I can’t sleep. That’s a relatively normal thing, really, as anyone who has gotten completely coherent emails from me at 3am can attest. I don’t sleep.

I have the next round of edits due on my book in, ohhhhhhh, 13 days. I was recently hired by a morning radio show to come and chat every Thursday, the fall session of Camp Throwback tickets go on sale October 13th, and I almost have the perfect cat eye down with my eyeliner. Obviously, I have a lot on my plate right now.

So, I let my brain stay up long after I tuck in the small ones and the big hairy one, and I write on the floor of my living by the glow of the television and the soundtrack of ridiculous infomercials.

Do you struggle to find your cell phone when it rings, only to finally find it and realize it’s the relative whose calls you are screening, anyways?

Um, yes.

Wish you had a knife that could cut through cans like a jacked up goat on bath salts?

Absolutely.

Are you tired of waiting for water to boil, then struggling to break the pasta in half with your primitive human hands, just to get a simple plate of spaghetti?

Preach.

Are you 100 pounds or more overweight?

Probably.

Are you lonely, depressed and insecure?

Not really.

Are you ashamed of the number on the scale?

Actually, no.

A few years ago, yes. I would have looked you dead in the eye and lied to you. But today, nah. I’m good. I have clothes that fit. I have friends I love. I have sex regularly. I’m healthy and super active. I’m successful. I like myself naked. None of that has been waiting to happen until I got under 200 lbs. My weight wasn’t holding me back, I was holding me back.

Who could love a girl with stretch marks? Who could like a girl whose thighs touch all the way down to her knees? Who wants to see a girl whose boobs point down and has two chins when she laughs or isn’t paying attention? Turns out, everyone but me.

I will never be under 200 lbs. Ever. And that’s normal, because I’m normal. You may not see enough women who look like me, but we are here. We are wearing cute clothes and screwing cute men and women and conquering shit left and right because we don’t care about 200 lbs anymore; we just don’t have time or life to waste on that. And neither do you.

What does 220lbs look like?

This is 200

Normal. Strong. Beautiful. And fan-fucking-tastic.

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