My Happy Place

They've taken away my happy place.

I used to have my writing space set up next to the sliding glass doors so I could see out into the yard while I'm writing. There was a mulberry bush that was nearly as tall as a tree and it kind of blocked me from my neighbor looking in and I had a bird feeder hanging in it.

They cut down the mulberry bush. Now there's no place to hide from my neighbor and there's no place for my bird feeder.

Oh, the trunk is still there but there's not a branch or a leaf left on it. Now it's not a happy place. It's sad and pathetic and it makes me so mad I can't think coherently.

So, I moved all my writing stuff to a corner in the living room by the windows. Now my view is the back of my husband's easy chair and the mini blinds on the window. Not a bad view, but not a tree with a bird feeder and a flock of Chipping Sparrows.

My happy place is gone, taken away by my rotten property manager.

This blog post is my official wish that someone takes her happy place away so she can feel like I do right now.

A Strange Bit of Insight

I had a creepy thought the other day. The kind that makes your soul blink back at you like it's not sure what your brain just said, but surely it couldn't be what it thought it heard.

I can understand how someone could fall into an eating disorder. I sometimes like the feeling of being hungry so much that I don't want to eat to make it stop.

Yup, this is the level of weird I've achieved.

Now, before anyone panics, I'm not going to become anorexic. It's just that I realized that if you're not conscious of what's happening, your mind can fuck with you in ways you never imagined. Ultimately, you need to be aware of the terrain so you don't fall into an old mine shaft and have to spend time and money on therapy to climb out of it.

Forced Slowdown

I'm sick.

I'm not going to complain about it though. I think I need this right now. I feel like I've done nothing but push, push, push lately and I need to coast for a bit. It's been a long time since I've felt so bad that I wanted to stay in bed all day, but that's where I'm at and I think I'm going to give in to it today. Well, except for laundry and cooking and dishes. To me those aren't chores, they're part of being alive. Like breathing.

Anyway.

Usually Saturday is for cleaning the house with Jack and Pandora. (If I make it fun, it goes faster and I actually do a better job.) Luckily, I have a man who isn't hung up on a perfectly clean house. (A life full of dogs and a kid and all his friends will make you easier going than you thought you could be.) If he has clean socks and underwear, he's happy. This Saturday will be for dishes and laundry and podcasts and catching up on my fitness videos on YouTube.

I do have a party to go to tonight and that's another reason to take it easy. We're going late and not staying long, but I'd like to try to enjoy this. (I'm not contagious. I have a UTI.) If I can score some extra sleep between loads of laundry and video watching, then I'll be ready to have a little fun.

So the point of this ramble is that I'm not happy that I'm sick, but I'm grateful because I need a break from myself. I don't need to run or workout or clean the whole house or work on Novel 4 today. I need rest without guilt and that's the gift I'm giving myself.

I need new slippers.

(I fall off the wagon and drag myself back on more than anyone I know. Sheesh. Sorry.)

I hate these slippers. I've had them for over a year now and because I'm a cheapskate, I won't just buy new ones because I don't like them. I want them to die first so I can justify sending them to the landfill graveyard. They're beyond the point where I would give them to the Thrift Store to make fifty cents off of, so that's not an option either. Die they must.

They're cute, don't get me wrong, but they're too loud. They're those ones that don't have anything to attach them to your heel, so when you walk, the heel of the slipper slaps and drags over the floor. I couldn't sneak up on a deaf person in these things. Not that that's the goal, but I can't pace in them without everyone hearing me and I need to pace and they're too damn loud. Even I can't stand to listen to the chck-shhh, chck-shhh, chck-shhh a thousand times.

Yeah, it's a little thing. And yeah, for twelve bucks or so I could get ones that don't drag the floor. When I get fed up enough I'll do it. In the meantime, I'm trying to walk them to death so I don't have to feel guilty for sending them to the slipper Underworld. But I can only walk in them so long before I have to give up and put my gym shoes on so I don't have to listen to myself pace. I'm already crazy, I don't need to drive myself further over the edge over a pair of slippers and how they sound when I walk.

