giggles in libertine gusts.
POSTED ON MYSPACE JULY 29TH AT 10AM
Good afternoon, ladies and fellas...
Last night I spent four hours in my backyard, unaffected by the balmy texture of a Virginia night, surrounded by good conversation and new friends. It would be fair to say that an Army wives "talk" does not unravel like a long, clean strip of beauty but rather as a well-worn one, with the tapestry of a fading youth and knowledge unattainable by most civilian women. We know the sacrifice of a soldier, the importance of accountability and the ever-persistent call of duty. It is true: whether there is love, if children, we fight to stand by our clan. Our homes each represent it's own tributary of blood, feeding off the bitter carafe of his arms [the~military] and it's muscular reprieve to the enlisted man. We're not always pretty or awake with vivacious jubilation and there are certainly some that make us look bad, but we know the vastness of a woman's love, and something of courage under pressure.
An opera of emotions seem to perform inside of me when I think about… everything. Everything we're expected to do. The things we're expected not. It's hard to win over them all. Yesterday I decided to give that part up. I decided this because it's not something that's done. Not here, anyway. The gossip levels are obscene. Absolutely. For example: Jack locks me out of my house for twenty minutes and the next day the ladies two blocks over are emailing me to apologize for not coming to help. My first thoughts are, "How the fuck did they find out?" and "Why in the fuck?" Yes. Why. I don't fucking know. I keep to myself, and so does Josh, but as much as we do that, if you live on a base, it doesn't matter. I find myself lucky that I am neither in the position nor condition that I was in around the year of 2005, here that is, because I'd likely be sitting in jail. Hah. Thank God for wake-up calls. Hi, my name is Alexis and I am a grateful, recovering addict who lives in a country within a country where our national anthem is the blues and our leader's idea of a good time involves lots of alcohol. Har.
Aside from the politics of a loud mouth, there are, of course, my tits. Yes, my tits have been a topic for rampant discussion among the bitches who, as I mentioned before, are the ones that can "make us look bad". They have no idea the venom for which they spit, and the weight it rains down upon "us". In other words: me. So, now I find myself staring off, while at the playground. Icy deportment fogging my usually big, topaz jewels for eyes. I was paranoid naturally as it was, but where I stand now is at a more agitated stance. More guarded than ever, I guess you could say. But these women hold no true authority over me aside from the power of rumor, which I know is ENOUGH for some but certainly not for me. But not everyone relies on fact. You can't spin nothin' when there are [dare I say…] women out there, thrilled by lunacy! Before I was just, "There goes the skinny bitch," And now they've merely added: "with fake tits." So here you will read a proclamation by yours truly that I promise to kick every one of these fuckers asses! In my mind, anyway. ;) 'Cuz lets face it, Alexis could write a book in jail but she don't wanna.
If only I had a few drams of cobra venom. What a neat way to go! But fuck, I'm only kidding. ;]
Moving on, as I've wasted too much of precious my air time on this situation… today is going to be a good day. I started this entry off with impeccably strong words about the Army wives I've come to know and love. I spoke of newfound friends; two women, who are not rare at all, just not often found on a small, and twisted fort like the one we dwell upon. We share a lot in common. Children, of course. The difference between us is that one is actually in the military herself, and her husband is a stay-at-home dad. I've been there before, so I can relate to her just as much as I do the other, who is, as we're called: a dependant. Hah. Anyway, with two of us being Democrat, which includes me, and the other being a Republican, it provided an interesting debate on last night's latest polls. The Republican has an edge over us because she is working on her Masters for Political Science and Law and probably has the highest level of determination that I have ever witnessed in a woman. With four children and a house to run, she not only attends college with a GPA of 4.2 BUT she also works part-time into the wee hours of the morning and sleeps less than four hours a night. While this might register as insane to the normal person, to me it says nothing but PURE tenacity. I strive for this drive, lest I be a rustic witch one day and die of disappointment! Blah de fuckin' lah.
Let's see… what else…
It's been [officially] two weeks since the surgery. I have spent the passing fourteen days afloat within a wake of excitement, anxiety, pain and worry. I still erect my head stiffly from my pillow each morning and with a world-weary voice ask, "Are they still there?" The first thing I feel is soreness below each incision and my less than effortless ascension forward brings no immediate relief. Only when I eagerly loosen the band, and unclasp the sport bra do I feel a release. Keeping them bound is only a torture among many others that I was blissfully unaware of prior to surgery. I knew of every possible complication, indeed, but not of the work that goes into just… GETTING THEM. So, you ask: was it worth it? For now I enthusiastically answer the world with a yes and hope that this attitude continues. Despite the return of bruising, which I admit is odd, the pain is no where at the level that it was and for that I am thankful. Either way, I always find a way to tide through the ruthless currents of life, do I not?
Salvation cannot be found in vanity. I know this. But let me tell you how nice it was to walk into Victoria's Secret, and Fredericks, and be measured in at 32 around and size D cup. As a woman who fluctuates from an A to B cup and at one time [upon completion of rehab] could entertain a C, I was totally elated. Beyond belief. I know, I know. How can TITS change so much? Well, it is not monumental a change, this I know, BUT it does wonders for my self-esteem. I never liked the wonder-bra and now I can't fathom ever wearing one. They are uncomfortable and I hate them. LOL. They either push up TOO much or NOT enough. Now I do not need support, and I think I paid my dues to have that. Not to mention the fucking dough, man. Come now…
"I'm getting a 32D here." Said the lady with mythic good looks, who at the same time measured my bust.
I stood there, amazed, the tape encircling first my frame, then above. She'd also added that I will most likely be a double D when it's all said and done if I gain more weight like I intend to. She knows from personal experience from her own tit~job, of course. BUT! I know I must. Gain more weight, that is. Five to seven pounds at least. Prevents that dreaded and most gruesome ripple effect, which occurs mostly in thin women like myself. Right now I weigh in at 103 but I can only imagine how much my new chest added. Hah. Okay, well, I've said too much. :p
I always say that I will write more later, and I don't, so… I won't.
Otherwise, everyone have a nice, quiet and safe evening. I hope Monday starts off well for us all. Peace.
Virtually Yours,
Alexis