This afternoon I am in New England. Husband and I are staying in a small cottage by a stream. Inside, the cottage is all quilts and braided rugs. Outside it is old trees, green lawn and a picnic table. We are spending our days driving around looking at the fall leaves and antiquing. We also are stopping at the Farmer's Market stands and buying apple cider, bread and fruit.
I have begun my vacation life. Cleaned this a.m. and cooked. I borrowed a friend's small vacuum. Took me twenty minutes to suck up cat and dog hair on lower level of house. I didn't move any furniture or rugs. I just went from bare floors to carpet to rugs. I didn't dust. Also did dishes and ONE load of laundry. Emptied trash and straightened up. Tackled file cabinet for thirty minutes. (Was all I could stand.) Put chicken in a pot with veg to cook for supper. Made out grocery list for tomorrow. Shoveled more snow. Made lunch.
I was reading Vickie this morning and was again struck by the difficulty I have in making any effort with my looks if I feel fat. What is the deal with this? Is a mystery. When I feel fat I do nothing about myself other than bathe. I wear baggy clothes and no makeup and no earrings. I am real lucky if I can convince myself to shave my armpits and legs. Cutting my toenails is also a chore. My hair grows out and I don't get it cut and recolored. I end up looking like hell.
I look like hell. Granted, I have been depressed. But now that I am coming out of it I still resent having to make the effort to dress up, because I feel fat. And I am fatter than I was. But not THAT MUCH. I have gained ten pounds and I fell like a blimp. In reality my clothes still fit, howbeit tight, and I don't look much different. But I feel different. Like a blimp. And what is the point of putting eye makeup on a blimp? I think getting dressed up just makes me feel fatter. Isn't that weird? You would think it would be just the opposite. If you feel ugly why not dress up and try to look better? Is it the, "too little to late phenomenon?" What is the deal with me and dressing up if I feel fat?
Somehow I feel like I don't deserve to dress up if I am fat. I also feel like it is pointless. No amount of toenail polish is going to make me look thin. But why can't I be fat and well groomed? So okay some of my cute clothes are tight, but my earrings still fit. And finger nail polish and cute shoes and my hair still fits. Silky legs and underarms have nothing to do with my size either. When I feel thinner I do all of this. I even take bubble baths. If I feel fat all I want is a quick shower. My skin is flaking off because I don't use lotion if I feel fat. Is this not crazy? Sounds idiotic as I write it. What does putting lotion on my feet have to do with my weight? Everything.
What I have been describing is stereo-typical female stuff. If I am or just feel fat I don't feel feminine. Ergo, doing all the girly stuff seems to be false and makes me feel even more unfeminine. Why do fat women wear men's clothes? Yes they fit, but I think there is more to it. Are we acknowledging to ourselves and those around us that indeed fat women can't be feminine? How odd. Fat, we look like the Venus of Willeldorf, yet we feel less feminine. Or is this just me? I have been pondering this for awhile now.
I want to look and feel feminine and be well groomed no matter what my weight or size. Yet I always feel like I have to break through walls to accomplish this goal. Is a mystery.
I am now going back to the cottage and put my feet up, read a book and have a cup of tea.
Happy vacating, Love Bea.
P.s. I will be 51 tomorrow. I am being taken out to lunch and dinner. The other choir members got me a cake. I am going to enjoy it all.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
Way Over Packed
Continuing with Friday's theme of life as vacation. Number one: I got too much stuff.
Our friends' house burned down last Tuesday. They saved the animals, four pairs of jeans and the car. Jeans were in the car. It was 35 below here that day and the water kept freezing in the hoses. The firemen had to keep melting the water in the tanker trucks. Was horrible. Water vaporized in the air before it could hit the flames. Very weird.
I have been thinking about my stuff ever since. I gave away a ton load of stuff when we moved, but it wasn't enough. I have boxes of books we can't unpack because we don't have the shelf space to house them. I have way too many knickknacks and throw rugs. I have too many dishes. I have enough garden and yard stuff to start a nursery. And I don't even want to garden anymore. I could circle the earth with hoses. And bird feeders. And chairs. How the heck did I acquire all these chairs? I am determined to get rid of more of this stuff. If it isn't very beautiful or very useful I am chucking it.
I hate housework. One reason I hate it is because it takes so darn much time to move all the stuff so I can clean under it. On vacation we are in a hotel room or a one room cabin or tent. If I am cleaning the place it is a quick process to make the bed, swish out the toilet, sweep the kitchen and go. No laborious dusting of fragile china thingamabobs. I am de-thingamabobbing as I write. And clocks. Why do I have so many clocks? Two chiming clocks and a coo-coo. The cacophony on the hour is deafening. Mark says the ticking of three clocks is slicing off hours rather than minutes of his life. Says I want to be a widow. Ho ho.
I have to do something about the vacuum cleaner. I could suck up Cleveland with it, but it weighs as much as a lawn tractor. The head is so wide it reminds me of a wheat swather. I usually end up vacuuming with the hose attachment because I can't get the darn machine around the furniture. Takes forever and is exhausting crawling around on the floor with that little brush thing. I am still cleaning the kitchen and bathroom floors on my hands and knees. How stupid is that? I am getting one of those Swiffer mop deals. I have a dog now. The house is never going to be as clean as it was. I don't care if the floor isn't as spic and span as in an operating room.
I also don't have to clean the whole house at once. I was doing the one room per day style at the rental house but in the moving transition I somehow went back to my old fashioned way of cleaning the whole house on Saturdays. Ruins the weekend. I want to clean one room a day in the mornings, and then be DONE with it. I am now stringing the cleaning and laundry and cooking throughout the whole day. I don't have to go to work...and I still am busy doing unfun stuff the whole damn day. Nuts to that. A woman on vacation does not do housework from dawn to dusk.
Okay I sort of got off track. But it is hard to separate cleaning and stuff. If you (I) have too much stuff you (I) can't clean. Speaking of which, why am I saving double bed sheets and mattress pads? We don't have a double bed. Is a mystery.