You can file this under "First World Problems" for sure.

Frustration

I feel stuck.

The chasm between what I want to be doing and what I can do is so big right now, I can't even see the other side. It's stupid, but it's making me feel desperate. I hate stagnating, but worse than that, I hate moving backwards and that's what this feels like.

I can't power through this. If I try that, I'm going to get more injured and then the healing will take even longer. It's been four days and this is how crazy I'm getting. I need another ten before I can even try walking any distance, much less running. Squatting and dead-lifting are out, possibly for a couple of months. I need to take the long view and realize that a few months is nothing compared to twenty years or more, but I can't. All I can think is that I'm stuck.

Yes, I'm whining. Yes, there are people out there who are in far worse shape than me. Yes, I'm still healthier and stronger than 85% of the people I know. However, when I'm sitting here thinking about how far I've come and how far I have yet to go, knowing I can't progress kills me. It feels like I'm being punished for trying to be better.

I'll get through this. I need to trust the process. When I come out on the other side, I'll be stronger.

Blah, blah, blah. Empty promises. I just want to do what I want to do.

The Space Between

I am stuck in the middle of everything right now.

I'm between writing projects. And yeah, I've got one on deck, but I'm not "involved" just yet, so it feels like limbo.

I'm injured, so I'm having to put off working out until Monday and then I'll have to create workarounds just to function.

Work has been slow and I've done a lot of sitting around instead of making people feel better and that makes the days longer.

Yeah, I'm whining. Hopefully by Monday I'll have everything going in the right direction.

Shit No One Tells You About Losing Weight

(I could have written a whole post apologizing for not being here for three months and making excuses. But, why bother?)

1. It's Ugly. If you have five or ten pounds to lose, you'll look great right away. If you have thirty or more pounds to lose, you get to see how ugly you really are. Loose skin is ugly. It has wrinkles and pockmarks and yuck. Yes, eventually you'll look great, but you have to wait until you've lost the weight and your skin catches up.
2. It Hurts. It's painful. You will be hungry. There is no such thing as losing weight without being hungry and hunger hurts. You will be sore. If you're trying to lose weight without exercising, maybe you won't be, but if you're doing any kind of workouts, you're going to experience muscle soreness and possibly injury.
3. It's Boring. Yes, that first week or two when the scale is really dropping are exciting. Everything after that is boring as hell. Food gets boring. Exercise gets boring. Life gets boring.
4. It's Slow. Oh yeah, they say you can lose two pounds a week. You do the math and that's thirty pounds in fifteen weeks. Woo Hoo! Um. No. You'll do that for a few weeks and then something will happen. Margaritas. A picnic. Someone's birthday. A holiday. And you've gained ten pounds back and have to get back on track again.
5. It's Frustrating. No one ever tells you how hard it is. Or if they do, you don't listen. You think they don't have the willpower to do it or they're stupid or they're lazy. No. It's hard and that makes it frustrating because you think everyone else who has lost weight is somehow more genetically gifted than you and you have to work harder than they did and damn it, you should be able to eat one piece of cheesecake without suffering for it for three days and... Yeah.

The bottom line.
If you're trying to lose weight just to look good, find some other motivation. Looking good is nice. Being able to walk upstairs without stopping to rest is better. Being able to carry your own groceries in the house without stopping to rest is better. Being able to cut your grass and plant flowers and play with your kids or the neighbor's kids or your grandkids is better. Being able to take your dog for a walk is better. Looking good is relative anyway. Being able to do things other people can't do is a gift you'll appreciate a lot longer.

The Rules

"The rules are: there ain't no rules."

Which is a quote from a movie I watched a long, long time ago and I can only vaguely remember that it was in reference to a race. Was it from Grease, maybe? Anyway, it's a true statement, regardless of context.

The context I'm using it in today is writing. Specifically, how you get your writing done.

Unless I'm doing something that requires my full attention, I'm writing. It doesn't necessarily mean I'm dragging a pen over a sheet of paper. Sometimes writing involves imagining a scene or how a character feels when they receive some bad news. It's very amorphous and sometimes I don't remember what I've thought of and it ends up on the paper later looking very different than I originally imagined it, but I'm still always writing.

