory of my assets, limitations, interests, dislikes.

This is the good thing about falling in love with myself: I feel safe, closely examining myself.

Normally, I don't even look myself in the eyes, in the mirror! I just look at my hair, as I comb it. That's sad.

So, I'm enjoying the silence. I'm enjoying the peace. I'm enjoying studying broadcasting and fussing over myself.

I'm the only person I can depend on to be nice to me, consistantly. And I've been neglecting that. Other people are nice to me, but not consistantly; I can't count on it.

And, if I'm nice to myself, I won't depend on others for kindness so much. Which leaves me: less vulnerable while, at the same time, more capable of intimacy. Because I'm not running from myself. Or anybody else.

I feel a pang of guilt. Most self obsessed people are a real drag, and I don't want to be like them.

But I think I HAVE been self obsessed: in wound licking, in hiding, in martyrdom (sp).

If I'm good to myself, I don't need so much from others. That's pretty damn healing, if you ask me.

I was good at this, twenty years ago. Since I moved to KY, though, I've had a harder and harder time taking care of myself beyond basic survival. There are few resources for a disabled woman of low income, in KY and here. I began a slide into destitution. And it's been a real scramble, just to survive that! Who had TIME for toenail polish?!

I'm pruning my life. I'm discarding the unessential and brushing up on my best skills.

Today, glitter red nail polish was an essential, in a funny sort of way. I just needed to be a Gurrl: not a mule, not a dog, a Gurrl. With curly hair, soft skin and twinkle toes!

I guess I'm going in to a drag queen phase now! LOL