My stomach is the worst!

I really thought that by this point I wouldn’t be writing about it anymore.  At least, less  At least, it wouldn’t be throwing me flareups that wipe out whole days of my life every so often. 

I planned to go to my first musical event this past weekend…a cover band of a group I love, at my favorite bar.  Did I make it?  No, of course not.  Why, oh why, would my pyloric muscle ever allow such things?!  FUN?! NEVER!!

So, after feeling salty about that all day on Sunday, I woke up feeling a little better this morning, but also tired of worrying about my health.  However, I am making major health strides despite my stupid stomach.  For one, my sciatica is much improved due to the exercises I have been doing.  And speaking of exercise and diet related things, I am officially the thinnest I have ever been in my entire life.  I don’t suggest my diet of protein shakes and jello, but hey, it got results, I guess.  I do indeed fit into that bathing suit I mentioned some months ago.  That’s a nice thing.

I mean, I really still don’t give a crap about my weight but it’s nice to accomplish a goal, y’know?

And then the other health thing, in which I attempt to quit smoking.  Again.  They say the average smoker quits seven times before the big one…if that’s so I’m plugging along on attempt number five right now.  Hopefully it’s a good, long run.  In the meantime, I’m on the patch and having crazy dreams.  No, don’t tell me to take it off at night…I often wake up in the night wanting a smoke, so I have to keep it on then,  The dreams are actually mostly fun, not scary or anything, but the realism is something of a brain tease.

So, I’m losing weight and quitting smoking and still my stomach insists on behaving the way it does every time I try to do something fun.  One doc says it’s a fluke.  Another doc says it takes time for it to heal.  I don’t think either of them know what they’re talking about anymore.

I’m sitting in my desk with a pain in my shoulder as I type because I am simply not used to sitting at my desk and typing, as I have been away from the writing for so long.  My blog is in shambles, my poetry practically nonexistent, and while I did drop 350 words in the WIP the other day, that’s it for months now.  But this morning I found a poem.

Just a little something about a fish that I wrote while out one afternoon and forgot about.  Just a note on my phone, that I polished up and put into pretty words and saved in my poetry file.  It gave me a little hope, much like the fishies I wrote the poem about do.

That’s what I need to do!  Go fishing.

Anyway…thanks for listening to my ramble today.  There wasn’t much else on the agenda and I just had to get all these little thoughts out of my mind.

Happy Monday.


In the Mirror

I didn’t write yesterday because I went to the Orthopedic doctor to have my pinky checked out, and they depressed me.  It will be likely two more months before I am pain-free.  I am advised to keep the splint on as long as I want, so long as I do finger exercises once a day.  But, if my pinky so much as nudges something without the brace on, it’s excruciating.  So, I guess I will be typing with only nine fingers for a bit longer. 

I was looking at a photo the other day that E took of me.  It’s below.  That’s me and Mark down at the Union Ship Canal, where we usually fish Saturday mornings in the summer.  I looked at this photo and loved it instantly…me doing one of my favorite things with my favorite person.  And what’s more, no one ever takes photos of me.  I’m always the one behind the camera, so when E plays shutterbug and snaps my picture, it excites me.  Then it occurred to me that if it were ten years ago…I would have HATED this picture.

Oh my god, look at those Virginia ham arms.  Ugh a side view, really??  And those thighs!

Those would have been my thoughts back then.  I would have burned that photo.  It would not have been spoken of.

I have always been my own worst critic.  Sometime around the end of eighth grade, it occurred to me that other people, specifically my peers, didn’t know their ass form their elbow, and as such, I should not base my self-worth on their perception of me.  So, I based it on my perception of myself, which is a good thing, except for the 13 years prior to this epiphany that essentially trained me to hate myself.  While I was no longer relying on other people’s points of view to fuel my self-esteem, I was still pretty judgey of myself, particularly my body.  I mean, I have always been overweight.  That has never not been an issue in my life.  However, I look at things a lot differently now.

I only worry about my weight in terms of my health, not my appearance.  I lose weight to improve my diabetes, not my wardrobe.  I can truly say, now that I am hitting middle age, that I do not care what you think of my body.  I can say with full confidence that I think that’s actually a GOOD photo of me. So strange to see how things change.

I do some writing on this site called Hit Record that is run by one Mr. Joseph Gordon Levitt of 3rd Rock from the Sun fame.  They give you prompts, and you contribute.  Thing is, your contribution can then be made into a project, which is what I did with a piece I wrote called In the Mirror.  By making this project, I invited others to record themselves reading the piece…I got 60 remixes back.  60 people who liked my little monologue and either recorded themselves reading it or mixed it in with some music.  It’s pretty cool…I haven’t listened to them all but what I have heard was amazing.  You can find them HERE if you are interested.

I tell you this because I want to share In the Mirror with you.  It is the perfect summary of how I felt about myself, in the past and now.  It is the perfect accompaniment to this picture.  So, I shall leave you with that, and bid you adieu…happy Tuesday.

In the Mirror

I am eleven. I stand in front of my mirror, with tears in my eyes. I am chubby. I wear glasses. I am losing my hair due to a condition that most doctors have yet to understand. I am the epitome of schoolyard joke, and I hate what I see.

I am twenty, and I look again, seeing only a slightly older version of myself. Head now covered by a bandana to mask the bald spots, face a little rounder, contacts a failed experiment. No one comments on my appearance anymore, but I still feel their glances on my skin.

Today, I look in the mirror. A few pounds thinner. A full head of hair. Glasses that frame my face. The little girl gone, the young woman replaced, I embrace my beauty in middle age. I have found answers and solutions. I have found love and acceptance.

I look at a woman who looks like me, and we smile together, knowing that a mirror’s reflection is only a snapshot of time, and that grace and wisdom have aged me, making me beautiful at last.