I don't make rules about how many words I need to finish in a day or how many chapters my stories have to have. The only rule I have is that it is perfectly acceptable to write anywhere and everywhere and all of the time. Sometimes it's in my head. Sometimes I put it on paper. Sometimes I act out a scene to see how it plays out and what it feels like when it's happening. (Yes, when I'm alone. It probably would be a bad idea to hold a knife to my throat when other people are around.)

I've tried making more rules about writing. Know what happens? I stop writing because I get tangled up in the rules. "Oh, I'm not going to get to write today, so I may as well wait until next week to start." And pretty soon I'm not writing at all and this makes for a very unhappy Tracy.

Make rules if you have to, but make rules that work for you rather than against you. There's my gift to you. Don't say I never gave you nothing.

Loyalty and the Lack Thereof

I've been trying to sort this out in my head for a few days and it just keeps getting more jumbled, so I guess I'll just write it and if it turns out like a pile of stupid, well, no one will notice but me.

I've been playing with similes and I think the closest I can come is that a loyal being (person or otherwise) is a lighthouse. They just kind of hang out, lighting the desolate ocean and occasionally sounding their foghorn in case someone is around to hear it. If you happen to be sailing by, you feel comforted by the sight and sound of them. You use them for what they're good for and then you sail on to the next place, knowing that whenever you come back, they'll be there to illuminate and resonate for you.

Do you have someone like that? You're lucky if you do. There are fewer and fewer lighthouses out there. It would be nice if we could say that they're obsolete, but they're not. We all need that person or thing that we can go back to. That light and sound that comfort us and keep us out of trouble and remind us of who we really are.

Even though everyone needs a lighthouse or two, they don't always use them. Sometimes being a lighthouse is lonely and boring and you wish you could just turn yourself into a ship and float around with everyone else instead of waiting around until someone sails by, thankful that you're there for them; grateful that you're keeping them off the shoals. Except that they'd be run aground and so would you without a light to travel by. So, lighthouses keep being lighthouses and don't turn into ships.

Sometimes, you think you've found a lighthouse, but it turns out it's only a ship with a big, fancy light and a fake horn. Sadly, you don't figure this out until they sail away and leave you floundering. It's hard to tell, especially on a foggy night, if you have the real thing in your sights or not.

The world needs both lighthouses and ships. What we don't need is ships that pretend to be lighthouses. If you're a ship, be a ship and let those who can withstand the wind and weather light the shallow waters and sing in the fog because that's what they do best.

Why I Am Itchy.

If that stupid title doesn't get your attention, nothing will. Or maybe I just feel that way because I wrote it.

Which is the issue. Novel 1 is complete as far as I'm concerned. Novel 2 now needs a going over by my writing partner and then I'll work on finishing it. Novel 3 is on deck to be my data entry partner for the month or more that it takes for me to enter it. Novel 4 (which is going to be Novel 2 in the story's chronology) has a very few scenes written in my current notebook. So, why am I uncomfortable? Everything is moving along exactly as it should.

When I say I'm itchy, I mean my heart is itchy. This is the way I feel when something is over or when I have to do something that makes me nervous. Endings and beginnings are both itchy situations for me, I guess. If I'm walking through the bowels of Hell, I'm fine. It's walking in and walking out that make me feel weird. Like there's something wrong with me and the rest of the world has it all under control. Like I might say or do the one thing that will make the portal explode and ruin everything.

Yes, I am in drama queen mode today.

I'll get over it. I always do. Sometimes it fades on its own. Sometimes I have to lean on chemical assistance. (Either endorphins or alcohol. Both work.) Sometimes stepping through the portal into the next thing is enough to make it leave.

Now that I think about it, it's not really the ending or the beginning. It's that space in-between that makes me itch. If I hover here long enough, I'll get numb to it by the grace of time or chemicals. I don't usually get to hang out very long. Just long enough to get itchy before something pushes or pulls me through and leads me down into the catacombs to slog through to the next gateway.

Random, rambling blog posts are almost as good as Calamine Lotion.

