I've decided that turning 50 is like a batting slump. Either you step up to the plate and swing like you're swinging at potato chips and give up in disgust and walk away; or, tweak your stance just a bit, get that elbow up, keep the bat off your shoulder, anchor that back foot, pivot your hips, keep your head straight then swing away, you're going to hit one out of the park.
I've been in a serious slump. I can't write (except for this blog or whatever you want to call it) and I make up a thousand reasons for same. Is there really such a thing as writer's block or is it that single parents like me who spend the days, weeks, years struggling and struggling and getting absolutely nowhere and certainly not ahead and wonder why people like my ex husband are such douchebags for parents because alcohol is better lure than his own son's smile or hug. In my famous words said in my best Jim Carrey voice: Lew eww eww eww zer.
So what about me? Ha, another song comes to mind. It's isn't fair, I've had enough now I want my share can't you see? Some one hit wonder from way back when. But this is what's it's like. Yes, I understand I've made my own choices and decisions albeit some pretty stupid ones lacking common sense and foresight and all of those things that make you go hmmmmmm BEFORE you make a choice or a decision but sadly, I can't take anything back, can't change the past and I can't change anyone in my life who's done wrong by me.
But really, 50? WTF? Five decades or half a century. I know i am harping on this but I don't care because I am sure there are many other people out there who feel the same as I and ask themselves the same question:
What have I done the first 50 years of my life?
Well, let's see. I graduated from high school with serious A's, I went to play baseball with the Boston Red Sox and members of the '67 and '75 World Series teams - I got to PITCH in a real game so that was one thing I checked off my bucket list. I graduated summa cum laude from Northeastern University, and have had the same job for nearly 10 years and the BEST boss in the universe, I have an absolutely amazing kid, a roof over my head, and a Mom who keeps Hallmark in business because she picks out the best birthday cards for me each year.
But what I have contributed to saving the planet or the whales or the kakapo ? What have I done that people say hey, PAULA did that!
Zip. Zero. Nada. Zilch.
Sure, I've coached Little League and wrote hundreds and hundreds of baseball stories and news stories and all that. And I probably could probably rent a bus and run over the property manager at a certain "ghetto" in a certain town because she's just plain evil and a bully and all the nasty things that people cough up, the things that wash up on shore after a wicked bad storm, and the snot that people hack and spit onto the ground. That's Alison Morneault. She makes Freddy Kreuger look like Mr. Rogers.
But then I'd go to jail and she is so not worth even blinking an eye for. So THAT's out of the question.
But what have I done that has permanently put a stamp on something with my name on it and classified as a seriously amazing accomplishment?
Nothing. Well, so far I've done OK raising my son by myself (I think) and I know that's a HUGE accomplishment but I'm talking something bigger and deeper and soul-searching success.
Nothing.
Yet.
It's never too late to be what you might have been.
Instead of trying to figure out the most painless way I can stick an icepick in my brain and die with dignity tomorrow, I should be reciting the single most important line from the movie "Shawshank Redemption:"
Get busy living' or get busy dyin'.
. I could wake up dead tomorrow but then I'd be extra pissed.
Fuck it. Bring on 50.
Showing posts with label turning 50. Show all posts
Showing posts with label turning 50. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Foraging into 50 - Two Days and Counting
Is turning 50 really that big a deal? It is to me. In another type of life, my friends would throw a huge surprise party for me, shower me with crazy gifts and toast to the next five decades. And in another type of life, I'd either have a husband or a secure boyfriend who would get down on his knee and open a box and ask me to ..... go with him to Opening Day at Fenway, two box seats being in the ring box in place of a ring. Hmmm. Ring or tickets to Opening Day. I am soooooooo at Fenway LOL screw the ring! Or of course there's the fantasy that this alleged secure long time boyfriend (if there was one) would somehow manage to propose to me during the seventh inning stretch.
I dream about that. I've dreamed about that happening all my life. Never even got remotely close.
It is too late? Does 50 label me done, dinosaur, or the many other adjectives that describe women of my age?
It's been decades since someone sent me a dozen flowers of any kind and it's not likely to happen on my 50th. My Mom god bless her calls me on my birthday and sings. My friends and FB friends will post the requisite Happy Birthday on my page. That's really cool seeing all those well-wishes.
But the flowers - damn. What can I see? I'm hopeless. I could send them to myself but that is just so far to the left of lame - nah, I'd never do that. I'm lame but not desperate LOL!
Just for the record, the down on one knee with tickets to opening day in a ring box was my dream long before Fever Pitch ever hit the screen.
You know what I did today? I took my son to the batting cage. And for one hour, every single problem disappeared. I was feeding the balls into the batting machine and talking to my son about his stance, about his feet, his elbow, his head, his hips (swing away) and the world was just right for one hour. I was in my comfort zone - I was enveloped in the one passion that always calms me down - baseball.
I should have married a ballplayer. Like Carlton Fisk. Or Bill Campbell LOL Yah, right as if they would have given me a second glance. I keep thinking about Dierdre Pujols. I keep wondering how she got so lucky.
I am so rambling tonight. Ate Mac & Cheese, a burger a pickle and a big glass of milk. Screw it. It's a crappy January night and I'm not making cake until Thursday.
That's another thing about being single and turning 50 and being me.
I have to make my own cake. My son picked it out - he had that look on his face like "I know Mom I know someone isn't going to do this for you so you have to do it yourself so I can eat it, too" - you know that look.
but the flowers, or lack thereof, may just crumble me. Who doesn't want to get flowers at their office or their home or on their front porch with a sappy card? I am the QUEEN of sap and I only know one guy in my entire life was just like me. Never met anyone after him (from 30 plus years ago) who matched me sap for sap.
Maybe I need a jake (firefighter) to rescue me. Maybe I need Steve Perry to sing to me on my 50th (Don't Stop Believing). Maybe I need Stephen King to tell me I won't end up in Salem's Lot.
Maybe Carlton Fisk will show up at my door and eat cake with me.
Maybe I'll wake up and feel absolutely the same as I do right now as 49 years winds to a close.
Five freakn' decades. Half a century.
Cougar my ass.
Where's my walker?
I'm such a dreamer.
I dream about that. I've dreamed about that happening all my life. Never even got remotely close.
It is too late? Does 50 label me done, dinosaur, or the many other adjectives that describe women of my age?
It's been decades since someone sent me a dozen flowers of any kind and it's not likely to happen on my 50th. My Mom god bless her calls me on my birthday and sings. My friends and FB friends will post the requisite Happy Birthday on my page. That's really cool seeing all those well-wishes.
