Over the years I have learned so, so much, like most of us do as we age. Or at least like most of us should learn and hope to learn. When I was young I once believed from the bottom of my heart that all homeless people were lazy or on drugs or alcohol and “asked” to be on the streets. I believed all fat people ate tons of sugary sweets and too much of it. I believed anyone could lose weight so long as they wanted to, ate right, and worked out. I believed God loved everyone, too. 

Then one day I grew up and reality hit me, not just from firsthand experience but from what I’ve seen and observed and witnessed with my very own eyes as well, be it in person, from a friend, the internet…wherever. 

In 2007 my husband and I spent 36 hours on the streets and suffered years of poverty. We were not lazy. We were not drunk. We were not on drugs. We didn’t ask for it. Instead, the greedy bankers that caused the economy to collapse took it upon themselves to give it to us, no questions asked. 

A young adult female my height can be 100-110 pounds. As she matures her bones grow in density and she acquires more muscle, especially if she works out. She should then be 120-125 pounds. I work out, eat healthy every day but Saturday, and consume less than the standard 2000-calorie-a-day recommendation. Even so, I’m usually 148-152 pounds and diet and exercise could never get a pound or an inch to budge from me unless I were damn near starved every day of my life, thanks to hypothyroidism.

I have been abused as a child and was legally victimized by a corrupt cop who was friends with our old neighbors (welfare bums whom we lodged a complaint against). Although I was ultimately vindicated after losing 6 months of my life, thousands of dollars, and suffering an untold amount of stress and anger, these are just a few of the hardships I’ve endured in life with some people suffering much, much worse than I have. So no, God does not love us all equally. If He does, then something else up there doesn’t, and just the fact that He does nothing to step in and pull us out of the water when we’re drowning, to me, is like a man watching his GF or wife beat their kid and doing nothing to stop it. 

We no longer rent a dumpy old single-wide trailer and drive a 20-year-old car. Instead, we own a doublewide house and drive an 11-year-old luxury car. 

But I still hate God and I’m still fat and that’s ok. The point in this? I guess it’s just to say that not all stereotypes and beliefs are true, and no matter how you see the world, we all gotta just make the best of it. :) 

It’s Saturday folks. Bake a batch of cookies and enjoy. :) We’re all gonna die someday anyway. 

Later… 

Although I hated to do it because I’m not a fan of Facebook, I created another account there just for pictures I’ve taken. Facebook may suck overall, but it doesn’t run snail-slow like Photobucket has been, and I don’t intend to ever add any friends to my second account. That way the account can be public and I can have a way of sharing pics with non-Facebook friends without exposing my real Facebook friends that have left comments on pics in my main account. 

Although I have not heard from those who have stalked me in nearly half a year, and although they never actually harassed my friends on Facebook (they reached out to them on other sites, though), I feel “naked” exposing my Facebook circle to the public. It’s no one’s business, stalker or not, who I interact with there. Other sites, it doesn’t matter, but when it comes to my “real” Facebook account, I like to keep it closed to outside eyes. 

I checked into other picture-sharing sites but found a problem with all of them. Too complicated to navigate, too limited, too this, too that, so that’s why I ended up creating an additional Facebook account. Really wish MyOpera hadn’t shut down their blog/photo site. 

I could load pics on Blogger and other sites, but I can’t group them into albums like I’d like to do. I’m uploading tons of albums tonight. Some have just a handful of pics, others have hundreds. 

I made myself as hard to contact as I could. You can send me messages there, but only friends of friends can add me so that stamps out any chance of anyone requesting to add me. You’re welcome to follow me, though. I’ve got very little personal info. Again, the point is to share pics on this account and not socialize. I thought of making a group on my main account, but if I had a public group I not only still couldn’t group them into albums, but I couldn’t keep my friends out of it that way. I wanted a place where anyone could see my pics, but not my friends and our communications. I’m not going to bother to organize the pics within the albums, though. 

In last night’s dream, I was 10 years younger, receiving disability benefits (I think), and living with my foster parents. I didn’t know Tom. We all lived in a huge house and they decided to make one attempt to sell the place and leave it to fate. They even had a party where everyone dressed up. It didn’t sell, though. 

After picking up Lady Di’s receipt for $175 worth of makeup which I found on the floor, I was bound and determined to try to beat my sleep disorder and get a nearby job (as a waitress?). It was in some building where it was snowing only on one side of it. 

Fearing I’d miss the last bus, I hurried home and decided I would tell Mom and Dad about my sleep issues and that I hoped to try to overcome them, not that what I’ve got is “overcomeable.” If I couldn’t beat it, though, I would pay them some rent in other ways, be it cleaning for them, etc.