Spoiled

Lost my internet service for a week. If you wanna know how spoiled you are with your little "First-World Problems", try going without the 'net for more than a day or two. It's both stupid and funny.

I don't watch TV. If the TV is on, it means someone else is watching it. I used to, but I like having control over what I see and TV just kind of throws things at you. The only other time I might watch TV is if something "big" is happening that I think I need to know about or sports. There is something very soothing to me about listening to someone call a game or other event (the Kentucky Derby comes to mind). Otherwise, if I'm home alone, the TV is off.

Radio in western Oklahoma sucks. End. Of. Story.

So, I have the internet. If I need to know about something, I can Google it. I keep my food and exercise logs online. ("Keep" being a relative term.) I blog and talk to my friends on Facebook and keep up with the bands I like on Twitter and the fitness folks I like on YouTube and I clean the house to Pandora.

Last week was hard.

I did, however, make some big hay with my novels. Still sanding them down to make them smooth. Soon I'll be able to move Novel Three from the analog to the digital world and I've already started writing scenes from Novel Four (which will actually be Novel Two, chronologically).

I've been forced to go without the internet several times since we first got it. Once the withdrawal period is over, you get used to it and find other things to fill your time. I'm just spoiled rotten and I want my 'net. Damn it.

Editing Editing Editing...

...and more editing.

Novel One is done. Done-done. Like, I'm not touching it to make big changes again unless someone who wants to give me money for it says, "I'll take it, but you need to fix X, Y, and Z." Of course, I'll read it again, because I'm a dork and I like to read my own stuff. It would be nice if I didn't find any more typos, but I will. Which will probably make me want to put my fist through the screen and just electrocute myself as punishment.

Next project is to make Novel Two pretty so I can let my favorite writing partner have a look at it. Having another set of brain cells rake over your muck makes it so much better. It's also very interesting to see what your stuff looks like through another person's filters and not nearly as painful or embarrassing as I thought it would be.

After that, Novel Three gets moved page by page from spiral notebooks to the computer. Severe butt death shall ensue, but it's always worth it to see the last page typed in and saved and toasted with a shot of Jack.

This is so much fun. Seriously. No sarcasm. The amount of joy this gives me, even when it feels tedious, is inexplicable.

Function Over Form

I went to the dentist yesterday. (Look Ma! No cavities!) The gal cleans my teeth, talks to me about flossing more, gives me my toothbrush and cool flosser thing (which needs refills, but if it makes it fun, I'll spend the money) and we wait for the dentist.

The dentist comes in and we chat for a bit. I have a tooth that needs to be pulled and we talk about that appointment and they need to get an x-ray for it. Then Doc looks at my teeth.

"You have really nicely shaped teeth. Did you have braces?"

"Thank you. No. I was lucky."

"You know, your teeth would whiten really well. People with gray teeth don't get good results, but this brown color whitens nicely. It would make you look younger."

...

Yup. Now my teeth look old.

For anyone who doesn't really know me, how about we do a little math? I am 45 years old. My dad died when he was 29. That means I have outlived him by 16 years already. My mom died at 32. So, I have 13 years on her. I don't know how old my grandfathers were, but I was around 4 and around 7 when they passed away. Unless they both had more than 10 years on my grandmothers (and they may have, I don't honestly know), that would put them in their late 40's or early 50's when they passed away and I think I'm going to blow by them as well. My maternal grandmother was in her early to mid 60's when she crossed over. I have fantasies about outliving her as well. Regardless, I am healthier than any of my grandparents were at my current age and thankful for it.

It would be nice to look younger. However, it would be even nicer to feel and act younger. If I can hang on to my mind and continue to increase my strength and stamina for a little while before it levels off, I'll be ecstatic. I'm proud of every gray hair and wrinkle because that means I have earned them by hanging around long enough to get them. Don't talk to me about looking younger. Talk to me about keeping my teeth longer. What the hell good will it do me to have white teeth if I only have three left? What good does it do me to look younger if I can't walk around and take care of myself?

No thanks. I'll take function over form just about every time.

