Tonight, my precious, little darling Gumball asked me if Horton would fit in my bellybutton.
Horton is her 10-inch long stuffed elephant. He apparently Hears a Who.
NO FUCKING WAY, kid. And if he could, it would be entirely your fault. Grrrrr...
Doing Pilates yesterday, and Zumba tonight may have been a mistake. I am dead. The vast landscape between my thighs and ribcage is on fire. My "core," if I have one, is broken.
I was thinking about something else today too. Why I write. I write bc I want to share my limited experience. A little more than two years ago, my life ended. I hit depths of anguish, terror, sorrow, loneliness, heartbreak, and fear that I never knew existed. It was unrelenting, and I honestly have no idea how I survived. Actually I do. Sheer fucking determination and stubbornness. When my first best friend offered me a lifeline, I grabbed hold. With both hands. My mom, and my new friends in Vermont, breathed joy into my lifeless being. I learned a little during this experience. I learned to appreciate any small reason to be happy. I learned how infinitesimally small the space is in between having a happy and successful life, and complete darkness and despair. I doubled my capacity for compassion. I gained a whole new love and respect for moms, and their kindness, strength, generosity, and love. I met women who are the best friends, people, parents, dining companions, fashion consultants, vacation planners anyone could ever want.
And I hope that someone might read this, and realize that no matter how bad things are, they will always get better. Open your hands to accept lifelines, and keep plugging away. Happiness will return.
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Catch Up
Remember that time when I vowed to stop bitching, and predicted that this might possibly impact my blogging output?
Yeah. Apparently when I'm not bitching, I have nothing to say. Nothing interesting, anyhow.
So, let me catch y'all up. (Resounding silence.) Dude! I look at the page views. I know someone must be reading this, right? For the love of all things superficial, leave a comment, will you, please? Ok, thanks.
Tonight, I tried a Pilates class. My diet has gone into the toilet. Sort of. I've been a whole lot less concerned about staying under calories. Consequently, I've gained back 3 pounds. Bringing my total loss to 15lbs. Pretty good, but I still want to get back to losing weight. Honestly, I think it has to with the fact that no one is seeing me naked anymore. Mr. Bond was very good for my diet. Anyhow, Pilates. My "core" is trembling still. So freaking hard. I'm going to try to add a class to my weekly routine. Let's see how that goes. I can still be superfat, but with a core of steel. I'm ok with that. I may not be able to make it up the stairs tonight though, which is less cool.
Dating: man, dating is weird and sucky. I've been emailing with several people. Two of note: the most handsome and perfect man in the world, and another army guy. Mr. Perfect is young, built, charming, sweet, and loves kids. He was a nude model in college (for art classes) and is a successful artist. Swoon. He's perfect. Too perfect for me, I fear. Army guy is finishing out a career in the Special Forces. He is handsome, and stern, and we've been emailing since Mr. Bond checked out. His messages are thoughtful and caring, and he is very proper about not being suggestive with me, which I kind of appreciate. He claims to have feelings for me though, and I feel like anyone who claims to have feelings without first being together, is basing their feelings on their own assumptions, and their own hopeful projections. It makes me uncomfortable, but at the same time, it's sort of sweet.
Gumball: the kid is a ticket. She's inquisitive, sweet, hilarious, and so smart. She is taking a gymnastics class with one of her toddler buddies, and spends most of the class running away from me and ignoring what the teacher tries to get her to do. But she adores the trampoline, or the "run and jump" as we call it. She passionately loves all babies, and always asks me "why is that baby crying?" when she hears wailing. She is gentle and sweet with babies too, and only tries to pile several toys on top of them, in an offering of true love. She wolfs down boxes of seaweed, begs for gummy candy, and refuses to eat half of what I put in front of her. She loves Pumpkin so much, and often tries to dress and decorate him. Being a mom to my special Gumball is a complete delight. She makes my heart grow bigger each day, just to contain some of the love that I have for her. She is so precious, unique, and wonderful.
I've recently been forced to think about why I write. At first, I wrote to share anecdotes about baby Gumball. Then, I needed to work out some issues. Writing helped me immensely. And now we've reached a point where I free-flow write about whatever topic piques my interest. I am considering the idea of focusing my writing, or finding a theme, but honestly, I'm not sure if I want to be that organized. Blogging is a funny thing, for me. I enjoy recording my thoughts and experiences, and I enjoy sharing them, with my phantom and possibly non-existent audience. I also find myself in a funny place with the public/private aspects of my blog. I link to my blog from my Instagram account. I link to my blog from my BabyCenter account. And no where else. Consequently, I think that more strangers than friends tend to read this. Maybe not. I really don't know who reads this. And anyone who knows me knows that I am pretty open with the private aspects of my life. I refuse to be ashamed or silenced in my own life. Anyhow, twice recently, I have had pangs of regret/confusion/dread/annoyance to find that someone I didn't want inside my head had been reading my blog. I've had to let go of those feelings, bc I have no control over who reads this, why they read it, and how they respond to my words.