But the flowers - damn. What can I see? I'm hopeless. I could send them to myself but that is just so far to the left of lame - nah, I'd never do that. I'm lame but not desperate LOL!
Just for the record, the down on one knee with tickets to opening day in a ring box was my dream long before Fever Pitch ever hit the screen.
You know what I did today? I took my son to the batting cage. And for one hour, every single problem disappeared. I was feeding the balls into the batting machine and talking to my son about his stance, about his feet, his elbow, his head, his hips (swing away) and the world was just right for one hour. I was in my comfort zone - I was enveloped in the one passion that always calms me down - baseball.
I should have married a ballplayer. Like Carlton Fisk. Or Bill Campbell LOL Yah, right as if they would have given me a second glance. I keep thinking about Dierdre Pujols. I keep wondering how she got so lucky.
I am so rambling tonight. Ate Mac & Cheese, a burger a pickle and a big glass of milk. Screw it. It's a crappy January night and I'm not making cake until Thursday.
That's another thing about being single and turning 50 and being me.
I have to make my own cake. My son picked it out - he had that look on his face like "I know Mom I know someone isn't going to do this for you so you have to do it yourself so I can eat it, too" - you know that look.
but the flowers, or lack thereof, may just crumble me. Who doesn't want to get flowers at their office or their home or on their front porch with a sappy card? I am the QUEEN of sap and I only know one guy in my entire life was just like me. Never met anyone after him (from 30 plus years ago) who matched me sap for sap.
Maybe I need a jake (firefighter) to rescue me. Maybe I need Steve Perry to sing to me on my 50th (Don't Stop Believing). Maybe I need Stephen King to tell me I won't end up in Salem's Lot.
Maybe Carlton Fisk will show up at my door and eat cake with me.
Maybe I'll wake up and feel absolutely the same as I do right now as 49 years winds to a close.
Five freakn' decades. Half a century.
Cougar my ass.
Where's my walker?
I'm such a dreamer.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Foraging into 50 Day 6 and Day 7
Clearly trying to establish good eating habits and attempt a minor weight loss while under duress, stress and worry are just not daunting tasks but completely and utterly epic fails because the stress and the worry force me to seek solace in food to chase away the stress and the duress and the worry if only for a few hours. But I'm not going on food binges and eating for the cycle LOL - I seem to be eating two meals a day these days but not concentrating on eating healthy.
This is so hard. I really hate waking up with Mt. Everest around my neck. It's getting exhausting and too painful to stay upright with that kind of weight around me.
My best friend tells me I should finish my novel. That's my ticket out of poverty. I know several other writers who are single Moms who did exactly that. JK Rowling comes to mind. How did she do it? How did she manage to balance single parenting and writing or rather, find the time just to write??? I find 20,000 excuses not to write - mostly it's fear and fear is a HUGE block. I don't have writer's block because I can certainly verbalize what I want to write and I seem to be keeping up this blog for what purpose I have which deemed. A valiant effort on my part simply to shed the worry and stress for just a bit to words on a screen instead of having it inside of me like a million writhing snakes. And that is EXACTLY what worry and stress feel like.
I called my Mom today. Sometimes I'm not sure if she knows who I am some days. I think she does but then there's something missing in hs. er voice. I can't imagine losing my Mom. I can't imagine not being able to call her every day. Most of all I can't imagine my son suffering that kind of loss. He'a already suffered so much in his young life.
And I'm terrified that something is awfullly wrong with me and without health insurance, I can't find out. I am in pain all the time. I get these mystery pains in the back of my head. I don't sleep. My memory is questionable. I had 3 blood clots in August 2010. I am always cold.
Frankly between you me and the bulletin board, I completely understand why people throw themselves off buildings and in front of trains and buses. I think about it, but I can't picture it because my son's face is always there so that the thoughts run up against a brick wall.
Someone I loved -- really genuinely loved - 30 plus years ago -- killed himself in March, 2011. The thing is I can't remember ever telling him how much I loved him back then. And when I found out he had committed suicide, I was devastated not only by his death, but by the fact I never got to tell him that I really loved him.
My son knows how much I love him. I tell him every day. But I know what his life would be like if anything happened to me. He wouldn't want to live because he'd have to go live with his father. And I know my son would rather die than do that. And I can't ever let that happen.
Maybe I'm just imagining things. Maybe I'm just so damned scared of turning 50 and having only one accomplishment in my life and knowing I should have so many others and providing for my son in the manner I should. I'm scared I'm going to lose my Mom, I'm pissed that my older sister fucked up her health and her entire life with drugs, I can't understand how people can just walk away from their kids without a second thought or a second glance, and I can't understand praying for things that just don't happen.
I am at a loss today. I live on a rollercoaster these days. Last night I had my friends from high school here and we were whooping it up celebrating the New England Patriots victory over the Denver Broncos and Tim Tebow.
Today I had to get out my house with my son, we went to breakfast, we picked up his friend and went walking and hiking in 8 degree weather. I took great pictures and I was neutral happy.
I can't seem to hold on to that feeling, though. It just swirls down and gets sucked back into that vortex of worry and stress that become my life.
"Tebowing" didn't work for Tim Tebow and it certainly hasn't worked for me.
Saving grace: American Idol starts on the 18th and spring training is not too far off.
I think about my son's smile and his hugs and how he tells me he loves me for no apparent reason.
These things keep me grounded while the buses and trains just pass by me.
This is so hard. I really hate waking up with Mt. Everest around my neck. It's getting exhausting and too painful to stay upright with that kind of weight around me.
My best friend tells me I should finish my novel. That's my ticket out of poverty. I know several other writers who are single Moms who did exactly that. JK Rowling comes to mind. How did she do it? How did she manage to balance single parenting and writing or rather, find the time just to write??? I find 20,000 excuses not to write - mostly it's fear and fear is a HUGE block. I don't have writer's block because I can certainly verbalize what I want to write and I seem to be keeping up this blog for what purpose I have which deemed. A valiant effort on my part simply to shed the worry and stress for just a bit to words on a screen instead of having it inside of me like a million writhing snakes. And that is EXACTLY what worry and stress feel like.
I called my Mom today. Sometimes I'm not sure if she knows who I am some days. I think she does but then there's something missing in hs. er voice. I can't imagine losing my Mom. I can't imagine not being able to call her every day. Most of all I can't imagine my son suffering that kind of loss. He'a already suffered so much in his young life.
And I'm terrified that something is awfullly wrong with me and without health insurance, I can't find out. I am in pain all the time. I get these mystery pains in the back of my head. I don't sleep. My memory is questionable. I had 3 blood clots in August 2010. I am always cold.
