David is my youngest sister Arianna’s baby (also Tomas’). He is 10. He is beautiful. Like his cousin Adam (my other nephew), he has dimples and a killer smile. He is brilliant in a Sheldon-from-Big-Bang kind of way. Yes, that is a little scary. He never reacts the way I expect. He hasn’t grown out of that, I don’t expect he ever will.
My niece Alicia has always reminded me of a cat. She doesn’t want to cuddled or hugged, but she does want to get her way. She’s been that way since she was a baby. She’s Linda’s oldest child, but I have often said that she should have been Arianna’s child instead of Linda’s – she’s too much like my youngest sister to discount the similarities. Oh, well… I’ve stopped hoping she’ll grow out of it. She’s in college and future doctor..
I hate the word “Diet.” I hate that I use it. I hate that I invoke it like a prayer that I’ll be happier.
I want the word to disappear. I want my desire to use it, to actually embrace it to go away.
I want to stop thinking that if I do it, if I actually succeed this time, that something will change.
I want to stop wanting it. Stop wanting to look like the others. Stop wanting to have them stop judging me. Stop judging myself.
Let’s erase the word “Diet” from our vocabularies … and all the crap that comes with it.
Adam is the most adorable teen in the world, and I’m not just saying that because he’s my nephew… actually, I am mostly saying that because he’s my nephew since he used to be a terror and did not listen anyone. He’s Linda’s child, the middle sister (I’m the oldest in the family). He’s 17 years old; he inherited my sister’s fair complexion and his father’s hazel eyes. The little monster even has the audacity to have dimples when he smiles, and he always smiles after he’s done something he’s not supposed to or when he’s up to something. But I love him lots. It helps that he’s outgrown he’s truly beastly stage.
You’re happy and successful. The wicked witch in me plots your demise. Why should you be succeeding when I’m not? In a fair world my (much larger) talent would be rewarded with bigger prizes than what you seem to be getting.
You’re cheerful and upbeat. The wicked witch in me plots how to get you to eat that poisoned apple. I think it might dampen those annoyingly cheerful moods and stop the Facebook posts that are just ruining my day.
Others won’t stop talking about that one thing you did that went really well that one time. Again. And again. And again. The wicked witch in me plans how to burn down the forest, with all your supporters, and end that cycle of congratulations.
Fortunately for you, and the rest of the world, I don’t let the wicked witch out. Not even on Halloween. Especially not when I’m being small and petty and jealous and weak.
But it’s fun to imagine.