Serendipity

So, today I graduated to four minutes of running and two minutes of walking. Go me. If I could hold my pace properly, I'd be doing about 600 steps in four minutes. I'm not. I'm getting to about 530 or so. I call it running, but it's really a slow jog at best. I just call it running to make me feel better about being old and fat.

Anyway, as I was doing my third "run" of four minutes, Blood Red Summer by Coheed and Cambria came up on my iPod. Whatever the beats per minute is for that song, it's the perfect cadence for my running. In addition to being the perfect pace, it's also four minutes and five seconds long.

Guess what I'm going to be listening to for the next two weeks.

Monkey Mind

I'm having trouble settling down. I have work to do, but I keep wanting to write other things. I'm between a third and halfway through seriously editing Novel One and I work a day and goof off a day and find other shit to do another day and suddenly three days are gone and Novel One sits around, getting lonely.

It's hormones and weather. I know this. I also have the solution, but I keep talking myself out of it. When I get like this, I need to put myself on a schedule. It's like potty training a dog. If you take them out regularly, they eventually catch on and do the right thing on their own. I need to set up a schedule and only have free days on days that are really free.

So, starting tomorrow, I'm potty training my monkey mind. Mini deadlines work every time. I can have it done in fourteen days or less so I can make Novel Two pretty enough to let someone else read it. That should take another twenty-eight days or so.

Tonight? I'm not starting tonight. Supper. Dishes. Shower. Write something that gives me joy. Bed. Then a date with the first deadline tomorrow.

Surprise Days Off

I've had quite a few surprise days off since Christmas. Bad weather. Doctor Conferences. Doctor's personal emergencies.

I don't like it.

I do way better with a routine. It doesn't have to be a "normal" routine, but it needs to be a routine. Too much free time is a bad thing for me. I tend to eat too much, drink too much, and not get anything done. Oddly, it seems to add to my insomnia issues as well.

I did make myself a list today and I actually accomplished all of it except one thing and that couldn't be completed only because I didn't have the supplies I needed to do it. Today was the exception.

Most people would be ecstatic to have unplanned free days. I am not most people. I'm reliable and I like to put that on display. I can't do that if I keep getting extra days off.

Anyway, I should be back on track tomorrow. But then I'm also working on Saturday and that's going to goof me up, too.

I'm done whining. I have a good job and I'm thankful for it. Somehow I will teach myself to be thankful and productive when I get an extra day off instead of stressing out about it and vegetating.

New Year's Resolutions Revisited

The first three months of the year are gone, more or less, so it's a good time to think about my resolutions and how they're going.

I'm happy to say that, for a change, I'm right on track. In fact, I think I'm going to blow right past my weightlifting goals, no problem. If I stay on schedule, I'll run 30 minutes straight for the first time the week of Christmas, so that goal will be met also.

On the other hand, that resolution I made about not wanting to lose weight because I'm done with that battle? That one's not going so well.

The unfortunate truth is that if I want to reach my weightlifting and running goals, I'm going to have to cut weight. My knees are not going to tolerate longer and longer bouts of running at my current weight for very long before they really start hurting. They're not going to tolerate a 100% body weight squat or deadlift for long either if I have to move my current body weight along with the weight on my back or in my hands.

So, we're back to that shit again. Ugh. I'm not happy about it, but my motivation is different this time. Now I'm not thinking about how I look or what other people think of how I look, I'm thinking about not being able to meet my goals if I don't get closer to a "normal" weight for my height.

Being as Monday is also the first of the month, I'm going to start "cutting" then. ("Cutting" sounds cooler and somehow less depressing than "dieting".) The goal is to lose a pound a week until I'm at the high end of normal for my height. I'm hoping I'll have enough muscle by then to make that a good weight for me to carry around the track and to the gym.

So, here we go again. Maybe this time I'll be successful and not spend every day beating myself up because I'm not where I think I should be. Maybe.

Post Second Draft Depression

Actually, I don't know what to call this. I finished my second draft of Novel Three on Sunday. Like, all I did on Sunday was write and do laundry. I didn't clean, I barely cooked, all I did was write. I was almost stressing about it and I nearly did a jig when I wrote "The End" at the bottom of the last page, took a picture of it, and sent it to my husband.