Frankly between you me and the bulletin board, I completely understand why people throw themselves off buildings and in front of trains and buses. I think about it, but I can't picture it because my son's face is always there so that the thoughts run up against a brick wall.
Someone I loved -- really genuinely loved - 30 plus years ago -- killed himself in March, 2011. The thing is I can't remember ever telling him how much I loved him back then. And when I found out he had committed suicide, I was devastated not only by his death, but by the fact I never got to tell him that I really loved him.
My son knows how much I love him. I tell him every day. But I know what his life would be like if anything happened to me. He wouldn't want to live because he'd have to go live with his father. And I know my son would rather die than do that. And I can't ever let that happen.
Maybe I'm just imagining things. Maybe I'm just so damned scared of turning 50 and having only one accomplishment in my life and knowing I should have so many others and providing for my son in the manner I should. I'm scared I'm going to lose my Mom, I'm pissed that my older sister fucked up her health and her entire life with drugs, I can't understand how people can just walk away from their kids without a second thought or a second glance, and I can't understand praying for things that just don't happen.
I am at a loss today. I live on a rollercoaster these days. Last night I had my friends from high school here and we were whooping it up celebrating the New England Patriots victory over the Denver Broncos and Tim Tebow.
Today I had to get out my house with my son, we went to breakfast, we picked up his friend and went walking and hiking in 8 degree weather. I took great pictures and I was neutral happy.
I can't seem to hold on to that feeling, though. It just swirls down and gets sucked back into that vortex of worry and stress that become my life.
"Tebowing" didn't work for Tim Tebow and it certainly hasn't worked for me.
Saving grace: American Idol starts on the 18th and spring training is not too far off.
I think about my son's smile and his hugs and how he tells me he loves me for no apparent reason.
These things keep me grounded while the buses and trains just pass by me.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Foraging into 50 Day 5
I have to stop NOT eating breakfast! Lunch was the same as yesterday - bagel cream cheese and smoked salmon (I think I was Jewish in another life).
My work computer has a virus and let's just add that to all the other stress. I am not going to bore anyone with my problems but frankly, if you don't want to read about them, click off the page.
See here's the situation: My ex owes me just of $5,000 for divorce related stipulations. Never going to see it. But as a result of his failure to uphold the near 12 year divorce stipulations, my entire income tax return EVERY YEAR pays for my son's 10 weeks of summer camp which I have fill because I have to work. No choices there. So here's my dilemma: I am in over my head financially but on the flip side, all my bills are current, my phone never rings from debt collectors because no matter what, I pay my bills. I need about $20,000 grand and half of that would pay off the debt. Yes, I know many people would KILL to have only 10,000 in credit card debt but to me, it's like sleeping with Mt. Everest every night and walking with it hanging around me neck during the day - it's always there and it's huge and there's no room for anything else and I am nearly bent over broken from the weight of the debt.
So my town's summer camp signup is on Feb. 16th ish. I do not have the funds to sign my son up for six of the ten weeks I need because I won't have my tax return in time. I CAN get on the waiting list but it's not a given he'll get in. But even then - once again I use my entire tax return to fund his summer camp (my ex is supposed to be paying half but he's been AWOL for more than a year coz he's just a complete and utter dick) and my Mom is showing early signs of dementia (she's nearly 81) so I can't ask her and I shouldn't have to because I should be taking care of myself and my son but after being so long in this awful cycle of financial poverty it just seems like there is just no light at the end of the tunnel.
So 20 grand is my contingency plan because believe it not, that would last me a long, long time. i've become so accustomed to scrimping and I could probably stretch what is left over after paying the debt off for two years! If my ex croaks (not that I wish it on him as much as I despise him), I get half of the life insurance policy because he remarried and named her as a second beneficiary. I'm sorry if this sounds cold but my son was here first, she was an illegal alien when she married my ex and she could give a shit about me or my son (not that I expect her to care about me but she thinks my son is a financial burden to her own life. I have a word for her but I won't write it on here coz I do possess class. but it doesn't mean that I can't think it out loud.
So dominoes are stacked and are getting ready to fall because since I don't have the $$ for my son's summer camp, and I don't know anyone rich from whom I could borrow the 20 gs (a no interest loan, payable upon my inheritance but with a good faith payment each month - that's all I can do truthfully and I know it seems so impossibly naive for me to think that someone would help but shit, you know what? I don't care anymore. All I care about is taking care of my son. So if no summer camp, then I have to resign from my job in June, collect unemployment and stay home with my son all summer. While the "idea" is actually appealing, it's not reality because I live paycheck to paycheck and hold my breath every time I check my bank account into which my child support is deposited. i don't trust my ex. But I remind myself that he chose to take himself out of his son's life. I've been in this mother thing since the day i found out I was pregnant. In 150 percent.
But I just keep asking myself is this all there is? Those knights in shining armor? I'm not sure they exist. I remember reading a story a long time ago about a single mom with a child - her name is Diedre and I know her daughter has special needs) who met Albert Pujols (the major league baseball star) and she was struggling and living in the same kind of financial poverty and she ended up marrying him. But she was young and beautiful and I'm old and somewhat attractive I guess I don't know but do you think something like that could happen to me? Nope. I dream of meeting someone with money but more importantly - someone I really like, that my son likes, who would like BOTH of us and perhaps fall in love with BOTH of us and vice versa and basically tell me I would never have to worry about paying for my son's summer camp expenses again.
but who am I kidding? ME LOL!!!! The one time in my life I was lucky was when my son was born. I read stories about bank robbers who have won the lottery and then I read stories about people who have won the lottery and have gone bankrupt! That's insane beyond all comprehension.
I can't help think of that song from the 70s I think called "What About Me?" It was a one hit wonder. But I ask that question over and over.
And let's add worrying about my Mom to all the stress because I'm going to be the one who will have to make the decision about her well-being when that day comes. And I'm so worried and consumed with fear that it's going to come sooner than I want it to. what am I going to do? I want her as close to me as possible - preferably in the same town or the next town over so I can see her every day. I HATE that she lives in another state and I blame my asshole father for that because he moved my mother there and she didn't want to go. My family is so splintered that I'm the only one who will be there to take care of my Mom because my older sister is a liar and crazy, my brother lives in Florida and I only speak to him once a year and my other sister lives in Australia and I swear to God I am repeating myself (no, I KNOW I am) and my father doesn't even count or figure into my Mom's future because they're divorced and he's a prick of the highest degree.
