Weight Loss

If anything would inspire me to lose weight, it was seeing pictures of me from all angles.  Yikes!  


So it's the New Year and resolutions abound!  I've already quit smoking thanks to the upper respiratory infection that I seem to have contracted of course from smoking.  But know I have to maintain that and at the same time stick to what I need to do to lose weight.  I'm hoping my boyfriend helps and is supportive but I know that I cannot rely on anyone but myself.  Problem is I know myself to be totally unreliable!  Just like in life, I have learned I must be self-sufficient, self-reliant, for if I am not the whole thing falls apart like a house of cards...  relying on someone else is the weak link, the crutch.  


No excuses...  I must own this.  I am in charge of my fate, no one else.


Day one: 158 lbs.

Recently my boyfriend’s mother came to visit for the Thanksgiving holiday. 

We had a lovely time together and much like time with my mother, we spent time discussing life and love.

I realized, unlike talking with my girlfriends, there is nothing like talking to Mom.

I realized that your friends, although it’s unintentional, tend want to talk about the misery in life but it’s so much harder to share in the joy and happiness of one’s life, especially when they may not have it in their own lives.

But, when you speak to Mom, they love to hear about how happy you are or how happy their son makes you.  And they genuinely mean it.

There is nothing more precious than the connection to mother and daughter and I think it grows in importance as life goes on.  I’m so glad I have terrific Moms in my life.

Damn Writer's Block!

Writer's block…

It seems when life is good, and humming along

That’s when it happens

It seems when life is rough and emotion is high

The words just fly off the page

It must be one of the most written about things

Ironically – writers block has set in.

I could write about the weather – how cliché.

I could write of love but love is only interesting when there is angst...  For the love I feel is harmonious and sweet – one might get bored hearing about it

I could write of the birds that fly past my window, but I’m no expert

Their significance can only be appreciated from my chair.

So how do I find the inspiration?  Where is my muse?  In those intensities that only live in my despair, in my times of turmoil, or intense passion and longing…  I certainly don’t miss those times!

So to my writers block – I am addressing you head on… learn to be passionate and intense in the good times for if you don’t I may have to give up writing forever.

For I’ll not trade my happiness for you!

A Part of ME

 How can I explain it?!  So many people question “why?”… 

It’s an addiction and a thrill, a twinkle in my eye.

 

I’m talking about my motorcycle, the tires on the road.

I’m talking about my escape, 

and how the static in my brain erodes.

It’s more than the wind and fresh air. 

It’s more than what a helmet 

does to my hair.

It’s about mind and body and a machine – 

It’s about a command of metal and Earth. 

It’s about a true extension of my being.

So how can I explain it?  The only way that I know how -

My machine has become more than just a part of me now.

Denial...

When you see what isn’t there… 

What you feel is just the air…

When your hopes are on the hopeless…

When your dreams you still hold dear.

The Hapless Romantic - Intro

Ever since I was a little girl, around 9 or so, I had a passion for writing.  Once I got started the words would take off and evolve and transform into something.  I'm not claiming that the transformed words made sense or were any good but there is this one story I can share.  

Around that young age of 9 I lived in the middle of nowhere.  One day, I decided to walk through the 10 acres of field to the back edge of the property.  I'd never done it before, I'd never been there before and the goldenrod towered well over my head so it was a big adventure for me, scary even.  So I slogged through that thick weed and old rows of a former potato field until I hit the back boundary of the property.  The boundary was a pretty little bubbling brook.  I remember how thrilled I was to get there but was stunned at what I found.  Rusting away in the water was an old car riddled with bullet holes.  This was a really old car, I'd say from the 40s.  A real Bonnie and Clyde type car.  Being 9, the sun getting ready to set and me being near this creepy car riddled with bullet holes, I high-tailed it back to the house where my imagination started to work on what I'd seen.  Were there remains of dead bodies down there?  What happened?  What were the crimes that lead to the shoot-out!??  Now being 9 I didn't realize that what really was the case is that someone dumped a piece of shit car down in the creek for target practice...  but at 9 years old...  well let's just say that notion never crossed my mind.  I was convinced that there was a story, and there was...  the one that I made up.  And as I crafted this masterpiece of which I have no copy or memory of except it existed, the story got creepier.  If there were dead bodies...  I bet there were ghosts too...  

Just about the time I finished my story, I had a slumber party with about 6 girls.  My mother had gotten hold of my story somehow and encouraged me to share it with the girls.  So I did, in my creepiest campfire story voice read the story of the couple of lovebirds that got on the wrong side of the law and ended up on my property and were now ghosts.  Well, the story scared the shit out of my little girlfriends, to the point where one called her mother to come get her because she was so scared.  

My writing debut.  What I wouldn't give to see what me at 9 wrote, how it was composed and constructed and what I was thinking.  But alas, it's gone forever except for the faint memory of this story.  So here I am, 34 years later, taking up the pen so to speak and trying to recapture that little girl’s passion for writing...  I hope it's not too late.