So, this is where I put the novel to bed and let it age for a little bit before I start working on the third draft. I let my first one sit a year before touching it again. The second one sat for a month. This one I have scheduled to sit for two months, mostly because I have vacation coming in May and I don't want to be in the middle of draft three and then have to stop for a week. I'm happiest when I can maintain a little consistency.

Except I can't let it go.

I plucked it out of my writing pile yesterday and started reading it again, even though I had read through the whole thing on Monday. Since my first two drafts are done longhand, I bring them to work with me and write when I have a lull between patients. Tuesday and yesterday I brought my current notebook to work and used some writing prompts to keep me busy, but then I finished the list of prompts, too. Ugh.

I am going back and working on Novel One based on a critique I got on it, but I need my computer to do that and I can't (won't) bring that to work. Me standing and writing in a notebook generates the occasional question. Me pounding away on my laptop makes it look like I'm playing on Facebook or something unless they're actually looking at the screen. I don't care if they think I'm writing. I don't want them thinking I'm completely goofing off.

Anyway, I feel out of sorts and I'm not sure where to go now. I do have a couple sections of Novel One I want to redo on a large scale, but I still need my computer to do that. I guess today Novel Three is coming to work with me again and I'll have to maybe print the chapters that I want to work on from Novel One and bring them with me to scratch away at in my current notebook. Probably could have done that today, but I'm blogging instead so...

The Long View

Things just endlessly repeat themselves. We think that what we're going through is unique, but if you've been around long enough you start to see that it's all just clothes in the dryer, spinning around. They take different shapes as they go around and they disappear and come back into view, but it's all the same stuff.

Personal health issues brought this up. Currently, my biggest problems have been insomnia, GI issues and migraines. When I sit here and look backwards, I can see that these have always been my biggest issues.

Dad passed away in 1976. I have a few memories before that, but the bulk of what's floating around in my brain starts after that. I had GI issues before he died. I remember him teaching me some yoga to do to try to help with that. I was an insomniac before he died. I remember him coming out to the living room to pick me up off the couch or his easy chair to carry me back to bed. As far as the migraines, I always thought my first one was in 1980, but the truth is that not long after he died, I had my first one. I was down for three days. I remember, after I got better, Mom telling me that if I had gone one more day, the doctor wanted me to go in and have a spinal tap done. So that's 1976 or possibly '77. (Happily, I only had 4 before 1992-ish when they became a regular thing.)

Then I started thinking about other things. For example, my parents slept in two twin beds mashed together. I don't know why. Maybe that's what they could afford. Maybe that's the way they wanted it. In any case, Brad and I have always slept in the same bed, but we each have our own set of blankets and always have.

The offspring seems to be taking a completely different course than his parents, but it won't surprise me if twenty years from now I look back and see the same cycles repeating in his life that went around in ours. The clothes might look a little different, but it's all still shirts and pants and underwear that get worn, washed, and dried and worn again.

PR's

The nice thing about starting a new workout program is that unless you really screw up, you're going to make gains. Gains in size, strength, endurance, flexibility, whatever. Every three weeks or so, you get to celebrate a new personal record (PR). Yeah, you're sore as hell, tired, hungry, and sitting on the toilet can be a challenge, but whatever numbers you're tracking are going the right way and it's exciting.

I pulled 145 in my deadlift this morning. The most I've ever deadlifted (not counting lifting old folks off the floor when they have fallen) and I did it for two sets of five reps. When I ran Tuesday, I beat my previous PR by over a minute. Tomorrow morning my run/walk split will be 3 minutes/2 minutes. I can't remember the last time I ran longer than I walked. Maybe high school in gym class? I should make another PR unless running three minutes cashes me out so bad I can't hardly move for the two minutes I'm walking.

Yeah, I'm sore. But I also feel like a stud. You probably shouldn't mess with me today. I might whip out one of my PR's and bitchslap you with it.