I am on a roll. I have corralled much knicky nacky stuff in a box. Box is going to the garage. I am going to go down and clean out the linen closet when I am done here. Double bed stuff is going in the same box with the China chotchkes ( the spellchecker doesn't know how to spell this). Saturday we will drive 75 miles to the nearest Good Will. If I were really serious you know, I would throw all the stuff in the trash. I can't do it.
Vacation bound. Love Bea
Our friends' house burned down last Tuesday. They saved the animals, four pairs of jeans and the car. Jeans were in the car. It was 35 below here that day and the water kept freezing in the hoses. The firemen had to keep melting the water in the tanker trucks. Was horrible. Water vaporized in the air before it could hit the flames. Very weird.
I have been thinking about my stuff ever since. I gave away a ton load of stuff when we moved, but it wasn't enough. I have boxes of books we can't unpack because we don't have the shelf space to house them. I have way too many knickknacks and throw rugs. I have too many dishes. I have enough garden and yard stuff to start a nursery. And I don't even want to garden anymore. I could circle the earth with hoses. And bird feeders. And chairs. How the heck did I acquire all these chairs? I am determined to get rid of more of this stuff. If it isn't very beautiful or very useful I am chucking it.
I hate housework. One reason I hate it is because it takes so darn much time to move all the stuff so I can clean under it. On vacation we are in a hotel room or a one room cabin or tent. If I am cleaning the place it is a quick process to make the bed, swish out the toilet, sweep the kitchen and go. No laborious dusting of fragile china thingamabobs. I am de-thingamabobbing as I write. And clocks. Why do I have so many clocks? Two chiming clocks and a coo-coo. The cacophony on the hour is deafening. Mark says the ticking of three clocks is slicing off hours rather than minutes of his life. Says I want to be a widow. Ho ho.
I have to do something about the vacuum cleaner. I could suck up Cleveland with it, but it weighs as much as a lawn tractor. The head is so wide it reminds me of a wheat swather. I usually end up vacuuming with the hose attachment because I can't get the darn machine around the furniture. Takes forever and is exhausting crawling around on the floor with that little brush thing. I am still cleaning the kitchen and bathroom floors on my hands and knees. How stupid is that? I am getting one of those Swiffer mop deals. I have a dog now. The house is never going to be as clean as it was. I don't care if the floor isn't as spic and span as in an operating room.
I also don't have to clean the whole house at once. I was doing the one room per day style at the rental house but in the moving transition I somehow went back to my old fashioned way of cleaning the whole house on Saturdays. Ruins the weekend. I want to clean one room a day in the mornings, and then be DONE with it. I am now stringing the cleaning and laundry and cooking throughout the whole day. I don't have to go to work...and I still am busy doing unfun stuff the whole damn day. Nuts to that. A woman on vacation does not do housework from dawn to dusk.
Okay I sort of got off track. But it is hard to separate cleaning and stuff. If you (I) have too much stuff you (I) can't clean. Speaking of which, why am I saving double bed sheets and mattress pads? We don't have a double bed. Is a mystery.
I am on a roll. I have corralled much knicky nacky stuff in a box. Box is going to the garage. I am going to go down and clean out the linen closet when I am done here. Double bed stuff is going in the same box with the China chotchkes ( the spellchecker doesn't know how to spell this). Saturday we will drive 75 miles to the nearest Good Will. If I were really serious you know, I would throw all the stuff in the trash. I can't do it.
Vacation bound. Love Bea
Friday, January 25, 2008
Life As Holiday
I am thinking about living my life as though I were on vacation. I am dead serious about this idea. This may be the Key I have needed. Want to join me?
Alrighty then. What are the characteristics of vacation?
1. Not a lot of baggage. Everything non-essential is left behind. (I tell you what, if life is a vacation I am waaaaay overpacked.)
2. Finances are simple. Do I have the cash for it? Will it fit in my luggage? If "no" is the answer to the questions I don't buy it.
3. Environment is uncluttered and clean, and usually smallish. There is no lawn. Papers and magazines and trash are thrown out after being read/used. (They are not chauffeured around in the trunk of the car for three months on the way to recycling.) No knickknacks or throw rugs. Cleaning is quick and daily. Minimal time is spent on housekeeping.
4. Food is fun, yummy, nutritious and an event. Isolated meals are the norm. No continual grazing. If a treat is in order, it is enjoyed and forgotten. There are no scales.
5. No television. None. Who has the time or desire for it? Maybe music in the car on the way to adventures and then sounds of nature's silence.
6. Daily adventures. Yippee. New stuff to see and do. Hiking and garden walks and museums and hot springs and old cemetery investigations and ghost town tours and junk store shopping and high teas and battlefield sites and camping and old book stores and visiting friends. Most of vacation adventures do not require a passport or tons of money. A tough comfortable vehicle is a must.
7. A good bed. I do not enjoy sleeping on the ground anymore.
8. A porch. If we are not camping I require our vacation spots to have a veranda. I want to sit outside of an evening and watch the world go by.
9. Religion. Daily prayer and quiet time in the early mornings. Enjoying the services in church without in any way being responsible for them.
10. Grooming. Comfortable casual well made mix and match clothing. (Has to fit in my luggage.) Minimal hairdo. Natural fingernails, bright toenails, fast and easy makeup. Fun shoes, but comfortable. Massage as needed.
11. No telephone. Cell phone is turned off. Calls to friends and family are as needed.
12. Exercise. A daily walk in the morning before breakfast. Stretching exercises before walk.
13. Planning. Careful planning months in advance, with the ability to change plans at a moments notice if so desired.
That's it so far. I am excited about adapting the vacation lifestyle to the drudgery I have made of my current day to day existence. It is going to take some work to simplify my life. But, I usually work like a dog to get ready to go on vacation so I am up for it. I think my post dogum depression is over.
Happy trails. Love Bea
Alrighty then. What are the characteristics of vacation?
1. Not a lot of baggage. Everything non-essential is left behind. (I tell you what, if life is a vacation I am waaaaay overpacked.)
2. Finances are simple. Do I have the cash for it? Will it fit in my luggage? If "no" is the answer to the questions I don't buy it.
