i fucking cried in j.jill.

one year ago,  my torso consisted of two elongated crooked scars (where my boobs were), an ugly, pulsating port scar which turned bright red and itched whenever I wore synthetic fibers, and a large, very extended white flabby belly (thanks to the 'roids and overnight menopause).

while i still look pretty disgusting naked, i did have the TRAM flap last summer.  i finally have accepted that i'm not going to die next week of cancer (i think i'll get more notice than that) - and it probably isn't necessary to carry around this "just about ready to start decomposing" aura.

so i decided to buy some new clothes.  i've been wearing the same clothes that i had pre-cancer (2006), which don't fit right.  after a pregnancy rumor (why the baggy clothes??  um, i had a hysterectomy. fuck off) -- and a couple of close calls with pants not fitting right (low-rise jeans and numb belly are not a good combo), i finally decided to buy new clothes.  and this time, not for a funeral.

i am a size 10!  a 10?  get the fuck out!  and in some pants, a 10P?  fuck your fascist beauty standards and all, but that is a-fucking-mazing.  i love plastic surgery.  everyone should have it.

and then i went and cried in front of the 3-way mirror at the mall.   i'm such a pussy.