Journal to a Muse

Rambling

The surprising turn of the weather will be the metaphor of the day.
I was epecting cold. The weather people said there could be tornados, hail or sleet. We've got DUST. Orange dust. There is so much dust that has come in through air leaks in the house that I can taste it. It is probably from Lubbock or Amarillo. I refuse to go outside, in spite of the fact that my patch of garden could use scalping, aerating, and weeding. In spite of the fact that I have summer bulbs to plant, and that the spring ones are already shooting up the initial volleys of leaves. (The Muscarii are looking good!)



The MOG dress dilemma is solved.

To look the way I dreamed of looking for DS's wedding would have involved liposuction, a personal trainer, another year of preparation and possibly lap band surgery. As it is, I found two dresses on sale: $100 off anything over $100. (The saleswoman kept trying to tell me it was like two dresses for one. I'm not THAT gullible!) Gullible or not, I did buy both for about 1/3 of what a custom dress from the dressmaker would have cost. So I now possess two new outfits, either of which would be reasonable for wedding or rehearsal, and which cover me enough that I won't be arrested. Buying shoes does not scare me.


But shopping for the dress unleashed a contemptuous cascade of self-recrimination the likes of which have suffered in a long time. I don't recommend it. Self-recrimination bruises the soul, feeds the ego, and doesn't lead to much improvement. Let's just say that a floor to ceiling three-way mirror is not my friend. I like the mirror that comes with my blush. It is about 2 inches square, and allows me to maintain the fiction that no part of my body is out of proportion. But a BIG mirror sure can show a BIG body. Drat! I took the chance to share my toxic thinking with two trusted friends... and neither of them jumped on the Mean and Scathing Band Wagon. Neither of them channeled Simon's venom from American Idol.

I read in a health newsletter I get that researchers have found an additional way to counter depression in cancer patients. Imagine my surprise when I opened the newsletter that the "powerful technique" was journaling. HELLO? I teaching journaling! But I had let it slide for quite a while. Writing more intimately here is my salute to journaling.

So I am writing. Not eating. Vowing again to take control over what goes into my body. I may NOT have control over how fast my body metabolizes things (with or without the Arimidex that is supposed to keep me cancer-free.) I may NOT have control over how far I can walk or how hard I can exercise today; but I can control whether I go for a walk today and whether I ride the stationery bike.

I'm making new choices. Eat less. Drink more water. Sleep more. Practice Mindfulness. Know that "doing important stuff" is very subjective, and sometimes can't be assessed for a very long time. It might even be over rated, just because of the ficklness of fame and fortune.

I did get to laugh a lot last night.

Courtesy of 5 people who died having sex

If your memory is good, this is the sort of information that will gather you an audience at cocktail parties (but only AFTER everyone has had a few drinks), or lend you confidence the next time you play some trivia game.
There's a lot of truth and shock value within these pages. I wish there were an index and attribution of facts, as some definitely fall out of the credible range. Who knew that George Washington and Lyndon Johnson were just as randy and uncontrollable as Bill Clinton? Who knew that the catholic church started building confessionals so that women making their confessions wouldn't be molested by the priests? Who knew that Anne Boleyn had six fingers on her left hand and three nipples? (that made me a wee bit more sympathetic to Henry VIII's divorce petition, but he's mentioned in lots of other lists and was. not. a. nice. man.


I'm going to go knit for a while. Or sketch. Or read. And then I'll post about it.