All posts filed under: Relatable

Good Plan

I don’t have the arm nor core strength I should by now from the frequency of workouts I do. I often resist upping the ante.  I will start to lift more weight, push aside fear, and  do more cardio.  It’s impressive what plans come to mind when leaning against an air mattress while eating jalapeño kettle chips midday.  Good plan.   

That’s Cold! 

Welcome to my 555 series! Please read the introduction to this project {here}.  Week 5 Post 1  It’s getting cold out here and it’s freaking me out. I am also preparing to go out of the country this weekend where the temps are wet and 10 degrees colder with highs of 45F.  I just bought new sweaters and underlayers & own plenty of wool coats to choose from but am feeling stressed. I called Husband at work to tell him I’m freaking out about packing and whined like a sixteen-year old that, “my life is SO  hard.”  Obviously he hung up.        

What Stephen Said

Welcome to my 5 5 5 series.  Read my project introduction here. Wk 3 Post 2  Because at this point in life, the quote below is something most of us can relate to, either about another bird, or about ourselves.   “Some birds are not meant to be caged, that’s all. Their feathers are too bright, their songs too sweet and wild. So you let them go, or when you open the cage to feed them they somehow fly out past you. And the part of you that knows it was wrong to imprison them in the first place rejoices, but still, the place where you live is that much more drab and empty for their departure.”  -Stephen King    

Smells Like A Teenager’s Spirit 

Welcome to my 5 5 5 series. The objective of this exercise is to write five lines five times a week for five weeks, to get me back into a regular post writing habit.  Read my introduction here. Wk 2 Post 5 He will text things out of the blue saying, “Hello you,” or asking, “What are you doing?” I know how friends check in on each other, and that’s okay, expected even with our friends. But he & I are not ‘friends’, we are  amicable acquaintances. Something about his check-ins seem flirtatious. It was kind of charming when we were sixteen, but now that we’re forty, he’s just a creepy old guy.

It Started Out Promising

The day started out promising and though it is only 2:00pm, I am already feeling like the day has swallowed me up logistically.  Had my things to do list all set.  All easy.  All attainable.  And then a phone call from my ticket agent has yet to be returned, a piece of paper with important info has gone missing, my breakfast frittata had some weird oily gunk in it (and I made it myself, go figure!). My in-case-of-emergency-anti-anxiety-flight-meds which I carry as a security blanket and haven’t used in a very long time has expired and I have a trip in a few days… my vitamins this morning made me puke, and I woke up at 3am and didn’t fall back asleep til 5:30 for no good reason. When I DID wake up, I was on my face – pillow case lines, numb hands, bad mood.  Good Morning. Just now I found out that the security installation team for the building locked their box of individual spare apartment access keys in one of the apartments.  Really?  What …


The majority of my days between Thanksgiving and the second week of December were spent stewing.  I wish I could say I was productively thinking, but I wasn’t.  You know when you are just stuck in your head, with thousands of thoughts and instead of doing something with them and with that energy, you just sit and replay your worries over and over and over again?  You break them down, you analyze them.  You come up with no plan nor a result.  You just let it sit and stir and stew.  It sits there.  Stewing.  You sit there doing nothing. My mental hamster wheel came to a sudden halt when I received a phone call from the Bachelorette asking me if I was available to work the next day or two.  “Ummm… err.  Yeah… well..”  I hemmed and hawed as she sat patiently on the other end of the line.  “Sure.  Yes.  Yes!  Okay, I will come in if you need me.  Thank you for calling me,”  I said, committing to doing at least something …

Three at Three

I ate three croissants the other day.  Three croissants in the span of one hour, at around 3pm without even realizing it.  This is what happened: Wanting to lightly toast my convenience store open faced croissant, I watched it go from ‘just crisp enough’ in the toaster oven, to suddenly darker and darker and darker.  Just like watching a beautiful sunset, my bread of choice for the day went from golden in color to black black black.  I love to cook and am quite good at it, but I cannot, as of late, toast a single piece of bread without turning it into charcoal. This is where it gets sad, as if eating a repackaged Costco-by-way-of-Asian-convenience-store croissant isn’t sad enough.  I was craving and desperate.  Give me a break, you’ve been there, so STAHP it.  Having a love for reusing leftovers and bits of unused food,  I scraped off the top and tried to eat around it.  Hmmm…..  Not being satisfied, I thought it only fair to have a do over.  This time I sliced …

In Defense of Chutzpah

“If we all did the things we are capable of doing, we would literally astound ourselves.” – Thomas Edison Speaking with a trusted confidante the other day, I spoke about this current desire to access the creative part of me.  I am not sure if its because creative energy is like a dormant volcano and its time has come, or because I am more confident and able to give myself permission to try doing more things again.  I am afraid I like doing lots of little things, but that I do them badly.  They don’t always look the way I want them to, so I just don’t do anything. In the mid nineties, still living in our family home, I took over the dining table and the lanai with all possible kinds of projects in progress:  clay beads, the beginnings of a simple bust, unglazed pottery, half painted canvases, smeared charcoal drawings, painted pots, colorful paper strips, etc. etc.  I was blessed with parents whose forbearance allowed me to indulge in my whims and express myself …