3. Environment is uncluttered and clean, and usually smallish. There is no lawn. Papers and magazines and trash are thrown out after being read/used. (They are not chauffeured around in the trunk of the car for three months on the way to recycling.) No knickknacks or throw rugs. Cleaning is quick and daily. Minimal time is spent on housekeeping.
4. Food is fun, yummy, nutritious and an event. Isolated meals are the norm. No continual grazing. If a treat is in order, it is enjoyed and forgotten. There are no scales.
5. No television. None. Who has the time or desire for it? Maybe music in the car on the way to adventures and then sounds of nature's silence.
6. Daily adventures. Yippee. New stuff to see and do. Hiking and garden walks and museums and hot springs and old cemetery investigations and ghost town tours and junk store shopping and high teas and battlefield sites and camping and old book stores and visiting friends. Most of vacation adventures do not require a passport or tons of money. A tough comfortable vehicle is a must.
7. A good bed. I do not enjoy sleeping on the ground anymore.
8. A porch. If we are not camping I require our vacation spots to have a veranda. I want to sit outside of an evening and watch the world go by.
9. Religion. Daily prayer and quiet time in the early mornings. Enjoying the services in church without in any way being responsible for them.
10. Grooming. Comfortable casual well made mix and match clothing. (Has to fit in my luggage.) Minimal hairdo. Natural fingernails, bright toenails, fast and easy makeup. Fun shoes, but comfortable. Massage as needed.
11. No telephone. Cell phone is turned off. Calls to friends and family are as needed.
12. Exercise. A daily walk in the morning before breakfast. Stretching exercises before walk.
13. Planning. Careful planning months in advance, with the ability to change plans at a moments notice if so desired.
That's it so far. I am excited about adapting the vacation lifestyle to the drudgery I have made of my current day to day existence. It is going to take some work to simplify my life. But, I usually work like a dog to get ready to go on vacation so I am up for it. I think my post dogum depression is over.
Happy trails. Love Bea
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
The Big Gap
Twenty below here this a.m.. That's without the windchill. Sun is shining and world is bright and crunchy glorious. I am afeared these blogs are veering off in all directions. But that would be me, veering off in all directions.
I was at leisure today. Really relaxed. Does not happen often as I am usually worried about something. So okay, I have the whole day before me, I am relaxed and have decided to read a little bit before starting my day. I am sitting on the sofa the animals are asleep and the sun is shining in the window. All is right with the world... and I recognize the opening of The Gap. I want to eat. To fill in The Gap.
What is, or causes The Gap?
I am reading two books right now. One is "An Experiment In Leisure" by Joanna Field (Marion Milner) and the other is "Battlefield of the Mind" by Joyce Meyer. Both are about monitoring thinking. They are at odds. Joanna encourages following all thoughts to their conclusions and Joyce encourages preempting negative thinking. Immersed in these works, I am going to try to follow my thinking about The Gap.
The Gap is an empty space. Negative space. A vacuum. An open spot in the puzzle crying out for the missing piece. An anxious place. It is always present although most times I don't notice it. I have learned to fill the space with food or sex. I suppose drugs or shopping or alcohol would work too. What is this yawning abyss at the seat of my soul? Is it lack of serotonin or God or coping skills. Is it a physical, spiritual or mental lack? Or none of the above? This morning I was not hungry or troubled. I was fine. And still The Gap.
I am never hungry on vacation or when we go camping. No obsessive interest in food at all. I enjoy it and eat, but it is of no more psychic importance than water or appropriate foot wear. I lose weight on vacation. No Gap. Or is the Gap just being filled with the excitement of travel? This thinking is important and I am going to follow it.
On vacation I am not responsible. Days just happen. Yes I plan, but if the plans don't work out, no sweat. I am not being judged, by me. I leave me alone on vacation. I do not pressure myself to "measure up." Is The powerful Gap the portion of me who longs to live without the fear of being judged and found wanting? Is The Gap ravenous for a life without self inflicted consequence?
It is all my fault. I feel like all the negative things in my life are ultimately my fault as the result of poor choices. Give myself a lot of power don't I? On vacation my mistakes don't count. Kings x, they are canceled out, just as if they were not that important. I live under condemnation. Is The Gap the condemnation? Or is The Gap the absence of condemnation? And, am I so used to it, that I feel naked without it and immediately want to put on a hot fudge Sunday to cover myself!!!?
How do I live without self condemnation? If I could figure that out my hunger would be cut by 90%. Go on permanent vacation? Live life like I was on vacation? Lower my standards? Become totally irresponsible? Get a dog? (No, that doesn't work.) Will think on this.
Thanks for participating in my thought investigation. Very enlightening.
Take care. Love Bea
I was at leisure today. Really relaxed. Does not happen often as I am usually worried about something. So okay, I have the whole day before me, I am relaxed and have decided to read a little bit before starting my day. I am sitting on the sofa the animals are asleep and the sun is shining in the window. All is right with the world... and I recognize the opening of The Gap. I want to eat. To fill in The Gap.
What is, or causes The Gap?
I am reading two books right now. One is "An Experiment In Leisure" by Joanna Field (Marion Milner) and the other is "Battlefield of the Mind" by Joyce Meyer. Both are about monitoring thinking. They are at odds. Joanna encourages following all thoughts to their conclusions and Joyce encourages preempting negative thinking. Immersed in these works, I am going to try to follow my thinking about The Gap.
The Gap is an empty space. Negative space. A vacuum. An open spot in the puzzle crying out for the missing piece. An anxious place. It is always present although most times I don't notice it. I have learned to fill the space with food or sex. I suppose drugs or shopping or alcohol would work too. What is this yawning abyss at the seat of my soul? Is it lack of serotonin or God or coping skills. Is it a physical, spiritual or mental lack? Or none of the above? This morning I was not hungry or troubled. I was fine. And still The Gap.
I am never hungry on vacation or when we go camping. No obsessive interest in food at all. I enjoy it and eat, but it is of no more psychic importance than water or appropriate foot wear. I lose weight on vacation. No Gap. Or is the Gap just being filled with the excitement of travel? This thinking is important and I am going to follow it.