So here I am wondering how all this is going to play out and wishing I could get lucky like that woman who met and married Albert Pujols. She never has to worry about money again. What sucks is that I am not in a public type job so I never get to meet anyone at my job. My son is with me all the time so I don't go out much because I can barely afford my living expenses nevermind a babysitter.
Not too many options for me.
I'm blah blah blahing right now. When I got home, I ate a tomato salad with a piece of bread but then got into the pretzels and nutella (which god bless america are really good together - sweet and salty. And i had a glass of milk so of COURSE that justifies the pretzels and nutella. But that's been it. I ate until i wasn't hungry anymore which wasn't alot. And right now i have no desire to eat anything else.
I want a cigarette in the worst way. But I won't do it.
I just need that 20 grand. And someone to fill in the big gaping hole in my son's life and in mine. I wish I could contact that woman and ask her how she managed to snag someone like Pujols. How did she get that lucky? yes, I know all the pitfalls of marrying a ballplayer or a professional athlete - duh, do you think I fell off the turnip truck this morning? But in the big picture for me, she doesn't have to worry about money for her kids every again. And that's what I so desperately crave is just to be able to have enough money so I can take care of my son. I'm not willing to settle for some 80 year old rich guy (yuck) because I am human and I crave human contact. Women who marry those kinds of guys ARE golddiggers. I am so not that.
I just want to wake up every morning and not have Mt. Everest around my neck anymore and never have to worry about how I am going to take care of my son.
Movin' forward.
My work computer has a virus and let's just add that to all the other stress. I am not going to bore anyone with my problems but frankly, if you don't want to read about them, click off the page.
See here's the situation: My ex owes me just of $5,000 for divorce related stipulations. Never going to see it. But as a result of his failure to uphold the near 12 year divorce stipulations, my entire income tax return EVERY YEAR pays for my son's 10 weeks of summer camp which I have fill because I have to work. No choices there. So here's my dilemma: I am in over my head financially but on the flip side, all my bills are current, my phone never rings from debt collectors because no matter what, I pay my bills. I need about $20,000 grand and half of that would pay off the debt. Yes, I know many people would KILL to have only 10,000 in credit card debt but to me, it's like sleeping with Mt. Everest every night and walking with it hanging around me neck during the day - it's always there and it's huge and there's no room for anything else and I am nearly bent over broken from the weight of the debt.
So my town's summer camp signup is on Feb. 16th ish. I do not have the funds to sign my son up for six of the ten weeks I need because I won't have my tax return in time. I CAN get on the waiting list but it's not a given he'll get in. But even then - once again I use my entire tax return to fund his summer camp (my ex is supposed to be paying half but he's been AWOL for more than a year coz he's just a complete and utter dick) and my Mom is showing early signs of dementia (she's nearly 81) so I can't ask her and I shouldn't have to because I should be taking care of myself and my son but after being so long in this awful cycle of financial poverty it just seems like there is just no light at the end of the tunnel.
So 20 grand is my contingency plan because believe it not, that would last me a long, long time. i've become so accustomed to scrimping and I could probably stretch what is left over after paying the debt off for two years! If my ex croaks (not that I wish it on him as much as I despise him), I get half of the life insurance policy because he remarried and named her as a second beneficiary. I'm sorry if this sounds cold but my son was here first, she was an illegal alien when she married my ex and she could give a shit about me or my son (not that I expect her to care about me but she thinks my son is a financial burden to her own life. I have a word for her but I won't write it on here coz I do possess class. but it doesn't mean that I can't think it out loud.
So dominoes are stacked and are getting ready to fall because since I don't have the $$ for my son's summer camp, and I don't know anyone rich from whom I could borrow the 20 gs (a no interest loan, payable upon my inheritance but with a good faith payment each month - that's all I can do truthfully and I know it seems so impossibly naive for me to think that someone would help but shit, you know what? I don't care anymore. All I care about is taking care of my son. So if no summer camp, then I have to resign from my job in June, collect unemployment and stay home with my son all summer. While the "idea" is actually appealing, it's not reality because I live paycheck to paycheck and hold my breath every time I check my bank account into which my child support is deposited. i don't trust my ex. But I remind myself that he chose to take himself out of his son's life. I've been in this mother thing since the day i found out I was pregnant. In 150 percent.
But I just keep asking myself is this all there is? Those knights in shining armor? I'm not sure they exist. I remember reading a story a long time ago about a single mom with a child - her name is Diedre and I know her daughter has special needs) who met Albert Pujols (the major league baseball star) and she was struggling and living in the same kind of financial poverty and she ended up marrying him. But she was young and beautiful and I'm old and somewhat attractive I guess I don't know but do you think something like that could happen to me? Nope. I dream of meeting someone with money but more importantly - someone I really like, that my son likes, who would like BOTH of us and perhaps fall in love with BOTH of us and vice versa and basically tell me I would never have to worry about paying for my son's summer camp expenses again.
but who am I kidding? ME LOL!!!! The one time in my life I was lucky was when my son was born. I read stories about bank robbers who have won the lottery and then I read stories about people who have won the lottery and have gone bankrupt! That's insane beyond all comprehension.
I can't help think of that song from the 70s I think called "What About Me?" It was a one hit wonder. But I ask that question over and over.
And let's add worrying about my Mom to all the stress because I'm going to be the one who will have to make the decision about her well-being when that day comes. And I'm so worried and consumed with fear that it's going to come sooner than I want it to. what am I going to do? I want her as close to me as possible - preferably in the same town or the next town over so I can see her every day. I HATE that she lives in another state and I blame my asshole father for that because he moved my mother there and she didn't want to go. My family is so splintered that I'm the only one who will be there to take care of my Mom because my older sister is a liar and crazy, my brother lives in Florida and I only speak to him once a year and my other sister lives in Australia and I swear to God I am repeating myself (no, I KNOW I am) and my father doesn't even count or figure into my Mom's future because they're divorced and he's a prick of the highest degree.
So here I am wondering how all this is going to play out and wishing I could get lucky like that woman who met and married Albert Pujols. She never has to worry about money again. What sucks is that I am not in a public type job so I never get to meet anyone at my job. My son is with me all the time so I don't go out much because I can barely afford my living expenses nevermind a babysitter.
Not too many options for me.
I'm blah blah blahing right now. When I got home, I ate a tomato salad with a piece of bread but then got into the pretzels and nutella (which god bless america are really good together - sweet and salty. And i had a glass of milk so of COURSE that justifies the pretzels and nutella. But that's been it. I ate until i wasn't hungry anymore which wasn't alot. And right now i have no desire to eat anything else.