I write because:

• no one can tell me "shut up" or "don't say that". Not 'til it's too late, anyway.
• I am my best self when I'm writing consistently.
• I can edit myself before anyone reads it.
• when I'm not writing, I feel dull.
• it keeps me from doing things I probably shouldn't.
• I can make my characters do the things I want to do and probably shouldn't.
• I can speak my truth without pissing anyone off.
• sometimes there's not enough alcohol.
• it helps me process the things I don't understand.
• I like the shit I write better than the shit that's on TV.
• sometimes my soul gets too heavy to carry and needs emptying out.

Gray Hair Fascination

I am fascinated by my gray hair. In a good way. I know some people pull theirs out or look for roots so they can dye it back to whatever color they think looks good. Not me. I'm looking for it and getting excited every time I find a new one.

For a long time, I just had a couple that I could keep track of. Recently, I've found what feels like a bunch more. Sadly, they're spread out all over my head. It would be kinda cool if a bunch of them would migrate together so I could have a stripe. Preferably at my temple. I don't really want to look like a skunk, but I guess I'd take that, too.

I'd eventually like to have a full head of naturally gray hair. I wonder when it will happen. I'm 45 now and just have a few. Will I be 60 or 65 when it finally gives up the ghost and goes all gray? Will it happen suddenly or will it go one strand at a time like it is now until I'm mostly gray with a few brown stripes? The ladies in the nursing home with white hair would always tell me that for a long time their hair was ugly while it was changing over.

Change is rarely pretty. You don't get to pretty until you've reached the other side.

Hair and the End of a Relationship

It's my studied opinion that when a female in a long-term relationship makes a big change in her hairstyle, she is getting ready to get out of the relationship. I can personally point to three different occasions when I have seen this happen. Two with co-workers and one with a family member.

I don't know what it is about our hair, but when we want things to change, that's the first thing to go. Maybe it's a test. If we can handle a drastic change in hairdo, we can then make the bigger jump to make a drastic change in our lives. Maybe we think if we change our hair and feel good about it, we'll feel better about our lives, too. Maybe we have decided we are a different person now and we want to show that change through our hair so when we jump off the relationship boat, no one will be surprised.

Whatever it is, it's a tell as far as I'm concerned. It's almost to the point now where when I see it happen, my first thought is "Oh, no".

The problem is that no one gets it.

For some reason, people who have failed at multiple relationships think that those failures give them the right to tell you "how it should be". I have several friends on Facebook who like to share those relationship posts. Not long ago I actually read one. I usually avoid them because none of those "rules" apply to me. I am operating in a completely different world from those people and from most of my friends. Thank. You. Lord and Lady.

That said, here's the deal: the post I read basically said that we should be complete people on our own and should not expect there to be someone out there who will complete us.

I call bullshit.

Listen up people, because here's the truth whether you like it or not: The reason we were created so that Tab A fits in Slot B is so that we COULD complete each other. If we are complete in and of ourselves and we don't need other people, why the hell should we get together at all?

Think about it. You know I'm right.

The World Gets In My Way

So, I made both my trips to the gym this week (and was very happy with the weights I moved) but I missed both my runs. Now that I'm lifting heavier, I can't run on the same days I lift because my knees bitch. I was going to try to leave 24 hours between the gym and the run to see how that works, but we had a snowstorm on Tuesday and today Mme. Migraine and Aunt Flo are riding my ass into the ground.

So, my next run is scheduled for Wednesday and it's supposed to storm. I could go to the gym and use the treadmill, but A.) I don't like having a time limit on my workouts and they want you off in 30 minutes. I need 40 or 45 at least. And B.) I think the treadmill is a lot easier than running outside and I sometimes wonder if the benefits translate at all for me.

I am frustrated and feeling sorry for myself today.

I'm a Coward.

Sometimes being a coward is OK. Like when it keeps you from doing something stupid that you'll regret later. I know this from experience. But sometimes being a coward just gets in your way. I wonder how many times I've stopped myself from doing something that would have changed my life for the better. I know there have been a bunch of things I've done that I've been afraid to do that have made be stronger, either because they went well and my life improved or because they flopped horribly and just making it out on the other side alive was an accomplishment.