On vacation I am not responsible. Days just happen. Yes I plan, but if the plans don't work out, no sweat. I am not being judged, by me. I leave me alone on vacation. I do not pressure myself to "measure up." Is The powerful Gap the portion of me who longs to live without the fear of being judged and found wanting? Is The Gap ravenous for a life without self inflicted consequence?
It is all my fault. I feel like all the negative things in my life are ultimately my fault as the result of poor choices. Give myself a lot of power don't I? On vacation my mistakes don't count. Kings x, they are canceled out, just as if they were not that important. I live under condemnation. Is The Gap the condemnation? Or is The Gap the absence of condemnation? And, am I so used to it, that I feel naked without it and immediately want to put on a hot fudge Sunday to cover myself!!!?
How do I live without self condemnation? If I could figure that out my hunger would be cut by 90%. Go on permanent vacation? Live life like I was on vacation? Lower my standards? Become totally irresponsible? Get a dog? (No, that doesn't work.) Will think on this.
Thanks for participating in my thought investigation. Very enlightening.
Take care. Love Bea
Monday, January 21, 2008
The How of Hope
I think I should be more cheerful in these blogs. But truth is, right now I am not more cheerful.
Still working on hope. Heard today something that stuck in my mind. "Hope is never giving up. " Yes I have heard that before and for a whole gob of reasons it just makes me mad. But then I heard, "Do something everyday to keep the dream alive." Could this be my formula for not giving up? Mebbe so.
My big dreams:
1. I will not be fat.
2. I will love myself.
3. I will know God better.
4. I will not procrastinate.
5. I will publish something, anything, anywhere.
I am struck by the knowledge that number three should be number one. If number three were number one maybe the rest of the stuff would work itself out. Gad I hate this thinking. More beating myself up for being a lousy Christian. Right here at this point is where I get stuck and begin spinning my wheels. If I am not a "good" Christian then I won't be able, and do not deserve, to achieve anything else in my life.
That stinks. And it is sooooo depressing. I want to be cheerful and uplifted. "In Christ" all I have found is damnation. This is how I feel, not what I believe. I believe God loves me and wants me to love myself. I "feel" like living the Christian life is one more thing at which I am a failure. Feelings lie. Act "as if." In truth I am not a failure, I just feel like it.
We were entertained by two different sets of friends this weekend. I came away feeling fat and noisy and lazy. I was up to my eyeballs in comparanoia and in my mind I was found wanting. When I mentioned this to a friend she said, "you are a catalyst. Parties are boring without you." A catalyst? I thought I was an ass. Feelings lie.
I hope to be thinner. How to keep that dream alive? Read inspirational literature. Open all the boxes of books, dig out everything relating to weight loss, and read the most helpful. Ms. Kuffel here I come, again. Convince husband to walk with me at 0'dark hundred in the mornings. Heck what is five feet of snow and below zero temps, the dog loves it.
Dear God I am sorry I am such a lousy witness as to your love and grace. Forgive me.
Another day, another hope. Love Bea
Still working on hope. Heard today something that stuck in my mind. "Hope is never giving up. " Yes I have heard that before and for a whole gob of reasons it just makes me mad. But then I heard, "Do something everyday to keep the dream alive." Could this be my formula for not giving up? Mebbe so.
My big dreams:
1. I will not be fat.
2. I will love myself.
3. I will know God better.
4. I will not procrastinate.
5. I will publish something, anything, anywhere.
I am struck by the knowledge that number three should be number one. If number three were number one maybe the rest of the stuff would work itself out. Gad I hate this thinking. More beating myself up for being a lousy Christian. Right here at this point is where I get stuck and begin spinning my wheels. If I am not a "good" Christian then I won't be able, and do not deserve, to achieve anything else in my life.
That stinks. And it is sooooo depressing. I want to be cheerful and uplifted. "In Christ" all I have found is damnation. This is how I feel, not what I believe. I believe God loves me and wants me to love myself. I "feel" like living the Christian life is one more thing at which I am a failure. Feelings lie. Act "as if." In truth I am not a failure, I just feel like it.
We were entertained by two different sets of friends this weekend. I came away feeling fat and noisy and lazy. I was up to my eyeballs in comparanoia and in my mind I was found wanting. When I mentioned this to a friend she said, "you are a catalyst. Parties are boring without you." A catalyst? I thought I was an ass. Feelings lie.
I hope to be thinner. How to keep that dream alive? Read inspirational literature. Open all the boxes of books, dig out everything relating to weight loss, and read the most helpful. Ms. Kuffel here I come, again. Convince husband to walk with me at 0'dark hundred in the mornings. Heck what is five feet of snow and below zero temps, the dog loves it.
Dear God I am sorry I am such a lousy witness as to your love and grace. Forgive me.
Another day, another hope. Love Bea
Friday, January 18, 2008
More Hope
"If you don't got hope you don't got nothin."
Christianity is based on hope. We hope our sins do not drag us into Hell. Just kidding. I am not sure hope and fat are compatible. They aren't for me. I think that's some of what ails me, they probably should be. If I am fat I think I am worthless. Sounds hopeless to me. But...if I believe God loves me ( read, died to absolve me of my sins and give me eternal life) in whatsoever condition I am in, then I am not worthless. So with that logic, the fat should not matter. I should be able to love me fat or thin. I should have hope.
So, what do I deduce from all of that palaver. I deduce I do not really believe God loves me. Oh God, it's hopeless. My circular thinking suddenly strikes me as pathetic, and hilarious. Alright, there has to be an answer to this conundrum.
I am a worthwhile lovable person fat or thin. My thinking is just wrong. My wrong thinking tells me I am pointless in my "who" and but not in my "do" if I meet meet the standard of being thin (and work like a dog from dawn to dusk.) How do I convince my brain it is wrong? I am valuable in just the skin I stand up in. God says so. Ergo, I should just be able to change my standards. Why can'/don't I? My feelings. I also feel I am pointless unless I meet my God awful standards. So I think/believe and feel I am worthless unless I am thinner and more organized. Dandy.