I want a cigarette in the worst way. But I won't do it.
I just need that 20 grand. And someone to fill in the big gaping hole in my son's life and in mine. I wish I could contact that woman and ask her how she managed to snag someone like Pujols. How did she get that lucky? yes, I know all the pitfalls of marrying a ballplayer or a professional athlete - duh, do you think I fell off the turnip truck this morning? But in the big picture for me, she doesn't have to worry about money for her kids every again. And that's what I so desperately crave is just to be able to have enough money so I can take care of my son. I'm not willing to settle for some 80 year old rich guy (yuck) because I am human and I crave human contact. Women who marry those kinds of guys ARE golddiggers. I am so not that.
I just want to wake up every morning and not have Mt. Everest around my neck anymore and never have to worry about how I am going to take care of my son.
Movin' forward.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Foraging into 50 - Day 2
I just realized that 'foraging' has the connotation of looking for food LMFAO! And this whole self-preservation thing is completely the opposite LOL LOL LOL! (smacking my forehead). Well, perhaps it could be considered as foraging for self preservation before, during and after turning 50. that works for me.
So I got up, made my son breakfast, saw him off to school, synched my Ipod (which by the way is one of the absolute drop dead ORIGINAL WHITE Ipod shuffles that were first made about 30 billion years ago. If Steve Jobs were alive, I'd write to him to tell him that his stuff is definitely long-lasting. I want a newer updated one but I'm reluctant to part with this because it still works fine.
I took a walk - about an almost 20 minute one and actually took a route with some small inclines. I didn't keel over dead. I was not winded which I suppose is a good thing. And after all the log rolling I did yesterday, I wasn't even in the kind of pain I've been in for the past year WITHOUT log rolling. Hmmmmmm.
Degenerative disc disease is not reversible. And given the two gene mutations I have - one of which is C677T which is present in many autoimmune disease patients - I really wonder what the hell is going on inside my body in addition to all the other shit nevermind carrying around 50-60 pounds of extra weight. That just cannot be helpful at all (duh - ya THINK?)
So I'm sitting here listening to my hero of the year - Porcelain Black and her song This is What Rock 'n Roll Looks Like. I wanna look like her. Her figure, her HAIR, and I want lick my lips at my current flavor of the month (that on again off again off off off and on on on again guy) for the past near 7 years.
Pulling myself out of that reverie (pipe dream? I wish? get real isn't going to happen?) I now have to contemplate breakfast. I've been pretty content with Kashi's Autumn Wheat cereal (I'm actually counting the biscuits - I get 28 in a serving which believe it or not fills that bowl. I COULD use a SMALLER bowl which would make the bowl appear fuller (there is a psychological aspect to eating food) and if the bowl is YELLOW (which I have in Fiestaware) and adding strawberries or blueberries to the cereal makes it even all the more appealing. I drink non-fat milk so there's no issue there.
Packing a lunch. Boston lettuce, a half of cut up apple, 1 serving of tuna in water, zuma tomatoes and my non fat wasabi dressing (which I really have to say is pretty freakn' good). it's made by Maple Farms - I need to write to that company and declare my undying loyalty and maybe score some coupons, too. I'll probably throw in a luna bar for a snack and a bottle of water. I need to get rid of the crackers at work. And get it in my head that I need to do something with my hands at all times to keep them occupied other than eat. I could think of a more than a few things but that would require the male species to be around and I just can't get what I want these days ..... Sucks to be me. Maybe I should advertise for a younger guy.
You know what I saw today on the HuffPost? A video of a guy who proposed to his girlfriend by creating a Lego film. The guy is an Atlanta, Georgia filmmaker named Walt Thompson and I was so blown away by this - the utter ROMANCE oh be still my beating heart and even my son thought it was extra cool! I told him that is how you propose to a girl - with something extra amazing, extra creative and romantic all rolled into one. Of course you have to be completely sure she'll be receptive and say yes. some girls don't like that shit.
I'm telling ya - if I could find a guy who would propose like that (baseball themed of course) I'd throw all caution to the wind and get married for the third time (that third time's the charm thing).
But I'd make damn sure he has money. And it's not a golddigger thing or anything. I'm perfectly capable of working, but more importantly, I'd appreciate him, and in turn, I'd be able to spend more time writing and contributing financially by finishing my novels because I'd have the time and the space and some lake house office that I can write uninterrupted.
Are there guys like that out there?
Hey, i'm still waiting for my note in the bottle to be found - the one I threw into the canal in Westerly, Rhode Island in August 2010. With my luck some shark ate it or an octopus snagged it and it's firmly entrenched in some bottom of the ocean cave. that's my life and my luck.
anyways, off to eat breakfast. I did exercise with my stretchy band things (I put it around the tree out back) and am wondering if the stretchy band is going to snap and rocket back to my head, knock me out and leave me with a concussion on the ground.
There's a great new excuse for not showing up for work.
I'm outta here for now.
So I got up, made my son breakfast, saw him off to school, synched my Ipod (which by the way is one of the absolute drop dead ORIGINAL WHITE Ipod shuffles that were first made about 30 billion years ago. If Steve Jobs were alive, I'd write to him to tell him that his stuff is definitely long-lasting. I want a newer updated one but I'm reluctant to part with this because it still works fine.
I took a walk - about an almost 20 minute one and actually took a route with some small inclines. I didn't keel over dead. I was not winded which I suppose is a good thing. And after all the log rolling I did yesterday, I wasn't even in the kind of pain I've been in for the past year WITHOUT log rolling. Hmmmmmm.
Degenerative disc disease is not reversible. And given the two gene mutations I have - one of which is C677T which is present in many autoimmune disease patients - I really wonder what the hell is going on inside my body in addition to all the other shit nevermind carrying around 50-60 pounds of extra weight. That just cannot be helpful at all (duh - ya THINK?)
So I'm sitting here listening to my hero of the year - Porcelain Black and her song This is What Rock 'n Roll Looks Like. I wanna look like her. Her figure, her HAIR, and I want lick my lips at my current flavor of the month (that on again off again off off off and on on on again guy) for the past near 7 years.
Pulling myself out of that reverie (pipe dream? I wish? get real isn't going to happen?) I now have to contemplate breakfast. I've been pretty content with Kashi's Autumn Wheat cereal (I'm actually counting the biscuits - I get 28 in a serving which believe it or not fills that bowl. I COULD use a SMALLER bowl which would make the bowl appear fuller (there is a psychological aspect to eating food) and if the bowl is YELLOW (which I have in Fiestaware) and adding strawberries or blueberries to the cereal makes it even all the more appealing. I drink non-fat milk so there's no issue there.
