Some weeks ago, I got the idea that I’d run out of things to say, and I couldn’t manage to convince myself otherwise no matter how many times every morning I tried to make myself sit down in front of the computer and write. In truth, I was (and am) just in the middle of an extended period of time during which there were a lot of other things that I Continue reading “Mania, Surgery, Recovery, Reboot”
If you were here this morning, I’d tell you that despite my disgust at having no Sixlets this week, I’m nevertheless hella grateful to be drinking my second cup of coffee of the day. Yesterday we were without water for about six hours and today we’re still under a boil order, but–avid water drinker that I am–I had about four gallons pre-filtered, sitting in the Continue reading “Coffee, Something in the Air, and no damned Sixlets anywhere”
If you were here right now, I’d be happy to share my afternoon coffee and Sixlets with you. Maybe you’d have something interesting to tell me, something that might keep me awake through what have suddenly and inexplicably become the long and lulling hours of late afternoon during which I have to perpetually do things to keep myself conscious. I keep wondering if I have thyroid issues. Or maybe I need to smoke more Continue reading “Coffee and Sixlets”
Y’all, I can pass right on by the fried chicken and the french fries and the mozzarella cheese sticks and anything else that’s cooked in fat and sold in fast food restaurants. But Jesus on a bicycle with no helmet, I cannot pass by the Sixlets…or actually any chocolate, come to think of it. And the soft serve vanilla ice cream? To echo a certain badly written Twilight character, it’s my own personal brand of heroin.
I’ve done so well in the last few weeks. I managed to get ten pounds down after our return home from the beach. But today has not been good. I went grocery shopping with my step-daughter, and ended up buying all that cheap, nutrient-void junk food that tastes so good you just can’t make yourself stop eating it till it’s gone. Long story short, I ended up going over my calories for the day by 200. Tomorrow is likely to be more of the same, and probably worse; it’s my step-son’s birthday, and there’s a damn Dairy Queen ice cream cake in the freezer. I probably don’t need to tell you that I didn’t go for the small one. Mama always says that “for a dollar more you can go first class,” and in this case, two dollars took the cake from “probably too small to feed four” to “almost big enough to feed ten.” I’m counting on there being leftover cake that everyone else will forget to eat and that I will probably obsess over until it’s gone. If I had any sense of self-preservation, I’d make a vow to not log a single calorie for the next couple days, but knowing how very Type A I can be, I can pretty much guarantee that each one will be meticulously counted regardless of what it does to my self-esteem.
I did go swimming this morning with Mom though. We took the water weights and moved around a little while we visited and talked about the other people in the pool. You’d think we never saw one another, the way we carry on. Maybe this is just the way maturing mother-daughter relationships are, but I feel like we’re probably a little more appreciative of our time together than most. Until the end of 2014, I had been 650 miles away from her for 14 years. I’m hopeful that we’ll have many more years together to continue being inappropriate in public; the women in our family tend to be unnaturally long-lived, even when they chose to spend the majority of their lives doing unhealthy things like smoking and drinking.
Actually, now that I think about it, I’m going to blame today’s transgression of the diet on those girls in my gene pool who lived way too damn long. If it weren’t for them, I might be a little more careful about how I treated my body.
L’chaim, grannies. And shalom, y’all.
I have five books going at the moment. The majority of them are decent enough, and yet whenever I park my ass on the couch, I don’t end up reading a single one of them. My excuses are varied and only occasionally acceptable even to me:
- I have a cat on my lap who won’t stop nosing the Kindle.
- I have this pretty new Chromebook and I need to download ALL THE APPS and create ALL THE BOOKMARKS because I’ve never had one of these machines before and OHMYGOD I love it so much.
- I’m writing on the internet again and sweetbabyjesus, I have to write on the internet again right now.
- I have rolls and rolls and ROLLS of yarn pressed against my left leg and a 10-ton half-finished scrap afghan draped across my lap that I must work on RIGHT NOW because otherwise it’s just going to sit there forever and eventually suffocate me (and the cat).
- Truly, I have to watch the next episode of The West Wing, otherwise I’ll never finish, and I’d like to start over again with the pilot (for the twelfth time) by next week at the latest.
- The teenager(s) won’t stop talking to me long enough for me to read two sentences in a row. (Actually, I wouldn’t mind so much if he was talking. He’s laughing neurotically and making me watch stupid YouTube videos…what is it with these kids and their ridiculous videos?)
- I have to start supper/laundry/cleaning the bathroom. (Doesn’t that one sound responsible? I like that one.)
- If I read, I’ll just want to drink tea and eat way too many Sixlets, and I’m really trying to stop being a fat ass by Christmas.
- I can’t figure out what I’m in the mood for. What the hell do I want? Should I reread Harry Potter or The World According to Garp for the tenth time, or should I finish Hillbilly Elegy or the third Diana Gabaldon (which you can go ahead and shame me for because I’m already ashamed anyway)?
There are too many damned options and too many damned distractions and I’m overwhelmed by my way-too-lofty Goodreads reading goal for the year.
I think I’m just going to go to bed.