Thursday, March 14, 2013
"I really miss your dancing skills being broadcast, just saying :)
I remember u distinctly saying that its what helped you to lose a lot of weight.
Oh maybe some day I can see Liz dancing again - OOOOO may I suggest a little tom cruise sliding across the floor, maybe with some pink hair :D ..."
ROGUE_RUNNER began them as part of her challenges with the Vlogger Team. I loved watching my SparkFriends groovin' and sharing a quick vlog. It felt like we were chillaxin' together. It came at a time when I had trouble moving, so, a quick 10 minute group thing was perfect...
then that Spark grew into a flame...
Thursday, February 28, 2013
I’m playing ‘Chicken’ with my appetite and it’s only ending up in physical, emotional and mental disaster.
It all started when hubs took over cooking and that boy can cook.
So, to show him my appreciation (and secretly hope he feels so valuable that he’ll take over the cooking until my dying day), I make sure I eat. I do. I eat everything to the power of 3 and that equals weight gain and feeling like crap.
Does he pour it down my throat?
Does he guilt trip me that if I don’t eat in excess I’m rejecting him?
After almost killing him nightly with my flatulence and poltergeist sounding stomach (my guts’ way of sharing its misery). We had to have a talk that did not include my flaming red cheeks begging for forgiveness for my body’s assault on his nose.
“Hunny, I can’t control my portions around your food. It’s going to kill us and my co-workers and anyone within a house radius.”
“It’s not my fault.”
No. No, it’s not. I’d like very much to dump a guilt trip on your shoulders and have you be responsible for my decision to be a glutton, but, at the end of the day; it’s my choice. Even if I thought that being minimal with my appreciation of your food was going to seem more of an insult than an appreciation, I still need to take care of my body. I do love you and I trust that you want me healthy.
I’ll own this weight gain, and stomach rebellion and distorted relationship obligation.
Day 1 Streak of portion control.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
“I’m tough, Captain. I am. I really am.” I insist to my boss (she’s ‘Captain’ since telling me she’s not old enough to be a “Ma’am”), I say it as tears of pain are streaming down my cheeks. Her usual sexy, raspy voice turned almost melodic when she comforted me with, “I know, but, it’s okay to not be tough all the time. Take some time to heal and call me. I can make sure you get your hours and some time to recuperate.”
Then I was driven home to sleep, cry and growl my way through a migraine.
I have my doubts about being allowed to not be tough all the time. I have my doubts with her knowing how not to be tough all the time. I think she’s really a super hero (she broke into my car to retrieve the only set of keys I had for my van – in my van) and this boss gig is a cover.
Also, I HATE being vulnerable. Crying = vulnerable.
That is not ‘okay’. Also, crying at work is a humiliation of epic proportions. I hate crying.
I started today in a cranky mood. My smile was stuffed up where the sun don’t shine and I was here physically but that’s it. My mind was out for a wander and I couldn’t find it. My british buddy (I gotta come up with a nickname for her) she called me on it and together we figured I was a little ‘off’ and then we determined it must be a miscalculated time of the month. We promptly cursed teenage girls that pull our cycle and she slipped me a Midol with instructions to NOT maim Miss. Mean. (A good friend knows when you’re hiding your sunshine a better friend works preventatively).
I’ve been internally begging for that little Chihuahua co-worker of mine to even toe the line with her snarky, mean spirit. I was all prepared to ground pound her superiority complex with a biznotch slap that Miss. Piggy would envy. I was okay with being arrested over it. She’s been spreading rumours, and insults like icing on a cake...she’s convinced she’s doing the world a favour by criticizing my every breath. She’s only successful at sucking the joy out of my day. A jovial, lighthearted room is turned to stone misery when she enters and it’s miserable to be around her.
I was prepared to hurt her today. The thought was the only thing (next to being enveloped in my hubby’s arms) that brought a big smile to my face.
“Revenge is mine saith the Lord.” He meant it. He sent me a migraine to keep my attitude in check. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever thanked Him for pain. I didn’t want to be the person that was brought down to that ugly level and He didn’t let me fall.
“Liz, she’s jealous. You walk into a room and people feel your love for them. They know you genuinely care. You’re refreshing, sweet and cute. You’re something that she chooses to not let me help her be. You share joy, she gives pain. I created you to be a happy Tulip in this Garden called Life. She chooses to be a thorn instead of the beautiful person I designed. Please let me protect you from her sting instead of choosing to be a destructive weed yourself.”
Migraines and Spring Fever make for wonderful analogies.
Life is a garden and you its flower ~ you grow girl!
Which flower are you?
Monday, February 25, 2013
You know when you dip your foot into the Lake and that quick little dip sends these siren-like screams yelling, "Holy crap are you freakin' kidding me. Your youngin's so lied about the temp!"?
You already knew that. You are their mother after all.
What to do? What to do? What to do?
I think revenge is perfect. I know it's a dish best served cold and better if not at all, but, we can't end our story here. No.
Girlfriend your girlzone will climb up and slap you if you do that slow walk-in, get familiar stuff...that's later once you've climatized. You gotta get fully wet, pronto and swim like Nemo and dunk those kids.
On the count of...
**E*P*I*C** warning splash and screams...not from your brain or girlzone (they're in shock and adjust surprisingly quickly to the abuse), no the screams are from the precious youngin's swimming for their lives.
This my friends is an analogy. You know when you feel like you're so so NOT looking forward to something that needs to be done, like taking revenge on your self-abuse and claiming that victory of joy that belongs to you when you treat yourself as you're supposed to? It's freakin' hard. THat's when you DO NOT weigh all of your storms and think about the proper revenge protocol, youown the mission and you bring it.
OWN it. BRING it and make 'em scream.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
He’s clearing his throat again.
The dude needs a smackdown. Blind much?
My hands are full. I’m stressed to the hilt. If I stop to pay attention to you, do you not realize that all the cr@p I’m juggling is going to fall?!
[Polite’ish’ throat clearing and that quizzical eyebrow thing.]
I’m pi$$ed at Mr. Pompous now. He knows how to make my life easier and instead just stands there - mocking me.
Dude, you’re a d!ck.
Just sayin’. I’m contemplating tossing this stuff at you.
[Final throat clearing.]
I chuck EVERYTHING at him. Rapid fire.
I’m briefly reminded of my childhood when my flame haired, adultering father would miander in drunk and have ‘expectations’. My mother who would be ‘juggling’ all day (she used to scrub the floors on her hands and knees nightly to meet his expectations in homemaking and have the same meal ready and waiting (in the time of no microwaves), just in case he decided to bless her with his presence). She would start chucking; first the plates as a warning and then graduate to knives.
I was where she was at with my level of frustration with the Throat-clearer. Instead of ducking for cover like Dad, Dude suspended the objects in mid-air, reorganized them and handed them back to me.
It was all jedi-like. Despite my efforts I found myself making light saber sound effects in my head.
Dude could’ve done that at any time?
That was so anti-climatic...but, I feel peace.
Lord, “rebellion is as witchcraft”, an abomination to you, and I have been the epitome of a rebellious daughter. Thank you for being a gentleman, and not taking over and making me your puppet. I appreciate the boundaries you’ve given me. You created me and know what my heart can and cannot handle and give your help whenever I ask...
Or rapid fire chuck things at you like a temper-tantruming spoiled brat.
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