The roaring in my ears woke me once again.
it was at a different pace than the snoring
that I can sleep to from my bear.

My mind raced to figure out why
I was trapped in an avalanche
underwater on the second floor.
Or, why do I get to hear my blood
rushing around in my own head
at five am?

It is not my kind neighbor
snowblowing his driveway at four am again.
It is not the furnace that keeps the
“you have got to be kidding me” cold at bay.

Its just me
my brain
my ears
my special
morning panic.

Looking at my arms
I wonder what my
blood pressure is up to.
My veins are full, pulsing
like I just did a power yoga class.

Yes, the joy of being
a not so young
not so healthy woman
with many overlapping
conditions.

My monthly curse
is something I would like to wish upon my worst enemies
(Since, I’m occasionally Wonderwoman or Supermom
I get to have foes, deserving of such torment.)

I don’t feel like I should discriminate
and wish this only upon my male adversaries.
Some of my female opponents should get
the pleasure of being locked in my body
for the seven to nine day
cyclic exploit I get to go on
until I agree to have the offending organs removed.

Kicking and screaming
I imagine them begging
to be let out of
this uncertain torture chamber.

One, its too small.
Two, starvation is cruel.
Three, it is so so cold.

Lets take the average person
height five foot five or six
and mold them like clay
No, like silly putty,
squeeze them into a six foot tall box
put an internal mike on their veins
and bluetooth earbuds in their ears
put them outside in the ten degree weather and
wait until they start screaming.

Now, in the middle of this seeming diatribe
I searched the internet to find that
the average height of the American male is now
five foot nine and the average for women is five foot four.

Really? Really? I thought
I was becoming more normal with age.

Now for the average weight.
American men top out at 196 and women are up to 156.
I can no longer refer to my stature as that of a tree trunk or telephone pole.

I’m doing special art major math
that allows me to accept that
I truly am some type of giant human walking stringbean.

This is where I’m about to get in trouble.
I’m a glorified stick.
Our culture thinks I’m statuesque.
Something to strive for.
My brain says, shut up now before the flaming starts, but its early so why stop now.
Our culture makes little girls diet because we should look like Barbie.
Yeah, I know how many generations past Barbie are we?
I’m old. I can bring up Barbie, Ken and GI Joe if I want to.

First of all somebody needs to take a look at Barbie’s neck.
There is no skin stretching from her neck to her chin.
She’s a pre- bobble head with dysmorphophobia.
Actually she is the downfall of our society
from the seventies generation of girls on.
Isn’t that when anorexia nervosa and bulimia
started raging in our superficial culture?

No.
Wow, it goes back as far as the 1200’s.
I had forgotten about Karen Carpenter,
but didn’t know a thing about Mary Queen of Scots
and a list of other fasting,
hallucinating and fainting
Saints having anorexia.

For fear of offending anyone,
I am going to vault
off that topic for a moment.

I wonder if I can find an image of Barbie next to Ken and GI Joe,
I bet there would be some
Saturday Night Live intellectual Property Infringement
if I posted the Eddie Murphy segment I think I remember,
but Barbie’s so inhumanly tall.
Where has my morning meandering gotten me to?

Simultaneously pms-ing cranky,
angry at Barbie (and the glorious toy designers) and
feeling like I don’t fit in this world.

I hate to do it,
but I’m on the train
so, I might as well derail it.

I look like some type of black Barbie doll
without the big breasts and corset waist.
No, I don’t have Anorexia Mirabilis.
I don’t have long conversations with God
and I have no aspirations to Sainthood.

I’m also very much alive and kicking
and intend to be grumping around
for at least the next 50 some years.

Women in my family die
after they’ve pissed everybody off
for at least 98 years or so.
Feistiness equals longevity.

The direction of this blog has lead me to some interesting reading. This is the reason I don’t always post everyday. I have meandered through eight or so topics, that with editing and an attention span could be four essays or seven poems.

Hypnopompic Sleep as a part of Sleep Paralysis
Eaing disorders
The Wikipedia History of Anorexia Nervosa and Anorexia Mirabilis
Saints
A Self-Esteem Test
Body Dysmorphic Disorder
Barbie
Average American Weight
Average American Height

My old blogs about my sleep disturbances https://metalflowermaker.wordpress.com/tag/sleep-disorder/

Some fun links for those who want to wander down the same track:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hypnopompic
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lucid_dream
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sleep_paralysis
http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/evolutionary-psychiatry/201112/history-eating-disorders
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_anorexia_nervosa
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anorexia_mirabilis
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Portal:Saints
http://psychologytoday.tests.psychtests.com/take_test.php?idRegTest=3207
http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/body-dysmorphic-disorder/basics/definition/con-20029953
http://newsfeed.time.com/2014/02/06/barbie-lead-designer-blames-moms-not-dolls-crazy-proportions-for-girls-body-issues/
http://www.rehabs.com/explore/dying-to-be-barbie/#.VLEvkCfpEfo
https://www.google.com/search?q=average+American+height&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8
https://www.google.com/search?q=american+average+weight&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8

Any thoughts on the above post are appreciated! Otherwise, I think I must be living under a rock.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s