Ever since I can remember I have gotten along with the elderly and the very young. People my own age? Not so much.
Halloween night approached. I sat on my bed watching my favorite movie ever, My Cousin Vinny, drinking green tea and knitting. Somewhere between, “What are you, a fucking world traveler?!” and “It’s me or them, you’re getting fucked one way or the other.” I received a text from an old friend:
"Hey, a bunch of us are getting together tonight for Halloween if you wanna come party."
I read the message and thought about it for a few minutes. Finally I decided, “I am a college student, legally allowed to drink, on Halloween night, when did I become 60?” So I came up with a costume, grabbed a 6 pack and headed to his house, unsure of exactly where he had moved to.
Long story short, I got lost, he didn’t answer his phone, I hated what I was wearing. An hour later, I was home, with a six pack, watching NetFlix, hating my life, body, self, and enjoying an Angry Orchard.
Pity Party-1 Me- 0
The next morning I jumped up, ran to the mirror and did an immediate body check. I have an irrational fear that eating or drinking will cause a massive explosion and I will swell and immediately have gained 20 lbs over night. To my disgust and excitement, my ribs were still visibly protruding, and yet my gut was still there, pudgy bastard. My family was going out of town for my grandmother’s funeral. The beloved devil step-child offered to stay behind and watch the animals and the house. I hate my step-dad’s side of the family anyway. So, I packed a bag, and headed to my house which would have long been empty of parental units and siblings.
I took the dog on a run, bought a vest, and got back to the house and scrubbed, and scrubbed. I wanted to keep busy. The thought of being a loser, not fitting in, the fact that my eating disorder is fucking with so many aspects of my life. To say the least, the bathrooms in my parent’s house is spotless, along with the kitchen.
I distinctly remember all of the years I hated bringing in firewood, the jabs in my arms, going outside in the cold to go grab it, getting flakes of wood everywhere. My step dad, I was positive, found such joy in giving me this task. It seemed like forever ago. I took care of the chickens, fed them, gave them hay, water, collected eggs. I made homemade bread. Carried in a plethora of wood and made a fire. Then, I sat on the couch, enjoyed my steaming tea, my cabin socks.
I realized how much I loved it all. The dogs sitting with me, the quiet of everything, the loudest thing being the crackling of the fire. Enjoying my tea.
I’d rather play board games with kids, or sip tea with the elderly.
I’m not a partier. That just isn’t me. I mentally can’t consume all of those calories. I’ll take my fire-starting, bread making, dog walking, chicken feeding days anytime.