Packing a lunch. Boston lettuce, a half of cut up apple, 1 serving of tuna in water, zuma tomatoes and my non fat wasabi dressing (which I really have to say is pretty freakn' good). it's made by Maple Farms - I need to write to that company and declare my undying loyalty and maybe score some coupons, too. I'll probably throw in a luna bar for a snack and a bottle of water. I need to get rid of the crackers at work. And get it in my head that I need to do something with my hands at all times to keep them occupied other than eat. I could think of a more than a few things but that would require the male species to be around and I just can't get what I want these days ..... Sucks to be me. Maybe I should advertise for a younger guy.
You know what I saw today on the HuffPost? A video of a guy who proposed to his girlfriend by creating a Lego film. The guy is an Atlanta, Georgia filmmaker named Walt Thompson and I was so blown away by this - the utter ROMANCE oh be still my beating heart and even my son thought it was extra cool! I told him that is how you propose to a girl - with something extra amazing, extra creative and romantic all rolled into one. Of course you have to be completely sure she'll be receptive and say yes. some girls don't like that shit.
I'm telling ya - if I could find a guy who would propose like that (baseball themed of course) I'd throw all caution to the wind and get married for the third time (that third time's the charm thing).
But I'd make damn sure he has money. And it's not a golddigger thing or anything. I'm perfectly capable of working, but more importantly, I'd appreciate him, and in turn, I'd be able to spend more time writing and contributing financially by finishing my novels because I'd have the time and the space and some lake house office that I can write uninterrupted.
Are there guys like that out there?
Hey, i'm still waiting for my note in the bottle to be found - the one I threw into the canal in Westerly, Rhode Island in August 2010. With my luck some shark ate it or an octopus snagged it and it's firmly entrenched in some bottom of the ocean cave. that's my life and my luck.
anyways, off to eat breakfast. I did exercise with my stretchy band things (I put it around the tree out back) and am wondering if the stretchy band is going to snap and rocket back to my head, knock me out and leave me with a concussion on the ground.
There's a great new excuse for not showing up for work.
I'm outta here for now.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Foraging into 50 - Addendum 1
So seriously? I thought this was going to be just a weight loss blog but my incontrovertible humor seems to be overtaking my desire to tell the world that I'm not really "fat" (except by the fashion industry standards who classify a Size 6 as a plus size. If that's the case, then I am the Oval Office times 3.
So tonight was somewhat of a disaster. There I went again having nothing to do with my hands except put food in same and raise to my mouth. but it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Let's see: piece of veggie quiche (cold, yum, without ketchup heavens to mergatroit), some steamed carrots, spinach, and coucous and a few bites of steamed cauliflower. no salt. I sloshed a few splashes of wasabi fat free dressing on everything on my plate as my son watched in horror because ALL my food was touching and i have a tendency to mix my food together just to see what it tastes like. I don't care. I LIKE my food touching. I LIKE when I mix my corn and mashed potatoes together and I LIKE slathering my steak with 1.59 walmart ketchup (or whatever the brand name is). I don't CARE what anyone thinks.
So that was my dinner tonight. But then of course there was ONE Portugese roll left and I split it with my son and I opted out of the butter for peanut butter. My logic? Protein is way better than than the butter.
Um, yah, right. Fat = fat no matter what.
but it was only a little peanut butter. It's not like i layered it on my half of the roll. And I drink milk with 99.9 percent of my meals (yes, even with Chinese food and lobster) so I finished my milk with my half of the roll.
And nothing else has gone into my mouth since 6 p.m.
So here I am at 9:40 pm i just finished watching Easy A, a great movie. But the best part is when the guy she likes drives up onto her lawn on a borrowed lawnmower holding up speakers that are blaring "DONT YOU FORGET ABOUT ME" a HUGE 80s hit. Now how come I could never find a guy to do that for me?
50 is a funky number. I am undecisive right now about whether to throw in the towel and look upon the last five decades as 50 years of having accomplished nada, zip, zero, and however other many languages you can say "nothing" in terms of a real career or a lasting marriage or long-term relationship that was actually healthy and meaningful and "normal" or I can spend the next five decades remembering that it's never too late to be what I might have been.
What might I have been? Thin. I was - when I was about 12 ha ha ha ha.
I mean don't get me wrong - I do care what I look like and I really cannot stand to look at myself naked because pregnancy was not my bag and losing 60 pounds in 3 months borderlined on dramatic weightloss but given that all I did was smoke pack after pack of cancer sticks and drink gallons and gallons of DD coffee and not eat, well, yah, I guess it was pretty dramatic. and even more dramatic is how half of it has slithered back onto me like freakn' medusa's snakes on her head (is that like snakes on a plane?) and in the past year, I have been undergoing some weird shit inside and out that I am just not happy about and given that my mother has early dementia, my sister is a kook, my brother speaks to me once a year and my youngest sister lives in Australia and has NOT got eaten by a Great White, there isn't anyone I can really talk to about what's happening to me. I am mired in silence because I am horrified that my hair is thinning, (I am afraid to brush it), I don't sleep because I may as well be sleeping in a bed of lava, my bathroom scale has become a land mine and the guy that I've been dating off and on and off and off and off and on and on and on and off and on and let's see what is it now? on I think -- for nearly seven years is in worse shape than I am.
So I am a little envious of moms in my town who are younger than me, THINNER than me and who have teens about to go off to college and husbands who are wealthy and they don't have to look at the prices in the grocery store (but probably wouldn't get on their knees and give their husbands a blow job even if a thousand dollar shopping spree to Macy's was offered to them in exchange for same)
jeez girls -- it's not really THAT big a deal.
I'm getting off track.
bottom line: I am almost 50, overweight, dealing with mind-boggling physical INTERRUPTIONS (what the fuck kind of word is menopause anyways? MEN O PAUSE. Yep, that about sums it up. Men will pause when a woman turns 50 and say gee, she looks like shit. Oh and did I mention I have a pre-teen kid who is beginning to experience puberty and who cheerfully informs me that he has hair on his balls?
And I wonder why I eat the way I do.
I would kill for a smoke right now.
Is it Day 2 yet?