How do I change my thinking and feeling? I want to love and care about my "who" as much as God does. I want my "do" to follow my "who" and not vice versa. I have got to learn to love myself in whatever condition my body/house/life is in.
How?
Good grief, Love Bea.
Christianity is based on hope. We hope our sins do not drag us into Hell. Just kidding. I am not sure hope and fat are compatible. They aren't for me. I think that's some of what ails me, they probably should be. If I am fat I think I am worthless. Sounds hopeless to me. But...if I believe God loves me ( read, died to absolve me of my sins and give me eternal life) in whatsoever condition I am in, then I am not worthless. So with that logic, the fat should not matter. I should be able to love me fat or thin. I should have hope.
So, what do I deduce from all of that palaver. I deduce I do not really believe God loves me. Oh God, it's hopeless. My circular thinking suddenly strikes me as pathetic, and hilarious. Alright, there has to be an answer to this conundrum.
I am a worthwhile lovable person fat or thin. My thinking is just wrong. My wrong thinking tells me I am pointless in my "who" and but not in my "do" if I meet meet the standard of being thin (and work like a dog from dawn to dusk.) How do I convince my brain it is wrong? I am valuable in just the skin I stand up in. God says so. Ergo, I should just be able to change my standards. Why can'/don't I? My feelings. I also feel I am pointless unless I meet my God awful standards. So I think/believe and feel I am worthless unless I am thinner and more organized. Dandy.
How do I change my thinking and feeling? I want to love and care about my "who" as much as God does. I want my "do" to follow my "who" and not vice versa. I have got to learn to love myself in whatever condition my body/house/life is in.
How?
Good grief, Love Bea.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Hope?
Bright and sunny but cold (-12) here today.
I have been thinking about hope. What is it? And how do I get some?
I am studying up on hope. I live from day to day. I plan from day to day. I habitually do not look more than twenty four hours in advance. In my personal life I am reactive rather than proactive. In my professional life I prided myself on being proactive. I looked ahead to probable snags, and worked to forestall them. I had a knack for seeing the snags. I have never looked ahead for probable blessings.
I live completely in the now. I have always thought this was a good thing. A child of the moment, you know? I have changed my mind. Hope is future oriented. And I want to be hopeful. So I need to be future oriented.
As a Christian I say I believe I have become an eternal being. But do I really believe it? If I did would I get so bent out of shape over events in the now? I am in the process of storing up treasures on this plane rather than in heaven. My life in the here and now is the first glimpse into eternity. And I see through a glass darkly. I keep forgetting that. My vision is blurred by my humanity. But hope clears the vision. If I have hope this life that has hung so heavy on me as of late will be a blessing.
So I am studying up on hope. I am trying to change my perspective on the future.
Hopefully yours, Bea
I have been thinking about hope. What is it? And how do I get some?
I am studying up on hope. I live from day to day. I plan from day to day. I habitually do not look more than twenty four hours in advance. In my personal life I am reactive rather than proactive. In my professional life I prided myself on being proactive. I looked ahead to probable snags, and worked to forestall them. I had a knack for seeing the snags. I have never looked ahead for probable blessings.
I live completely in the now. I have always thought this was a good thing. A child of the moment, you know? I have changed my mind. Hope is future oriented. And I want to be hopeful. So I need to be future oriented.
As a Christian I say I believe I have become an eternal being. But do I really believe it? If I did would I get so bent out of shape over events in the now? I am in the process of storing up treasures on this plane rather than in heaven. My life in the here and now is the first glimpse into eternity. And I see through a glass darkly. I keep forgetting that. My vision is blurred by my humanity. But hope clears the vision. If I have hope this life that has hung so heavy on me as of late will be a blessing.
So I am studying up on hope. I am trying to change my perspective on the future.
Hopefully yours, Bea
Monday, January 14, 2008
Sock's Lament
Ten thousand three hundred and twenty third day of captivity. The tyrants who run this camp have added a new torture. A serial murder was introduced into the prison population a month ago. We, those incarcerated for mistaking one free meal for a free ride, are expected to accept this interloper unconditionally. I will not and have not acquiesced to their demand. I continue to fight with all my strength. (And dear sympathizers the going is tough. Drinking all that water is threatening to do me an injury.) My fellow inmate, "the dinky one," has finally cracked. A couple of nights ago she let the killer sniff her. I was terrified for her. "It will eat you alive," I screamed. She didn't listen. Just said she was tired of spending all her days under the bed and a quick death was better has a life time of dust bunnies. Fortunately for her the death machine was distracted by the female guard who gave it a bone. And that's another thing. A bone. An honest to goodness bone. That recently had meat on it. The tyrants and the killer eat juicy fresh meat while we are forced to swill down meat flavored crackers! The injustice of it tears at my soul, and stomach.
The bone was the last straw. I WOULD make my position on this hell hound clear. I slipped over to the female guard, (the most susceptible), rubbed up against her leg, sat up on my haunches, looked up, and declared my undying love (the words stung my throat.) When I had her full attention...I let loose my volley. I drenched her fuzzy bunny slippers. Long live the Revolution!
Retribution was swift and hard.
I am writing this from the crate. For my simple act of political protest I have been
thrown into solitary confinement. And, horror of horrors, they have placed my cell directly on top of the fiend's crate. This is a new and unexpected level of cruelty. Additionally, in her frenzy to clean the rug, I think the female guard may have squirted my hindquarters with carpet cleaner. The indignity of this last act was almost too much to bear.
But never fear dear compatriots, I am stubborn and well fed. The tyrants will never break me. I will go on fighting for my rights with the last drop of liquid in me. Power to the people!
Note: Prisoner was eventually placed in the dog's crate for three days. She had bread, water and a litter box. No one petted her head. Or said, "Oh you are so cute kitty" while scratching her belly. After the slipper incident she was housed in her own crate for a few hours before being released. Upon release she immediately peed behind a chair.
Retribution was swift and hard.