So, when you're standing on the precipice, how do you know the difference?

You don't. That's part of the lesson. You find out when you get to the bottom and look back up.

Changing My Mind

The absolute hardest thing to do is change my mind. I'm not talking about something simple, like what to eat for supper or what to wear to work. I'm talking about changing the way my mind works and the way I see myself.

I don't like the way I look. I haven't liked the way I look for most of my life. I was always the smart one and my sister was the pretty one. I have learned to appreciate being smart because it's gotten me almost all of what I have today, but in the bottom of my black little heart, I still want to be pretty.

That said, I realized that my quest to be a certain weight and look a certain way was an epic failure when I looked over my weight and measurement logs and saw that I had not made any major changes despite having "worked at it" for two years. So, as of December 30, I announced that what I weigh is what I weigh and my goals were all going to be strength and endurance based.

We're about six weeks into the new year. I have made progress in both my strength and endurance goals. Good, measurable progress. My weight has been consistent within a pound of where I was on December 30. Ya know what? I'm not happy. Even though I'm doing what I said I was going to do, I still look at myself in the mirror and want to look different. Twice recently, I've had to drag myself away from making a weight loss goal. Why, when I'm making great progress toward the goals I've set, can't I be happy?

I actually have an answer to this. It's because I'm not focused. Every time I look in the mirror, I let myself get dragged back to that "Pretty = Good, Thin = Pretty, If I'm not thin, then I'm no good" mindset. (Which I thank my guardian for. She was a little, ballerina of a woman and I have always been curvy and she succeeded in making me feel bad about it. I hate her for it. Which is another waste of time, but that's a subject for another day.) What I need to do is turn my back on that thought every time it comes up. Even though I'm standing on the tracks and I see that train racing toward me, I need to turn my back and continue hammering away at my goal, trusting that the train will stop before it annihilates me.

Imagine that. Imagine standing on the tracks and having to turn your back on the destruction that's looming over you so you can finish your job. No wonder it's so hard to change your mind. No wonder I'm struggling with this. How many among us could do this?

Not many. Just the successful ones.

Novel Three is in Progress

The first one took seven years to finish. The second one took six months from first draft to last. Now I'm working on number three and after a month I have the entire thing framed out and am working on filling in the open spaces.

When I first start a story, I usually write the opening chapters and then skip around writing the scenes that pop into my head. Then I write the ending. After that, it's just filling in the empty spaces. Usually, my chapters equal a day in the life of the characters. I don't write novels that cover a year or more. Generally, it's a month or two and it's a big event that changes the course of their lives.

So, here I am in the middle of the climb, preparing to hike to the summit. Sometimes it's ridiculously easy and sometimes it excruciatingly hard, but the view from the top is always worth it.

Consistency or the Lack Thereof

I think at some point everyone comes to the realization that their current operating procedures are not working and that it's time to make changes.

I'm there.

I realize I'm getting older; that some people would consider me old already. But really, at forty-five I shouldn't be as miserable as I've been for the last six months or so. My body and mind are demanding consistency and this is something I've never done before.

It's go time.

I don't want to feel more miserable physically and emotionally than I already have. I'd like to get better and I certainly don't want to get worse. I'm setting up a routine and while I won't be inflexible, I'll be more consistent than I have been.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Mmm. Yum.

I have been eating crow for song long that I'm experimenting with different recipes. I've also discovered that the quills from the flight and tail feathers make excellent toothpicks.

You would think that I'd learn to keep my mouth shut. I mean, yeah, I almost like the self-flagellating taste of it now, but it's tough and cooking it too long just makes it worse. You're better off stir-frying it and consuming it right away.

Lately, I've been eating it with veggies over rice. I've even been saving the carcasses and feet to make stock from. Nothing like the memory of a previous crow to make you feel better about the one you're currently consuming.

Maybe I need to make a giant batch of soup from the stock and have a little every day as an appetizer. I wonder if the constant reminder would work so eventually I'd stop having to eat crow and I'd actually run out. As it is, I have so much stock put up, I could be sipping it for the next five years.