So tonight was somewhat of a disaster. There I went again having nothing to do with my hands except put food in same and raise to my mouth. but it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Let's see: piece of veggie quiche (cold, yum, without ketchup heavens to mergatroit), some steamed carrots, spinach, and coucous and a few bites of steamed cauliflower. no salt. I sloshed a few splashes of wasabi fat free dressing on everything on my plate as my son watched in horror because ALL my food was touching and i have a tendency to mix my food together just to see what it tastes like. I don't care. I LIKE my food touching. I LIKE when I mix my corn and mashed potatoes together and I LIKE slathering my steak with 1.59 walmart ketchup (or whatever the brand name is). I don't CARE what anyone thinks.
So that was my dinner tonight. But then of course there was ONE Portugese roll left and I split it with my son and I opted out of the butter for peanut butter. My logic? Protein is way better than than the butter.
Um, yah, right. Fat = fat no matter what.
but it was only a little peanut butter. It's not like i layered it on my half of the roll. And I drink milk with 99.9 percent of my meals (yes, even with Chinese food and lobster) so I finished my milk with my half of the roll.
And nothing else has gone into my mouth since 6 p.m.
So here I am at 9:40 pm i just finished watching Easy A, a great movie. But the best part is when the guy she likes drives up onto her lawn on a borrowed lawnmower holding up speakers that are blaring "DONT YOU FORGET ABOUT ME" a HUGE 80s hit. Now how come I could never find a guy to do that for me?
50 is a funky number. I am undecisive right now about whether to throw in the towel and look upon the last five decades as 50 years of having accomplished nada, zip, zero, and however other many languages you can say "nothing" in terms of a real career or a lasting marriage or long-term relationship that was actually healthy and meaningful and "normal" or I can spend the next five decades remembering that it's never too late to be what I might have been.
What might I have been? Thin. I was - when I was about 12 ha ha ha ha.
I mean don't get me wrong - I do care what I look like and I really cannot stand to look at myself naked because pregnancy was not my bag and losing 60 pounds in 3 months borderlined on dramatic weightloss but given that all I did was smoke pack after pack of cancer sticks and drink gallons and gallons of DD coffee and not eat, well, yah, I guess it was pretty dramatic. and even more dramatic is how half of it has slithered back onto me like freakn' medusa's snakes on her head (is that like snakes on a plane?) and in the past year, I have been undergoing some weird shit inside and out that I am just not happy about and given that my mother has early dementia, my sister is a kook, my brother speaks to me once a year and my youngest sister lives in Australia and has NOT got eaten by a Great White, there isn't anyone I can really talk to about what's happening to me. I am mired in silence because I am horrified that my hair is thinning, (I am afraid to brush it), I don't sleep because I may as well be sleeping in a bed of lava, my bathroom scale has become a land mine and the guy that I've been dating off and on and off and off and off and on and on and on and off and on and let's see what is it now? on I think -- for nearly seven years is in worse shape than I am.
So I am a little envious of moms in my town who are younger than me, THINNER than me and who have teens about to go off to college and husbands who are wealthy and they don't have to look at the prices in the grocery store (but probably wouldn't get on their knees and give their husbands a blow job even if a thousand dollar shopping spree to Macy's was offered to them in exchange for same)
jeez girls -- it's not really THAT big a deal.
I'm getting off track.
bottom line: I am almost 50, overweight, dealing with mind-boggling physical INTERRUPTIONS (what the fuck kind of word is menopause anyways? MEN O PAUSE. Yep, that about sums it up. Men will pause when a woman turns 50 and say gee, she looks like shit. Oh and did I mention I have a pre-teen kid who is beginning to experience puberty and who cheerfully informs me that he has hair on his balls?
And I wonder why I eat the way I do.
I would kill for a smoke right now.
Is it Day 2 yet?
Foraging Into 50 Years - A Single Mom's Journey to Self-Preservation & Losing Weight To Stay Alive - Day 1
50. Half a decade. Nine days till it's been 18,250 days since I've been on this planet.
It's looming like the mothership hovering over Devil's Tower in Close Encounters of The Third Kind.
LOOMING.
And it' "ear-roding EAR-roding" my sense of self-esteem, self-confidence and self-preservation.
Why? Because I am overweight and I have a son who needs me to be healthy because I'm all he has. And about 40 billion other reasons that will bore people to death because everyone will say "yup, been there, done that. Movin' forward."
But let me tell you about being overweight (althought I am sure bazillions of women will read this and go, yup, check, have that, see that, ewww that).
I am 5-7. I weigh 191 pounds. There, I said it. And I don't give a shit anymore who reads that and says OMG PAULA IS A FREAKING MOOSE!
Bite me.
The Spanx hide the weight really well. And given that I have this amazing center of gravity below my 40Cs and above my thighs, that is the center of all the weight. That's the only reason I remain upright.
I can, however, still see my feet. I've never not been able to. I suppose that counts for something.
But after a three-month 60 pound weight loss during the summer of 2010 which left me even more sagging that I had been prior, I put 30 pounds of it back on in one year. Whether it was my age kicking in, my hormones being totally fucked up or that I moved into a new home and got comfortable because my son and I were safe from the monsters who nearly killed us in 2010, I don't know.
But last night was a wake up call. Something happened - well, Facebook revealed one its secrets in such a completely random coincidential manner - and this "secret" threw me for a loop. Jesus, it's one thing with the ring. It's another thing about the white pants.
And I spent the night assessing and re-assessing years gone by, the last six in particular that I've been the ultimate "giver" and finally decided that the next 50 years belong to me and I am going to become a taker.
But in a good way. I'm taking my dignity (what's left of it) and going to attempt to channel it upwards into what I hope to be a future of good health, sound mind (well, maybe because people already tell me I am certifiably off my rocker and I LAUGH because it's a compliment to me) and a body that when I look at it in the future, I would go "ewww, I'm gross" or have to stretch out my arms in front of me so that the tractor tires on my back will even out when I am bent over and getting screwed from behind, and I won't have to put a pillow under me when I am in same position because the rolls on my back are being evened out from my arms being stretched out in front of me but leaving my hanging sagging belly fat to dance to its own tune.
You get the ewwww picture. But really? Overweight women are truly creative when it comes to manuevering to a position to cause less jiggle, less tire action, etc. I'm tired of doing that. I want to focus solely on my self and not be bombarded with negative thoughts about how I look from behind, or the front, or sideways or from a distance.
And this is just about being naked. Wait till I write about me and clothes. The above-mentioned brings out the eww factor in me. I hate being naked. I hate taking a bath, I hate taking a shower. It has nothing to do with being clean because I'm a freak when it comes to that.
I just hate the way my body looks, what it has become and the fact I have to "hide" it from the world because it's the bane of my existence, the harpoon in my side 24/7/365.
