We’re in this together;

It seems like I eat perfectly well until I try to, and then I sabotage myself.  Maybe if we do it together?  How about we hold each other accountable?  Are you in!?

The funny thing is, I am such a healthy eater.  The darker green something is, the more I like it.  Lean protein – I don’t really like red meat.  I’m not and have never been into sweets – or sugar at all for that matter.  I take my espresso with a splash of milk.

So why have I battled with my weight my whole life?  Much of it is mental, I know – it’s depression, anxiety, eating to fill a void.  More recently, though, it’s been “Oh, you want to make a conscious effort to eat well?!” THWARTED!!

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Along the line;

Somewhere along the line, I lost myself.  I lost the music, the art, the words – oh, the words!  I never would have thought.  Me.  No imagination.  No creativity.  No inspiration.

There must be something terribly wrong.  This is just not the way I am.  This is just not me.

My life has changed – I have changed.  What’s more, it’s not for the better.  Life, age, responsibility, money – the fighting, the loving, the fighting.  Oh, the fighting.

The hatred, the words, the hate – where does it come from?  What have I become?  Moreover, what has become of me?  With all I have been, where have I gone?

Who am I?

I am in need.

They Loved Each Other Quickly: then in the morning he was gone;

With the sudden, unexpected loss of my mother’s partner in the early hours of this morning, I have been forced to step back and reconsider the frailty of life.  Even with the occasional tension between the two of us (perhaps for the competition for my mother’s attentions) and my distaste for some of his mannerisms, he took wonderful care of my mother over their too-short chapter.  He was a good man.

I had just seen him on Monday.  Apart from the normal ailments of a man in his 60’s (and even lesser, given his rigorously physical work-life) and those of a smoking man whom would have benefited from a healthier lifestyle (that my mother tried to give to him), he had no complaints.  I suppose what I mean to say is, even with the cigarettes and lackluster food-choices, he showed no overt signs of heart disease or extraordinary issues with his lungs (for instance, like my own father’s emphysema).

And yet still

last night he closed his eyes

and this morning he was no longer;

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Warning Boys: Gotcha! (I am Lady, hear me roar);

Everything you think a woman doesn’t know?  Oh, she knows it.

Whether or not we let you in on that little fact, be aware that everything you think you can hide from your Lady you absolutely cannot.  We are observers.  We are analyzers.  We are empaths.  We are perceptive and detail-oriented.  And the suspicion of our male counterparts is innate – we are born protective (think “mother lioness”) and, I would say, just as territorial as our lesser-halves (ha.).

Look, if we’ve decided to be with you it’s because we think you’re the best.  In whatever way is most important to each individual woman (romance, stability, wealth, practicality, attraction), you beat out all your competitors.  You had the flashiest feathers, the sweetest song, the most prevalent battle scars.

Congratulations: you won!  But don’t flatter yourself, it’s just nature.  In the same way that female animals judge the available gene-pool, thus do we.  Though for us it becomes a bit more complex than these physical factors, we too are animals and will protect our property accordingly.

Don’t balk at the word.  It’s how you think of us, isn’t it?

Much of what men try and hide from their women is harmless.  Of course there are more grave situations and hurtful offenses, but what I find my husband most tries to hide from me is something silly, say, eating an unhealthy snack.  What’s even more ridiculous than the fact that he tries to hide it is the fact that he thinks I give a d@mn.  If I, then, point out that he’s got a bit of chocolate icing on his cheek (undoubtedly from devouring the sweet rapidly to avoid detection), he accuses me of “controlling” him.

Really?  Fine.  

Next time I’ll just let you walk around with sh*t on your face.

 

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;

This is something that I have wanted to discuss for quite some time but have not felt comfortable approaching the subject.  With a little Chopin and the resolve to change my life, I feel like it is something I now would like to talk about.

*Triggering

My Face on Your Milk Carton: or, how I might disappear;

It’s a certain season and time of day that leads me to have unwholesome thoughts, and it is my car that gives validation to my impulsivity.  Alone I fall victim to my thoughts, my only company apart the music – and sometimes not even that.  Were it not for practicality doing its best to ground me, I would travel without end and with no destination in mind.

You see, it’s not a consequence of any consideration or planning, but rather an arrow on a brilliant sign set high above a highway on ramp that makes empty promises.

Pick me – pick me!” screams the silent metal, horrendously loud, ringing in my ears.

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