Chic Flick

It’s no lie… those movies are for those who are in love with love. Where happy endings abound after seemingly impossible odds.
I think sometimes with great remorse over all of the bad decisions I’ve made in my life. And yet if I subtract a single one, I would not be here today with sunshine in my heart.
There are a lot of big decisions coming up for Brandon and I. When to start a family, and where. What are we going to do for ourselves and for each other. I would not be surprised to see things get harder before they get easier, but only because we have been so lucky these past five years.
Sunday morning when we got up with the dog, I was tragically hung over by utterly miscalculating the strength of the drinks I had been consuming the night before. Brandon had the good sense to make me leave before doing too much harm to myself, and drove me home even as I irrationally wept over how I must be holding him back. As I was fetching water and ibuprofen, I found myself apologizing profusely for my silliness.
There were times over the past few years that I’d had that same intoxicated conversation with him about all my shortcomings and how, in my eyes, they hang like a ball and chain around his happiness. I only say this because the only times I’ve ever seen him unhappy is when I am at my lowest. At least until now.
On Sunday, as I apologized for my behavior, Brandon laughed at me, knowingly.
His struggles to figure out what the next step should be are not because I have failed him in some way. I have to keep reminding myself of this, since I sometimes forget to remember to forgive myself and enjoy my happiness.
Perhaps this life would make itself a good movie for other hopeless romantics to enjoy too.

The elusive wagon

I’ve tacked my food for about 3 days of the past 30. I’ve been to the gym zero times in at least the past 6 weeks, maybe actually longer. About half the food I eat is really healthy.  A third is really not, and the rest I should just eat less of.
I feel like crap. Partially because I’ve been nibbilng on things that are downright bad for me, but taste so freaking good (stupid dairy). Also in part because I’ve been itching for over a week now. Normally the dairy wouldn’t be enough to cause more than the occasional sniffle, but combined with the fact that I used a laundry detergent that I’m apparently very allergic to… well I’m a mess. The itching makes me cranky when I’m awake, and wakes me up at night (probably also contributing to my crankiness). Yesterday I finally went to the doctor to get a medicine. And last weekend I rewashed all my clothes that I’d possibly washed in the offending soap with my good old standard Tide.
I’m still itching.
But I’m still not taking very good care of myself. Which makes me feel guilty, which manifests itself STILL in destructive eating, mostly. It seems like it’s such a simple cycle to break, and I can’t explain why it’s not.
I resent the fact that I can’t eat the same things that a ‘normal’ person can. Especially when I’m reading about ‘healthy eating’ tips and ideas and they’re talking about how good low fat cheese and milk are for your body. Not mine, though. It’s a lot of wasted energy, this resentment. I’m well aware.
I know in order to get out of the rut, I have to just do it. It’s hard to run on the food I’ve been eating. It’s going to hurt to start lifting again. And being hungry while your body gets adjusted to a calorie restricted diet, well it sucks.
And then once all those things stop sucking, then I start missing time at home with Brandon. I start watching my friends eat and drink the things I will not. I weigh every morsel that goes into my mouth, and log it.
I guess I’m still searching for some middle ground that suits me better, and in the mean time I’m going on a Woe-Is-Me sort of rant.
I have absolutely no energy (despite just having eaten lunch) and I’m itching, but I’m going to try to get outside after work for an attempt at running. Or at least moving forward with out falling on my face. Both literally and figuratively.
End snarky self-talk.

wounded

I got a little taste of my own medicine today.
I have a tendency to let frustration about one thing spill over into something else, and unfortunately Brandon most often finds himself victim. It’s unfair; and I try to apologize as quickly as possible. Often, though, it’s too late because my biting words have already done the damage & I find myself explaining my head and heart for the next few days.
Today though, I got a solid reminder not to let that happen if at all possible. Push the wrong button, or even reach for your phone at an inopportune moment & KABLOW! Tears well up in my eyes and I feel utterly dejected. I called him out on it and he apologized. And apologized. And then apologized again. I’m a little bit sad still, but he’s done everything he can. Now I just need to move on.
And try to keep this little lesson in mind as we go forward.
❤

haiku 4/11

Frustration sometimes
Makes me say things I shouldn’t
When can I say “when”?

Dawn

I had this dream the night before last, it has been bothering me ever since.

Brandon and I were at my grandparents old house in Atwood. He was sitting on the old couch facing the picture window the way it always used to & he was watching the news. Terrible things were happening in the world or maybe just around us. We were running out of food. He asked me to kill the cat.
(We have two cats now, that he’s had since before me. But his first cat favors him and the second prefers me. She’s an adorable calico with a shy, yet sweet & playful personality. I could go on about all the cute things she does, but I’ll just say that I’m quite taken with her.)
I accept that this must be done and take her into the kitchen an put a towel over her head and get down on the floor to break her neck. I feel and hear a sickening crunch and pull the towel back. I see blood on it. And then I hear a tiny meow. She’s not dead. I look at her face and see blood came out of her nose. I’m so scared. I pet her gently on her forehead to try to soothe her and she starts to purr. I scream as I bring her to Brandon, who tells me to get away. “You’re grossing me out,” he says. I hold her and cry.

And then I wake up. Sobbing & terrified, I reach down to feel her at the foot of the bed. She stretches out her chin for me to scratch under her neck. Brandon must have heard me crying because he wrapped his arms around me and asked me what was wrong. I sob through telling him what I just dreamed and he holds me and apologizes for these things so terrible, though I only imagined them. I get up to wipe my eyes and blow my nose and when I come back to bed, he’s got the cat curled up (on my heating pad) near my pillow so I lay down to pet her and he holds me, and somehow I fall back asleep.

But even as I type, every time I think about it, I start to cry. Why did my brain come up with this horrible idea? I don’t usually put much value into dream interpretations, but I do understand that there are things in our subconscious that seep out to be contemplated. The only thing I have figured might have played a small roll was hearing that Socks had died. Even to say that hearing that story would bring out all of this sounds utterly silly. Maybe not, though. I’m at a loss.
And I need a tissue.