She spent from Friday evening until Monday morning in the dog's crate. She let the "hell hound" sniff her a few minutes ago.
Take care. Love, the Female Tyrant.
The bone was the last straw. I WOULD make my position on this hell hound clear. I slipped over to the female guard, (the most susceptible), rubbed up against her leg, sat up on my haunches, looked up, and declared my undying love (the words stung my throat.) When I had her full attention...I let loose my volley. I drenched her fuzzy bunny slippers. Long live the Revolution!
Retribution was swift and hard.
I am writing this from the crate. For my simple act of political protest I have been
thrown into solitary confinement. And, horror of horrors, they have placed my cell directly on top of the fiend's crate. This is a new and unexpected level of cruelty. Additionally, in her frenzy to clean the rug, I think the female guard may have squirted my hindquarters with carpet cleaner. The indignity of this last act was almost too much to bear.
But never fear dear compatriots, I am stubborn and well fed. The tyrants will never break me. I will go on fighting for my rights with the last drop of liquid in me. Power to the people!
Note: Prisoner was eventually placed in the dog's crate for three days. She had bread, water and a litter box. No one petted her head. Or said, "Oh you are so cute kitty" while scratching her belly. After the slipper incident she was housed in her own crate for a few hours before being released. Upon release she immediately peed behind a chair.
Retribution was swift and hard.
She spent from Friday evening until Monday morning in the dog's crate. She let the "hell hound" sniff her a few minutes ago.
Take care. Love, the Female Tyrant.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Back To Normalish
Another five inches of snow last night. We have tunnels outside each of the doors. More snow forecast for today and tomorrow. Supposed to let up on Sunday. Good grief I hope so.
I think I have found an outlet for my passion and my obsessions. Cindy suggested it. "Why not fiction?" Why not? I no longer want to act out my manias. Way to destructive. But they reside in me and holler and moan for recognition. So okay, I will recognize them. I will fictionalize them. I already have an outline in my head for...what...a book? I may be able to exorcise my daemons. Will probably not be for public consumption. I can't see myself as a writer of bodice rippers. And considering my past, this will probably have some little ripping writing in it. I need a computer of my own.
I think the dog may have broken her tail. It hangs funny and she is chewing on the end of it. What next? Vet visit in the works. Whomper Dinky has stopped peeing. We are crating Socks up for the night and this seems to be making an impression on her output also. No new pee spots for a couple of days. House still smells of vinegar.
Food. Big sigh inserted right here. I am wending my way back toward my food plan. Have purchased healthy food and have finally eaten up all of unhealthy food. Anybody ever heard of the F-Factor Diet? I ordered the book because I hope it will contain some high fiber recipes. I am getting bored with Kay's. A person can only eat so much oatmeal, beans and turkey before they go nuts and binge. I am not an inventive cook.
My exercise of late has been shoveling snow. I want to walk. I feel guilty walking on the treadmill with the dog laying right beside me. We should be walking outside, but the snow and the cold have got the best of me. Where the county road is plowed I am afraid we will get run over. In the unplowed areas the snow is deeper than the dog. This weekend we are going to get on the roof and shovel off the snow, but I guess in the main, it is the treadmill and guilt.
Yeah, the county plow just came through. I may now be able to get out to go to the store. But first I have to shovel the drive way.
Farewell from Nanook of the North. Love Bea.
I think I have found an outlet for my passion and my obsessions. Cindy suggested it. "Why not fiction?" Why not? I no longer want to act out my manias. Way to destructive. But they reside in me and holler and moan for recognition. So okay, I will recognize them. I will fictionalize them. I already have an outline in my head for...what...a book? I may be able to exorcise my daemons. Will probably not be for public consumption. I can't see myself as a writer of bodice rippers. And considering my past, this will probably have some little ripping writing in it. I need a computer of my own.
I think the dog may have broken her tail. It hangs funny and she is chewing on the end of it. What next? Vet visit in the works. Whomper Dinky has stopped peeing. We are crating Socks up for the night and this seems to be making an impression on her output also. No new pee spots for a couple of days. House still smells of vinegar.
Food. Big sigh inserted right here. I am wending my way back toward my food plan. Have purchased healthy food and have finally eaten up all of unhealthy food. Anybody ever heard of the F-Factor Diet? I ordered the book because I hope it will contain some high fiber recipes. I am getting bored with Kay's. A person can only eat so much oatmeal, beans and turkey before they go nuts and binge. I am not an inventive cook.
My exercise of late has been shoveling snow. I want to walk. I feel guilty walking on the treadmill with the dog laying right beside me. We should be walking outside, but the snow and the cold have got the best of me. Where the county road is plowed I am afraid we will get run over. In the unplowed areas the snow is deeper than the dog. This weekend we are going to get on the roof and shovel off the snow, but I guess in the main, it is the treadmill and guilt.
Yeah, the county plow just came through. I may now be able to get out to go to the store. But first I have to shovel the drive way.
Farewell from Nanook of the North. Love Bea.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Compassionless
"I hate depressed people. They piss me off. I want to send them and their long faces and dirty hair out onto an ice flow never to return. All that whining and fatigue just make me wild. They drag around uselessly and someone else always has to take care of them. They get to completely abrogate responsibility under the guise of "depression." They are putting it on so as to be lazy. They are weak.
Don't come moaning to me about how tough is your life. Get some gumption, get up off your fat ass and do something. I am no longer willing to listen to how hard you have it. If you can't pull yourself up by your bootstraps you are a pointless person and should pack it in and give the remainder of us a rest. If you are so damn depressed you can't function shut the fuck up about it and just die."
I have been very depressed for the past couple of months.
I am grateful God and Blessed ones love me.
My anger originates with my depressed mother who could not care for me. I cared for her. I was frightened, overwhelmed and ANGRY. And I had not words. Rage now pours out of me when I am faced with someone who is depressed. I want to kill them, and put me out of my misery.