I won't offer explanations, excuses, or defense for what I write. I don't need to. This is my blog, where I write for myself, and for the love of writing. I am honest, and I am not ashamed. I write about experiences that belong to me, and I try to entertain, titillate, and amuse anyone who takes a moment to read my musings. I even try to proofread.
Yeah. Apparently when I'm not bitching, I have nothing to say. Nothing interesting, anyhow.
So, let me catch y'all up. (Resounding silence.) Dude! I look at the page views. I know someone must be reading this, right? For the love of all things superficial, leave a comment, will you, please? Ok, thanks.
Tonight, I tried a Pilates class. My diet has gone into the toilet. Sort of. I've been a whole lot less concerned about staying under calories. Consequently, I've gained back 3 pounds. Bringing my total loss to 15lbs. Pretty good, but I still want to get back to losing weight. Honestly, I think it has to with the fact that no one is seeing me naked anymore. Mr. Bond was very good for my diet. Anyhow, Pilates. My "core" is trembling still. So freaking hard. I'm going to try to add a class to my weekly routine. Let's see how that goes. I can still be superfat, but with a core of steel. I'm ok with that. I may not be able to make it up the stairs tonight though, which is less cool.
Dating: man, dating is weird and sucky. I've been emailing with several people. Two of note: the most handsome and perfect man in the world, and another army guy. Mr. Perfect is young, built, charming, sweet, and loves kids. He was a nude model in college (for art classes) and is a successful artist. Swoon. He's perfect. Too perfect for me, I fear. Army guy is finishing out a career in the Special Forces. He is handsome, and stern, and we've been emailing since Mr. Bond checked out. His messages are thoughtful and caring, and he is very proper about not being suggestive with me, which I kind of appreciate. He claims to have feelings for me though, and I feel like anyone who claims to have feelings without first being together, is basing their feelings on their own assumptions, and their own hopeful projections. It makes me uncomfortable, but at the same time, it's sort of sweet.
Gumball: the kid is a ticket. She's inquisitive, sweet, hilarious, and so smart. She is taking a gymnastics class with one of her toddler buddies, and spends most of the class running away from me and ignoring what the teacher tries to get her to do. But she adores the trampoline, or the "run and jump" as we call it. She passionately loves all babies, and always asks me "why is that baby crying?" when she hears wailing. She is gentle and sweet with babies too, and only tries to pile several toys on top of them, in an offering of true love. She wolfs down boxes of seaweed, begs for gummy candy, and refuses to eat half of what I put in front of her. She loves Pumpkin so much, and often tries to dress and decorate him. Being a mom to my special Gumball is a complete delight. She makes my heart grow bigger each day, just to contain some of the love that I have for her. She is so precious, unique, and wonderful.
I've recently been forced to think about why I write. At first, I wrote to share anecdotes about baby Gumball. Then, I needed to work out some issues. Writing helped me immensely. And now we've reached a point where I free-flow write about whatever topic piques my interest. I am considering the idea of focusing my writing, or finding a theme, but honestly, I'm not sure if I want to be that organized. Blogging is a funny thing, for me. I enjoy recording my thoughts and experiences, and I enjoy sharing them, with my phantom and possibly non-existent audience. I also find myself in a funny place with the public/private aspects of my blog. I link to my blog from my Instagram account. I link to my blog from my BabyCenter account. And no where else. Consequently, I think that more strangers than friends tend to read this. Maybe not. I really don't know who reads this. And anyone who knows me knows that I am pretty open with the private aspects of my life. I refuse to be ashamed or silenced in my own life. Anyhow, twice recently, I have had pangs of regret/confusion/dread/annoyance to find that someone I didn't want inside my head had been reading my blog. I've had to let go of those feelings, bc I have no control over who reads this, why they read it, and how they respond to my words.
I won't offer explanations, excuses, or defense for what I write. I don't need to. This is my blog, where I write for myself, and for the love of writing. I am honest, and I am not ashamed. I write about experiences that belong to me, and I try to entertain, titillate, and amuse anyone who takes a moment to read my musings. I even try to proofread.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)