Sorry to have been away. There was a poetry conference that was particularly intense and fruitful, and lots of sleep as I’ve been trying to sleep my way out of this cold I’ve been lumping around with for a month now. And other stuff. January seems, among other things, to be the month of Not Getting Stuff Done, but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t stuff filling up the days.
Any way, there’s this pretty nifty blog to check out: http://diannesylvan.com/archives/1358. The blogger offers 10 Rules for Fat Girls, which are nicely practical and pro-sanity and include my personal favorite buggaboo about wearing clothes in your actual size. They’re good rules. I would argue that they pretty much apply to anyone, regardless of size. What bothers me about them, in so far as one can be bothered by such an essentially positive post, is the idea that fat girls need to have rules. Are there lists of 10 Rules for Gay Boys? 10 Rules for Native American girls? 10 Rules for Being Black? Actually, there probably are some out there. There are lots of Rules-for lists out there. And the blogger, Diana Sylvan, offers advice that is geared to push people toward behaviors that they might neglect out of self-hatred, so it’s sensible, useful stuff. And we all rather love sets of rules (how else can we know what to disobey, or how to belong, or any number of other things?) But something in me recoils at the notion that my body size might mean that I need a set of rules to live by, no matter how worthwhile they are. Always has, I guess. I did, after all, get asked to leave my Girl Scout troop. And Girls’ State.
Meanwhile, I got a notice from my insurer offering me $200. for joining Weight Watchers. I guess I don’t need to tell you what I think of that.