I have known for years about the anger but could never get to the heart of it. Enter the dog. Such angst I have endured over this dog. My mother was clinically depressed as are many members of my family of origin. Nothing was ever done to help her. She just got worse and worse. I was born into and from her hopeless pain. This shroud of agony was my swaddling blanket. I have also been protected from birth. I always knew the pain was not mine. I knew I was healthy in a way my mother was not. And I was a child. I resented (and resent) not being able to function as a child. I resented (and resent) having to comfort rather than be comforted. In never receiving comfort I never learned how to comfort myself. I stumbled onto the anesthetic powers of food early. I have held on tightly ever since.
The dog. I identify with abused and abandoned animals. Only common sense has kept me from adopting hundreds and living in a kennel. I rescued Mollie. Then we brought her home and all my rage broke loose. Some how this dog became me and I became my mother. Then the roles would reverse. Then the cat's began to pee everywhere. I have gone the gamut of all my emotions...with no control. I have been my mother, and myself as a child. The onslaught of "stuff" has been staggering. I am protected. I am grateful for my unconquerable soul and for my husband and Mentor Mary.
Self hatred propelled me to consider the delights of suicide...again. I'd kill the cats and the dog and me and then Mark would not be troubled by any of us. This thinking sent my to my knees. God has revealed many things to me in the past few days. The hardness of my heart was just one of the revelations. I am broken. My indomitable will has been rent asunder. I am weak. I had and have to accept help. This does not make me "pointless" it makes me human. I am humbled.
I am not so angry. After my mother died I was raised by an iron willed woman who concealed her own insecurities through work. I admired her strength and chose to identify with her rather than with my "weak" birth mother. I willingly let Aunt Wilma pound into me the notion that anyone who didn't pull their own weight was "useless." My poor mothers. One bore the burden of weakness and the other the burden of strength. I am more blessed. Apparently I don't have to bear either.
Fragile but recovering. Take care of yourselves. I am taking care of me. Love Bea
Don't come moaning to me about how tough is your life. Get some gumption, get up off your fat ass and do something. I am no longer willing to listen to how hard you have it. If you can't pull yourself up by your bootstraps you are a pointless person and should pack it in and give the remainder of us a rest. If you are so damn depressed you can't function shut the fuck up about it and just die."
I have been very depressed for the past couple of months.
I am grateful God and Blessed ones love me.
My anger originates with my depressed mother who could not care for me. I cared for her. I was frightened, overwhelmed and ANGRY. And I had not words. Rage now pours out of me when I am faced with someone who is depressed. I want to kill them, and put me out of my misery.
I have known for years about the anger but could never get to the heart of it. Enter the dog. Such angst I have endured over this dog. My mother was clinically depressed as are many members of my family of origin. Nothing was ever done to help her. She just got worse and worse. I was born into and from her hopeless pain. This shroud of agony was my swaddling blanket. I have also been protected from birth. I always knew the pain was not mine. I knew I was healthy in a way my mother was not. And I was a child. I resented (and resent) not being able to function as a child. I resented (and resent) having to comfort rather than be comforted. In never receiving comfort I never learned how to comfort myself. I stumbled onto the anesthetic powers of food early. I have held on tightly ever since.
The dog. I identify with abused and abandoned animals. Only common sense has kept me from adopting hundreds and living in a kennel. I rescued Mollie. Then we brought her home and all my rage broke loose. Some how this dog became me and I became my mother. Then the roles would reverse. Then the cat's began to pee everywhere. I have gone the gamut of all my emotions...with no control. I have been my mother, and myself as a child. The onslaught of "stuff" has been staggering. I am protected. I am grateful for my unconquerable soul and for my husband and Mentor Mary.
Self hatred propelled me to consider the delights of suicide...again. I'd kill the cats and the dog and me and then Mark would not be troubled by any of us. This thinking sent my to my knees. God has revealed many things to me in the past few days. The hardness of my heart was just one of the revelations. I am broken. My indomitable will has been rent asunder. I am weak. I had and have to accept help. This does not make me "pointless" it makes me human. I am humbled.
I am not so angry. After my mother died I was raised by an iron willed woman who concealed her own insecurities through work. I admired her strength and chose to identify with her rather than with my "weak" birth mother. I willingly let Aunt Wilma pound into me the notion that anyone who didn't pull their own weight was "useless." My poor mothers. One bore the burden of weakness and the other the burden of strength. I am more blessed. Apparently I don't have to bear either.
Fragile but recovering. Take care of yourselves. I am taking care of me. Love Bea
Friday, January 4, 2008
Lookin For Trouble
It is a darn good thing I am fifty, fat and married. I am so bored I could spit. That is what is wrong with me. I am not sad or tired or depressed. I am stagnant. In the past I have addressed this problem in...uh...less than healthy ways.
Nothing like a little seduction to stir things up. Either as the seduced or the seducer. I have had a go at both. That being said we went to see "P.S. I Love You" at the local theatre. I am not even sure how this movie came to be here. Not typical small town fare. I have written before about my infantuation with Gerry Butler. I thought I was cured. Then he stripped...to an old Elvis tune. My cake and eating it. And not a calorie in sight. Whoa Nellie. I'd like to cover this guy in carmel sauce and lick him dry. My husband hates him. Says the only good acting in any of his movies are the death scenes. And there are a lot of them. He is a virtuoso dier. In fact he is dead in this movie.
Anyhoo, the minute he stepped on the screen I knew what my problem was. No not that. Okay maybe some of that, but I am happily married so it was not a problem without a cure. What seeing Gerry again brought home is that I am without passion in my life. I am not involved in anything that seres my senses and beguiles my mind. I need an overwhelming interest outside of myself. In the past, younger, thinner and single, I used promiscuity. No longer an option I choose. So what to do to get the same high? Has to have seduction and power as components. Has to be something my Sunday school class would approve of. Has to be cheap. Has to be semi overwhelming. May have to have something to do with words. Has to take me out of my comfort zone but not scare the crap totally out of me. Has to have a physical component. Has to be fun.
So, if all of you can figure out what to do about cat pee, how about working on this? Is soul shattering passion possible outside of sex? I will be VERY interested to see what you come up with.
Thanks, Bea.
P.S. Found a local friend who wants to join me in using Kay's food plan. She also wants to walk! This is a Godsend for me.