I can blame it a bit on pregnancy from 12 years ago because I was horrified beyond all comprehension when I stepped back and looked at myself after I had my son. I could not believe what happened to my body. And it's been downhill ever since.
I hit rock bottom last night. That "secret" on Facebook just made me shake my head and go, that's it. I'm done. Time to get off my ass.
I'm not going to "diet" but I am going to change the way I eat. I am a stress smoker but I stopped that about 10 days ish ago. Cold turkey. Done it before a million times. But each time I look at my son, I have to convince myself that I can't smoke - at all.
And no smoking means more hunger and more hunger means emotional eating. Been there done that, too.
That's gotta stop.
Writing keeps my hands busy. It passes time that I otherwise would be foraging for food in my kitchen and eating for no apparent reason at all.
It doesn't change overnight. It's a mindset first. I have to want to change. I can't float along like a bottle on the ocean with a note it that says "rescue me" and hope someone finds it and does same.
That's for fairy tale fanatics.
This is real life, real time, right now.
50 is NOT an even number unless you divde it by 5 and get 10 and that's an even number.
10 pounds at a time. 10 pounds for each year I've been alive.
50 pounds to shed on this soon-to-be 50 year old single parent.
So maybe the sags might be more saggy but the rolls will remain on the bread shelves at the supermarket and not on me anymore. My legs are actually nice and my tattooed butt isn't too bad.
Duct tape (ohhh they have colored duct tape now) will most definitely help. But damn, I bet it will hurt peeling it off. Instead breast lift ha ha ha ha ha. OUCH.
Seriously: Humor and laughter have gotten me through the worst of times. So I LAUGH in the face of of the enormous task ahead of me (removing five albatrosses hanging around my neck) and regaining my self-esteem and self-esteem so that the next 50 years will be productive, healthy happy ones for me and for my son because really when push comes to shove - nothing else matters to me as a mom.
Movin' forward ......
It's looming like the mothership hovering over Devil's Tower in Close Encounters of The Third Kind.
LOOMING.
And it' "ear-roding EAR-roding" my sense of self-esteem, self-confidence and self-preservation.
Why? Because I am overweight and I have a son who needs me to be healthy because I'm all he has. And about 40 billion other reasons that will bore people to death because everyone will say "yup, been there, done that. Movin' forward."
But let me tell you about being overweight (althought I am sure bazillions of women will read this and go, yup, check, have that, see that, ewww that).
I am 5-7. I weigh 191 pounds. There, I said it. And I don't give a shit anymore who reads that and says OMG PAULA IS A FREAKING MOOSE!
Bite me.
The Spanx hide the weight really well. And given that I have this amazing center of gravity below my 40Cs and above my thighs, that is the center of all the weight. That's the only reason I remain upright.
I can, however, still see my feet. I've never not been able to. I suppose that counts for something.
But after a three-month 60 pound weight loss during the summer of 2010 which left me even more sagging that I had been prior, I put 30 pounds of it back on in one year. Whether it was my age kicking in, my hormones being totally fucked up or that I moved into a new home and got comfortable because my son and I were safe from the monsters who nearly killed us in 2010, I don't know.
But last night was a wake up call. Something happened - well, Facebook revealed one its secrets in such a completely random coincidential manner - and this "secret" threw me for a loop. Jesus, it's one thing with the ring. It's another thing about the white pants.
And I spent the night assessing and re-assessing years gone by, the last six in particular that I've been the ultimate "giver" and finally decided that the next 50 years belong to me and I am going to become a taker.
But in a good way. I'm taking my dignity (what's left of it) and going to attempt to channel it upwards into what I hope to be a future of good health, sound mind (well, maybe because people already tell me I am certifiably off my rocker and I LAUGH because it's a compliment to me) and a body that when I look at it in the future, I would go "ewww, I'm gross" or have to stretch out my arms in front of me so that the tractor tires on my back will even out when I am bent over and getting screwed from behind, and I won't have to put a pillow under me when I am in same position because the rolls on my back are being evened out from my arms being stretched out in front of me but leaving my hanging sagging belly fat to dance to its own tune.
You get the ewwww picture. But really? Overweight women are truly creative when it comes to manuevering to a position to cause less jiggle, less tire action, etc. I'm tired of doing that. I want to focus solely on my self and not be bombarded with negative thoughts about how I look from behind, or the front, or sideways or from a distance.
And this is just about being naked. Wait till I write about me and clothes. The above-mentioned brings out the eww factor in me. I hate being naked. I hate taking a bath, I hate taking a shower. It has nothing to do with being clean because I'm a freak when it comes to that.
I just hate the way my body looks, what it has become and the fact I have to "hide" it from the world because it's the bane of my existence, the harpoon in my side 24/7/365.
I can blame it a bit on pregnancy from 12 years ago because I was horrified beyond all comprehension when I stepped back and looked at myself after I had my son. I could not believe what happened to my body. And it's been downhill ever since.
I hit rock bottom last night. That "secret" on Facebook just made me shake my head and go, that's it. I'm done. Time to get off my ass.
I'm not going to "diet" but I am going to change the way I eat. I am a stress smoker but I stopped that about 10 days ish ago. Cold turkey. Done it before a million times. But each time I look at my son, I have to convince myself that I can't smoke - at all.
And no smoking means more hunger and more hunger means emotional eating. Been there done that, too.
That's gotta stop.
Writing keeps my hands busy. It passes time that I otherwise would be foraging for food in my kitchen and eating for no apparent reason at all.
It doesn't change overnight. It's a mindset first. I have to want to change. I can't float along like a bottle on the ocean with a note it that says "rescue me" and hope someone finds it and does same.
That's for fairy tale fanatics.
This is real life, real time, right now.
50 is NOT an even number unless you divde it by 5 and get 10 and that's an even number.
10 pounds at a time. 10 pounds for each year I've been alive.
50 pounds to shed on this soon-to-be 50 year old single parent.
So maybe the sags might be more saggy but the rolls will remain on the bread shelves at the supermarket and not on me anymore. My legs are actually nice and my tattooed butt isn't too bad.
Duct tape (ohhh they have colored duct tape now) will most definitely help. But damn, I bet it will hurt peeling it off. Instead breast lift ha ha ha ha ha. OUCH.
Seriously: Humor and laughter have gotten me through the worst of times. So I LAUGH in the face of of the enormous task ahead of me (removing five albatrosses hanging around my neck) and regaining my self-esteem and self-esteem so that the next 50 years will be productive, healthy happy ones for me and for my son because really when push comes to shove - nothing else matters to me as a mom.
Movin' forward ......
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