Nothing like a little seduction to stir things up. Either as the seduced or the seducer. I have had a go at both. That being said we went to see "P.S. I Love You" at the local theatre. I am not even sure how this movie came to be here. Not typical small town fare. I have written before about my infantuation with Gerry Butler. I thought I was cured. Then he stripped...to an old Elvis tune. My cake and eating it. And not a calorie in sight. Whoa Nellie. I'd like to cover this guy in carmel sauce and lick him dry. My husband hates him. Says the only good acting in any of his movies are the death scenes. And there are a lot of them. He is a virtuoso dier. In fact he is dead in this movie.
Anyhoo, the minute he stepped on the screen I knew what my problem was. No not that. Okay maybe some of that, but I am happily married so it was not a problem without a cure. What seeing Gerry again brought home is that I am without passion in my life. I am not involved in anything that seres my senses and beguiles my mind. I need an overwhelming interest outside of myself. In the past, younger, thinner and single, I used promiscuity. No longer an option I choose. So what to do to get the same high? Has to have seduction and power as components. Has to be something my Sunday school class would approve of. Has to be cheap. Has to be semi overwhelming. May have to have something to do with words. Has to take me out of my comfort zone but not scare the crap totally out of me. Has to have a physical component. Has to be fun.
So, if all of you can figure out what to do about cat pee, how about working on this? Is soul shattering passion possible outside of sex? I will be VERY interested to see what you come up with.
Thanks, Bea.
P.S. Found a local friend who wants to join me in using Kay's food plan. She also wants to walk! This is a Godsend for me.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Salsa and a Free Cat
I am so glad to know about the salsa. I thought I was some sort of nut. Chipolte salsa, I have been eating jars of it. Arlene, the vinegar thing is so right on. I never thought about it before. If it has vinegar in it I can't stop eating. Pickled anything, sweet and sour anything, apple cider vinegar by the glass. Also V8 juice. Whole bottles of it. I thought I was being healthy because most of that stuff does not have obvious sugar. But oh the salt. I think it is is the salt I crave. My mouth is watering thinking about V8 juice. What a revelation.
I may be able to abstain from vinegar after this week. Have you ever inhaled the miasma emanating from hot cat urine and vinegar? Brother. The cat peed under the baseboard heater, I poured vinegar on it. Waaaay to much vinegar. Now no one can sit in the living room without a gas mask. Makes your eyes water. Mark says it is one way to keep the floor dry.
Markovian Theory: Pet plastic surgery will be the newest craze to sweep the country. Lipo for the fat cat, face lift for the dog's sagging jowls, botox for the wrinkled hamster. Will restore the appearance of youth and vigor to aging pets. To match the owners.
After the last wetting incident Mark is thinking of sending Socks on her way. He has a red bandanna and is packing it with stuffed mice, string and a half pound of cat food. He will tie the bundle to a dowel, put it over her shoulder and push her out into the snow. He assures me some nice housewife will take pity on a fluffy, fat, black and white tramp with a red collar and bell.
Mark is gone south today so I have the opportunity to unpack more books. So far I have had a nap, read three chapters in a novel and played frisbee with the dog. I think I'll now have lunch. What a slacker. Maybe I'll wash the towels just so I can feel like I have accomplished something.
Thanks for all the advice and concern. I will soon have to investigate my latest dip into the pit but I'm not yet ready. Mentor Mary said something to me yesterday that threw me. She said I was still exhausted. I sure look it. I have aged ten years since the last day of August when we signed for the house. No amount of sleep seems to lift the crumpled look of my face. I slump more when I walk. And my steps are heavy (and not just with the extra weight.) I feel like something vital has gone out of me. I assumed I was just depressed again. Mary says I am bone weary. She says this type of fatigue can't be cured with just a few weeks good sleep. Renno, moving, holidays and dog have sapped my joie de vie (or however you spell that). Self care was what she recommended, without salsa.
So today I am trying to care about myself. Is an uphill battle. I can care for my self, but not about. There is a difference. I need to ponder this. I'll get back to you.
Take care and thanks. Love Bea.
I may be able to abstain from vinegar after this week. Have you ever inhaled the miasma emanating from hot cat urine and vinegar? Brother. The cat peed under the baseboard heater, I poured vinegar on it. Waaaay to much vinegar. Now no one can sit in the living room without a gas mask. Makes your eyes water. Mark says it is one way to keep the floor dry.
Markovian Theory: Pet plastic surgery will be the newest craze to sweep the country. Lipo for the fat cat, face lift for the dog's sagging jowls, botox for the wrinkled hamster. Will restore the appearance of youth and vigor to aging pets. To match the owners.
After the last wetting incident Mark is thinking of sending Socks on her way. He has a red bandanna and is packing it with stuffed mice, string and a half pound of cat food. He will tie the bundle to a dowel, put it over her shoulder and push her out into the snow. He assures me some nice housewife will take pity on a fluffy, fat, black and white tramp with a red collar and bell.
Mark is gone south today so I have the opportunity to unpack more books. So far I have had a nap, read three chapters in a novel and played frisbee with the dog. I think I'll now have lunch. What a slacker. Maybe I'll wash the towels just so I can feel like I have accomplished something.
Thanks for all the advice and concern. I will soon have to investigate my latest dip into the pit but I'm not yet ready. Mentor Mary said something to me yesterday that threw me. She said I was still exhausted. I sure look it. I have aged ten years since the last day of August when we signed for the house. No amount of sleep seems to lift the crumpled look of my face. I slump more when I walk. And my steps are heavy (and not just with the extra weight.) I feel like something vital has gone out of me. I assumed I was just depressed again. Mary says I am bone weary. She says this type of fatigue can't be cured with just a few weeks good sleep. Renno, moving, holidays and dog have sapped my joie de vie (or however you spell that). Self care was what she recommended, without salsa.
So today I am trying to care about myself. Is an uphill battle. I can care for my self, but not about. There is a difference. I need to ponder this. I'll get back to you.
Take care and thanks. Love Bea.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)